The Hot Dog Story
In the second grade, I shared an assigned two-seat desk with a boy named Richard. Luckily, we were fast friends, and soon he had invited me over to his house to spend the night one Friday, as all kids do at that age.
Aside #1: The sleepover is like a childhood friendship rite of passage. You knew if you stayed up talking to each other long after the lights were turned off, you were going to be friends for a long time (relatively speaking).
After playing some video games and watching a movie, were both tuckered out and decided to go to sleep. Before heading to his room though, he asked me if I'd like a snack. Of course I said yes, and Richard disappeared into a dark room that wasn't his kitchen, and returned with two sheets of printer paper. Motioning that I should follow him, we stepped into his room as I became more and more confused. Rummaging around in his side table drawer, he withdrew a basic packet of crayons before sitting on the floor next to his bed.
Hesitantly, I sat down next to him as he took out the red and yellow crayons, which were noticeably more worn-down than the others in the box. Methodically, he took one of the sheets of paper and tore the corners off of it, so it was a near-perfect oval. He then took the pieces he'd ripped and crumpled them into an oblong wad of paper, before placing them in the center of the oval he'd torn.
Then he took the red and yellow crayons, and colored in some of the oval around the wadded-up paper. Picking it up like a hot dog, he handed it to me and began making his own. Not wanting to offend him, I nibbled on the edge of the "bun" for a few seconds as he went through the motions again, adding much more of what he apparently considered to be "ketchup" and "mustard" to his "hot dog."
Aside #2: Those quotation marks feel like finger quotes.
Once finished, he picked his up, and took a full-sized bite out of it, looking like a wolf tearing into a piece of beef jerky. Putting mine down, I declared that I wasn't hungry. Shrugging, Richard finished his snack, and we both went to bed shortly after.
We didn't talk that night, or very much afterwards. Luckily, our teacher changed the assigned seats shortly after this for some reason or another, and our interaction was no longer necessary.
The Pot Smoke Story
I was laying in bed one morning after waking up with my now-ex-girlfriend Annie, who was still asleep. Discreetly, and without waking her, I loaded a bowl of weed and took a massive hit, my body shaking from holding in the cough.
Turning around to see if my movements had woken Annie, I continued to hold in the hit as her eyes fluttered open slowly. Smiling and rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she began to speak.
Her sentence was never completed, because I couldn't hold in the smoke any longer. Sputtering, I exhaled a massive, billowing plume of smoke right into her mouth, forcing her to choke. Unable to help myself, I began laughing, and did so for the next two minutes.
Annie joined in, once she caught her breath, thankfully.
The Handshake Story
During my tenth grade year, I worked up the nerve to ask an attractive redheaded girl named Lisa to go to the movies with me, shortly before realizing that I didn't (and still don't) drive. She didn't either at the time, so we worked out a deal with her parents and my parents where my mom would drop us off, if her dad would pick us up. Both parties obliged, and my mom took us to the movies.
Aside #3: Ah, to be young again.
We reinforced the cliche further and saw a terrible horror movie (I think it was the ridiculously awful Cry_Wolf), doing the high school thing and kissing throughout the entire thing. About halfway through the movie, Lisa decided to lay across two seats, with her head in my lap. There were a few other people in the theater, but despite this fact her hand took mine and guided it into her pants.
At the risk of sounding crude, there was nothing even remotely dry about where my hand went. It was as if I'd stuck my hand into a warm brothy soup someone had thrown a few roast beef slices into.
Aside #4: I am so, so sorry for that one.
Naturally, my teenaged hand spent a ridiculous amount of time down there, and was covered in her...product by the time the movie had ended. Right before it had though, Lisa had received a voicemail from her dad, to let us know that he was there to pick us up. Immediately after the credits began scrolling across the screen, she took my clean hand and lead me out of the theater, into the parking lot where her father's pickup truck was idling.
Climbing into the back of the cab, I positioned myself behind him after saying a hurried "hello" and introducing myself. Turning around in his seat and offering his right hand to me, he said "Well, it's nice to meet'cha. I'm Phil."
Without even thinking, I shook his hand, my fingers and palm still slightly moist with his daughter's semi-pungent vaginal secretion. Furrowing his brow slightly and looking at our interlocking hands, a wave of understanding seemed to wash over him. I pulled my hand away from his quickly after the handshake had ended, but it was too late.
I can't say for sure whether or not Lisa's father knew what my hand was covered in, but he didn't speak during the entire drive to my house and I never went out with her again.
Previously on TFTG: Stems & Seeds #1