She was the last of her girlfriends to have her cherry popped. They’d entertained guys that looked like Patrick Swayze in their bedrooms for almost a year now when their parents were out of town. She wanted to tell her girlfriends that those guys were kind of using them because they weren’t that attractive, and kind of slutty and should they be giving it away to guys who really wished they were still fucking the pert little Catholic school blonds who dumped them to have sex with nice Catholic school boys that got them pregnant and went with them to their abortions while their parents were away? But they wouldn’t care. So one day she stopped wanting to be the one left in the living room by herself stoned and with a luke warm beer while Erica and Patrick Swayze did it in Erica’s bedroom on her pink and white Holly Hobbie bedspread with the eyelet lace ruffle, and gawky kinky haired Debby did it in Erica’s parents’ bed with her grown up construction worker boyfriend (who was actually committing underage sex with her but it was in the middle of the afternoon in a ranch home in Barrington, RI so who was telling?). She stopped wanting to be a virgin and began the quest for who would pop her cherry.
She met Dan shortly thereafter at a public school dance. Her friends went to public school, she went to private school. Dan was between schools. He’d recently moved to the small non-descript town of Barrington, Rhode Island from Los Angeles because his dad was no longer married to his mom, a famous actress from a big family of very famous actors, and she was too busy with auditions and recurring roles to care for Dan. Father and mother had decided that it was best that Dan live in Barrington where there could be some normalcy in his life, but according to Dan, they had not enrolled him in senior year because she was going to send for him to come back any day now.
Dan’s denial of his mother’s obvious abandonment mixed with his nonchalance about his famous lineage excited her. She knew she wanted him to pop her cherry in the first ten minutes they talked in the fluorescent lights of the school cafeteria during the dance. “Open Arms” by Journey blared in the background and couples made out in their seated positions around us, broken up finally by the proctor. Dan made her laugh, and possessed a youthful innocence underneath his adult-like stance. He was laughter, he was confidence, he was innocence and with these commendable qualities, Dan would lay her down and plunge into her his teenage dagger, and forever memorialize himself in her diary and on her memory.
It was a magical night. Their adrenaline electrifying each other through their tightly clenched hands as they raced across the abandoned hill on the coast to the construction trailer that she had dutiful scoped out as the location for her entry into womanhood. He laid his coat down on the bare floor and pushed his way into her and there was a pain and lots of blood. It lasted one minute. As she sobbed, her scabbed knees pulled up to her chin, he cared for her. He soothed her. He even made her laugh with a sardonic comment. He rubbed her shoulders and they awkwardly hugged, her knees still between them, gangly and unshaven. Then he drove her home, his hand possessive on her thigh, both of them nervously grinning from their accomplished quest; a boy who’d popped a cherry, a girl who was no longer a virgin.
They resolved eagerly to do it again. But no parents were away so they decided to rendezvous in the local town park the next night and do it there, perhaps by a tree in the dark. In retrospect, sex for the second time should have been performed somewhere soft and intimate and teen magazine-ish. She would have applied Very Berry lip-gloss before the act. Not in the park in the dirt, under the full moon with people milling about unexpectedly. She had no experience putting on a condom, and he had even less, and when he finally got it rolled on, it was dry as fuck, and when he tried to push it in, her bare ass literally slid back through the dirt. He got frustrated. ‘Fuck it. This is not gonna work,’ as he brushed the dirt off his pant knees. He didn't look at her, and hold her, and have that face of confidence of the boy who had popped the cherry and was tenderly going back for more. He had the face of a boy who was thinking about all the other cherries he could now pop, and why waste his time here in the dirt with a limp dick and an awkward condom when there are other girls with places to pop their cherry all laid out for him and planned.
"We could try again tomorrow,” she said.
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