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Amy, Amy, Jack & Me (And Mary-Francis Too)

It was the eighth grade. I had just moved to Maine with my mother and stepfather to escape what could generously be called one of the most awful middle school experiences in human history. I was a strange lad with a bad temper and way too many demons for someone my age. Maine would be a fresh start.

Amy was one of the first people I met when I started school. She was not, however, my first kiss. I never kissed her at all, despite desperately wanting to. She and I were the same age, but she was vastly more experienced. I had never used my tongue for much more than speaking, yet she was sexually active. I mean, she went all the way! She slept with several boys who were older and more mature than I – some as ancient as 16. Some people might have judged her and called her a slut, but I never did. I was blown away by her openness. I wanted her, and she knew it. I became her willing sidekick. If I couldn’t have her, at least I could be near her. At least I could hear the war stories and embellish them in my mind, replacing the anonymous boys with me.

Amy had a friend, or a cousin or something, from some far away place… Idaho? I can’t remember. Her name was Mary-Francis, and she was going to be in town for the weekend. Amy wanted to hook us up because Mary-Francis was inexperienced and I, well, I had been lying to Amy all along about my exploits. After all, I had just moved to Maine and no one had any proof that I was virgin, so I denied it vehemently. I pretended I was the epitome of manliness back in Massachusetts. Certainly not a troubled, awkward, weirdo that got beat up all the time. That was definitely not me anymore.

So, one warm night – I can’t remember the season – I trekked over to Amy’s to meet up with Mary-Francis and another one of our friends named Amy. (Seems like every girl I knew in Maine was named either Amy, Jen or Sarah.) Amy number two had brought Jack Daniels. All of us took pulls and pretended it tasted good. It was fucking terrible though. The whole experience was excruciating for me. I knew I was expected to make a move on this stranger; this innocent youngster with new breasts and a bob haircut. I took another pull. My heart sank.

Finally we walked off together at her suggestion. She had to have seen through my ridiculous façade. We giggled like idiots and blushed and stared at each others’ shoes. I kept debating with myself the same way I might in the line of a scary amusement park ride. “Just do it you chicken shit!” I would think with self-loathing, “You’re such an asshole. You can probably get to second base!” Then she threw her arms over my shoulders and smiled. She followed my eyes as they fell toward the ground, and she followed them back up again. She was going to make me do this.

So I did. I put my open mouth around hers and tentatively inserted my tongue. We wiggled around nervously for a few seconds, and I broke away. “Was that it?” she inquired innocently. She truly didn’t know what had just happened. “That’s it” I replied, trying to remember that I was a Don Juan from another state. I never got to take her shirt off, but it’s probably better that way. I wouldn’t have had the slightest idea what to do.

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