Man Of Few Words

Chapter 25

I'm trying to remember what happened when Hat and Mat were here, and I can't. I have this nagging feeling all manner of promises were made, maybe even arrangements. I hope that one of them was that they'd come back again some time soon, strip everything out of the bedroom and stick a comfy new, wipe-clean bed in there for me. It doesn't seem an unreasonable hope.

I also hope that none of these promises or arrangements had anything to do with my parents. But this hope isn't just unreasonable, it's – at the absolute best – utterly futile. I'm clinging to it anyway.

If I myself promised to do anything then I truly cannot remember. I'm not going to call Harriet and ask (the very idea!). I'll just stay put and wait for the phone, or maybe even doorbell, to ring. While hoping that neither of them ever does, of course.

Wasn't I supposed to be documenting my life, or something?

I seem to remember promising that I would tell the story of my... "first time", at some point during this rambling, befuddled opus. I think I also promised that it's not much of a story, but what the hell, might as well get it out of the way. That was very much the prevailing attitude at the time of the event, as it happens.

The way things worked at my secondary school was as follows:

Every month or so there was a disco in the school hall. These discos were obviously terrible, but each one was also the most exciting and important thing ever to have happened in any of our young lives.

Why? Because we got off with each other at discos.

It was the same every time. You'd kill time for hours waiting for the first slow song – at my school it was always, without fail, Bonnie Tyler's Total Eclipse Of The Heart – then you'd ask the nearest girl who, ideally, a) you hadn't got off with before, b) wasn't fat, and c) wasn't ginger, to dance. If she said yes, you'd dance with her for the first verse, then you'd start trying to put your tongue in her mouth as soon as the chorus started kicking in. And, if that went well, you'd try to put your hand down the back of her pants while you were at it.

If she said no, you'd usually have to accept some flexibility regarding requisites a) through c).

Now, if you managed to get off with a girl and she remained in your predatory clutches for the whole duration of the slow dancing section of the evening, then that basically meant that you were going out with her. And what that meant was that you could get off with her during normal school hours as well.

This would normally get boring pretty quickly and by the time the next disco came around you'd be back on the open market again. But in a rare few cases, something akin to a steady relationship could form. This is what happened with Maggie King and me.

Maggie wasn't the prettiest, or the most popular, or even – to the naked eye – the sluttiest girl in Year 11, but she was alright. She did usually wear glasses, which was a bit of a foible, but she wasn't wearing them on the night of the Cullingdon Comprehensive Christmas '92 disco. She also wasn't fat or ginger, and she had quite big tits. And, most importantly, she was sitting only about a metre and a half away from me when MC Hammer's You Can't Touch This faded out and was superseded by the unmistakable opening keystrokes of Total Eclipse...

"Hey Maggie," she looked up and I smiled. "J'wanna dance?"

"'Kay," she smiled back and stood up.

I didn't take her hand, or usher her in front of me, or anything at all gentlemanly like that. I just wandered towards a space on the dance floor, assuming she would follow me. Which she did.

Upon reaching my chosen destination I stopped and turned around. We stood facing each other for a few seconds, then both sort of shuffled forwards till we were almost standing on each other's toes. Then I placed my hands awkwardly on her waist, and she did the same on mine. We swayed from side to side for a bit then, deciding that the awkward eye contact wasn't helping matters, I drew her close to me, resting my cheek against the side of her head. I actually felt her breathe out heavily and noticeably relax.

I also felt her tits pressing against my body, and started getting a bit of a tingle in my cock.

This coincided with...

I don't know what to do
And I'm always in the dark.
We're living in a powder keg
And givin' off sparks.

...and if that isn't a call to action, I don't know what is.

I pulled my face away by an inch or two and looked right into Maggie's eyes for a few seconds – just long enough for Wales' premier gravel-voiced diva to clamor,

I really need you tonight!

The next thing Maggie knew, my mouth was on hers. She, a boiled egg. I, a milk bottle with a lit match in it. I kissed her in the only way I knew how – like I was attempting to increase her surface area in order to digest her more easily.

She didn't seem too impressed.

As the song's first crescendo faded, she pushed me away, but still held tightly to my upper arms. She narrowed her eyes at me and pouted. Then, holding my gaze, she slowly wiped her mouth along the sleeve of her top. Then she wiped the same sleeve on my chest and, somewhat disapprovingly, raised her eyebrows at me.

I must admit, my confidence was faltering a little at this point.

Once upon a time there was light in my life
But now there's only love in the dark.
Nothing I can say...

But then Maggie's gaze softened. She placed her warm, smooth hands gently on my cheeks and, just as a bombastic drum fill signaled the start of a fresh wave of instrumental melodrama, Maggie took control.

She kissed me. She kissed me like a boss. Not the kind of boss who wears braces and smokes cigars and slams his fists on his desk while shouting, "I want results, damnit!"

No, more the kind of boss that makes fifteen-year-old boys melt. Yes, I melted. I don't know how she did it, but I just became completely malleable. Not only was she kissing me really, really well. I was kissing her really, really well too. Without having a clue how. I guess I was just following her lead, but it was like I was in some sort of trance.

How and where she had learned to do this, I do not know. To this day, I haven't encountered another woman able to kiss in quite the same way. I think it's safe to say that she didn't figure it out by making a mouth out of her thumb and forefinger and practicing on that. I guess she was just a natural.

Before I knew it, five more power ballads had flown by and the smooching section was over. I can't recall which songs we'd kissed our way through, but I'll never forget which one was playing when we stopped – Star Trekkin' by The Firm.

Smiling, Maggie patted me on the chest then, with the smile breaking into a gentle laugh, she wandered off somewhere. Perhaps to congratulate the DJ on pulling off such a seamless segue.

I just stood there.

It's life, Jim, but not as we know it,
Not as we know it,
Not as we know it
It's life, Jim, but not as we know it,
Not as we know it,
Captain.