Getting it Straight

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Author’s note: This is a true story, which could account for it’s popularity (I get more feedback from this than others). I won’t go into how close any others are to reality, in order to keep the mystery. 😉 Enjoy!


Well, I suppose I should introduce myself here. My name is John, I grew up in the southwestern suburbs of Chicago and I think I have the best older brother in the world. His name is Carl and he’s four years older than I am. I wouldn’t let my friends know it, but I’d always been a shy kid. All this happened when I was 18 and in high school. I had never been with a girl before. I mean “with” a girl. Girls liked me in high school because I was a “sweet guy”. I was a poet, I had a good singing voice (I performed in school musicals and choir) and I was “sensitive”. I didn’t really mind this attention. As a matter of fact, I enjoyed it, all the way through my sophomore year.

My brother was always curious why I hadn’t had a girlfriend come over. I said I had girl-friends, but not really any girlfriends. Toward the end of my sophomore year, I got a part time job, changed my hairstyle and started buying in-style clothes. Then I started getting noticed. Well anyway, let me explain the two incidents that got me confused about girls.

First, the summer of my sophomore to junior year a friend down the block invited me to a party. I invited a girl named Jean that had been exceptionally friendly to me before school had let out.

This party started out as most, in the den, with the flashing lights and crazy music. The guys’ parents were gone for the weekend, and his older sister didn’t care what he did as long as he kept it down some and the place didn’t get wrecked. She didn’t know some of the kids were sneaking booze in, but it never got noticed or out of hand.

Jean and I were slow dancing. It was about 10:00, the lights went down, and I noticed that there were just couples around. They were on the couch, chairs, carpet and you name it. I started getting uncomfortable quickly. I really didn’t know what to do. About the time I became conscious of this, I pulled my head back and looked at her. She looked at me, smiled and then looked away. Since we were obviously the only ones dancing, I asked her if she wanted to sit down. She said “sure”. We found a couple of chairs at a small card table in the corner of the den. We sat down, listened to the music and looked around for a while.

Yes. It was as awkward as it sounds. We were sitting right next to each other, and I had my arm around her on the chair. I really don’t want to get into the long idle conversation we were trying to have, because it was embarrassing enough. At one point, she said she liked the song that was playing and rested her head on my shoulder. I was nervous. Of course I liked it, too. A moment later, she looked up. Our faces were close together. I knew if there was to be a cue in here somewhere, I just got it.

I turned my head and kissed her. Her lips were soft and her kiss was kind. She reached up and put her hand on my face gently as we kissed. I felt like the bottom dropped out of everything. The music was a thousand miles away, and it was as if no one else was in the room. Her hand slid down around my waist and rested against my side as we continued kissing. Then I blew it.

I swear I had no “evil” intentions as I put my hand on her leg. It was a place to put my hand; that was it. She had a skirt on that was only about an inch above her knee, so I didn’t even touch skin. I just put my hand down. She jumped like I had touched everything personal she had.

“No! I don’t want to….”

And that was the end of the night. I’ll be honest. I felt like a stupid idiot… and I hadn’t even had any intention of starting anything! I apologized over and over. As she kept her distance, I realized I should offer to walk her home.

Even today, I don’t blame Jean for what happened next. I got depressed during the summer. When school started again, my wardrobe and appearance had gotten better. My “talents” for music and poetry had also improved because of my depression. I was getting more attention. Some of the more attractive girls were coming to me now. I was becoming “popular”. But now there was a big problem.

Then came the second incident. I had girls coming to me that guys were drooling over. Some I went out with. I had a job, money and my older brother sometimes let me use his car. My relationships were usually short. One day in school, I found out why. I was walking down the crowded hall between classes with my current girlfriend, an attractive strawberry blonde. We had been seeing each other for a couple of months. Because of my “clumsy” mistake with Jean, I had never even tried to kiss her. We stopped at her locker so she could get something out. I backed up as she turned around to close the locker door. She got a big frown on her face and practically yelled out in the hall…

“What? Are you afraid to touch me?”

That really did it. Kids in the hall were looking at me. Some in sympathy, others Etlik Escort snickering. I walked away from her and avoided girls altogether for the first half of my junior year, even though some hinted that I should see someone (some obviously hinting it should be them). I was just afraid I would do something stupid again.

Friends were trying to cheer me up. Academically, I was actually doing ok. My talent for singing, poetry and story writing improved with my depression (although the subjects of my writings were either about lost love or horror stories).

I don’t know if someone told my brother, or if he noticed it himself, but he started asking questions. He finally got around to asking the right (or “wrong”) questions and got it out of me. I think he could see that I was trying to hold the tears back as I started explaining everything that had happened. He could probably hear it in my voice, if nothing else. We had our “brotherly” fights and tiffs, but he was really concerned about what I was going through. He asked me if I’d talked to Mom or Dad about it. I asked him if he was joking. He tried to help, explain things, but my depression had been going on so long that I wasn’t listening any more.

Summer came again and junior year let out. I wasn’t going to parties. I went to work at the drugstore, bought junk food, watched TV, worked out and took long bicycle rides alone. My brother, who was now a sophomore at a local community college, was getting worried about me. He had moved to an apartment by the college, but came by the house often. I wasn’t up to roughhousing around with him much anymore. Inside, I think I was even jealous of his way with the girls. He would sometimes stop by before going out and often had a very attractive college girl with him. In another way, I suppose I felt happy for him.

Then came the night I’ll never forget. My brother came by the house one Tuesday night and said he had a problem; he wanted to know if I could help. He had done more than enough for me, including keeping me out of trouble with Mom and Dad when I screwed up a couple of times. I told him as long as it wasn’t some kind of trick, sure! Carl said his whole evening was getting screwed up in one morning. He and his girlfriend Cynthia were supposed to go to a play at a local candlelight theater with her parents. Her parents couldn’t make it due to the fact that her aunt had gone to the hospital. At the same time, one of his girlfriends’ best friends came into town and his girlfriend didn’t feel right going without her. He wanted to know if I would go to the play with her girlfriend.

At first I laughed.

“You have to be kidding,” I said. “How old is she?”

My brother grinned.

“She’s almost 19, but don’t worry about it. She won’t mind, she wants to see the play and Cynthia. And I just don’t want to waste the money on the ticket.”

I’d always been a pretty logical kid so it only took a few seconds to give the ok. First, it was a favor for my brother. Second, I’d never seen a play in a theater. Third, the girl (well, woman) was only one year older than I was and fourth, it was a favor for my brothers girlfriend. What the hell.

My brother came by the house again about 6:30 that evening. I had taken a shower and thought I was ready to go. Carl thought otherwise. He helped me pick out some clothes that would go well with the outing. I never even got that dressed up to go to church.

We walked out to the car and I hopped in the back. Carl said he had to pick up Cynthia’s girlfriend at a hotel in the loop, because it was where she was staying while she was in town. At the time, I thought it was a little strange to have to go all the way downtown Chicago and come back for a play, but hey, she was from out of town.

When we pulled up in front of the Hyatt, Carl opened the door and stood up outside. The doorman came from the door and asked my brother if he needed help. “Just a minute” he said and walked into the hotel. The doorman grumbled something about the fact that he couldn’t park there. It was only a few seconds before he came back out. He was walking out with a fabulously attractive girl with long, wavy black hair. She was wearing a sparkling blue ruffled dress that came down to about three inches above her knees. She was tall and had beautiful long legs. Her face was so gorgeous that I swore I’d never seen anyone like her.

She walked around the car and got in the seat behind Cynthia. She sat up, kissed Cynthia on the cheek and asked her how she was doing. Cynthia smiled, said she was fine and asked her how she was. Cynthia raised an eyebrow and looked at Carl. I guess I should have known something was up then, but at the time, I was much too entranced by this girl.

After her funny look at my brother, Cynthia turned around.

“This is Laura.”

Laura turned toward me, smiled and offered her hand.

“Laura, this is John, Carl’s brother.”

There was firmness in the way she said Carls’ name, but she was smiling so Keçiören Escort I figured it was a private joke. I shook Laura’s hand and Carl pulled away from the curb. Laura grasped my hand firmly for more than a second and it made me look into her eyes.

Maybe it’s been my emotional state, but I’ve always been receptive looking into people’s eyes. It’s an uncanny ability to tell whether I can trust them, as well as the ability to detect their feelings and general thoughts. I don’t mean “reading their minds” or anything like that. More like good or bad “vibes”. This time was different. My hand felt strange in hers. Looking into her eyes was like looking into a mirror. They were so dark, I couldn’t tell what color they were. With her hand in mine and our eyes fixed on each others, it was like I was being read and she was doing the reading. It was a little exciting and a little unnerving all at once.

“Nice to meet you, John.” Laura said and let go of my hand.

She turned her head forward, but her eyes fixed on mine until her head was turned straight again. As she talked idly about off the wall subjects with Carl and Cynthia, I caught myself looking at her again. Now as far as my own opinion of my poetry, I’ve never judged it. If people said they liked it, I was happy. But if I were to write a poem about this girl, it would have to be the best thing I ever wrote. She was beautiful.

Her black hair flowed past her shoulders down to the middle of her back in waves, like the tidewaters on a dark night. As the downtown lights reflected on her hair through the back window of the car, it made it all the more beautiful. She was smiling and laughing and would occasionally toss her hair back. Her eyes were glowing, sparkling like stars as she talked. Her lips were pink and perfect. Even the way her teeth showed as she talked was exquisite. Ok, I was overwhelmed. Her body was fantastic. I found myself hoping she wouldn’t catch me as I noticed her breasts in the low-cut dress, her thin waist, perfect hips and once again her long legs, more visible now that she was sitting down. Actually, I believe she did catch me once or twice, but didn’t say anything about it. I wished I were a few years older.

On the way, Laura turned and started asking me about myself. Our conversation led into my school and activities, she tried to make me recite one of my poems, but I was too embarrassed. Even my brother and Cynthia tried to get me to make something up on the fly. Laura put her hand on mine and almost begged me to try and I was still too shy. She put a pout on her lips, folded her arms and said,

“Ok, fine… be that way.” Then she smiled.

When we pulled up to the playhouse, Laura pulled a compact out of her purse and looked at herself.

“Ohhh,” she moaned, “look at my hair! It’s a mess!”. She pulled a small brush from her purse and offered it to me. “Would you?”

I sat there frozen. She turned and offered the brush over her shoulder.

“Please?” she said with a little beg.

I wasn’t hesitating because I didn’t want to, but because I was stunned that she was asking me to. I saw my brother turn out the corner of my eye and looked at him. He raised an eyebrow and nodded like he thought I was crazy to wait. Cynthia was just looking at me in the rear-view mirror.

I took the brush in my hand. “I’m not sure I know how to do this.” I muttered and put the brush to her hair.

I started brushing in long strokes with one hand. Laura reached back with one had and took my hand with the brush. She asked for my other hand. I held it up by her shoulder and she took it gently. She placed my empty hand on the back of her head, told me to press firmly. She put my right hand with the brush beneath it and pushed downward through her hair. She pulled my left hand down along behind it.

“Like that.” she said.

She demonstrated a couple more times and I kept it up.

At that time, I couldn’t explain what it felt like. Now, I think about the how the brush moved smoothly through her hair, the waves turned through the brush with amazing ease. As my left hand followed downward, her hair was like silk under my fingers. After a few strokes, she took my left hand and put it under her hair and the brush as I stroked, so the bristles were against my fingers on the other side. “That way, you can get all the through.”, she said. The back of my hand brushed against her back above her dress as I brushed. I found myself pulling outward to avoid the contact.

“Not out,” she said, “down.”

“Oh, man.” I muttered.

The feelings inside me were strange. I was lost in her hair as I brushed.

“Something wrong?”

I hardly realized that I’d said something out loud.

“Uh, no,” I stuttered. Now I felt like I should explain myself. “It’s just that you’re hair, is so…”

And there I was… a poet, and couldn’t think of a word. After a few moments, she threw her head back, shaking her hair. She turned, smiled and took the brush.

“Thank Kızılay Escort you, John!” she said.

Her eyes were penetrating again, even in the second that she looked at me. I looked at the front seat. Carl and Cynthia were both looking at me. They both smiled and got out of the car. I was afraid I’d made a fool of myself.

We went inside. We watched “Evita” on stage. Carl had ordered wine and occasionally slipped me a glass. When I’d finish, he pull it back in front of him and order another. Eventually, Cynthia didn’t want any more and he started giving me hers. I guess I had about four or five glasses. Through the play, Laura would look at me with those eyes and smile. At one time, she looked like she was going to cry. She had turned and pushed her chair closer to me so she could see the stage. During one of her emotional times, she put her hand over on my leg. I jumped. She looked at me right away to see what was wrong, then patted my leg, leaving her hand where it was.

I looked at Carl and Cynthia and realized they couldn’t have noticed, because they were on the other side of the table. My heart sped up a little, but eventually calmed down as nothing else happened. I wrote it off as her need for a little support for her emotions.

When we left, I was a little giddy because of the wine. I jumped in the back of the car. I forgot what we were laughing about. Laura hopped in and immediately slid all the way over, pinning me against the door. She was laughing, too, and I made little of the motion. I was having a good time. Carl said something to Cynthia that left an opening for a sexual “innuendo”. Being in my frame of mind, I opened my big mouth and took advantage of it. It was one of those things you say, and as soon as you realize it, you wish you could take it back. Not because it wasn’t funny, it was hilarious because they all laughed. It was because it was something I probably shouldn’t have said.

Laura laughed and said “You’re bad!” as she grabbed my arm. “Oooo, and you’re strong, too!”

Embarrassed again, I laughed and apologized.

“That’s ok,” she said, “and you’re funny.”

Her hand went from my arm back to my leg and a short quick sense of soberness swept over me again as I caught my breath. But it must not have been so obvious this time, because she didn’t react. Cynthia and Carl started talking in the front seat.

“So,” Laura said, “do you have a girlfriend?”

I wasn’t sure how I should answer that. I didn’t believe she was really coming on to me because she was older. It could have been the wine making her get close. But again, in my frame of mind, I figured honesty was the best policy.

“No.” I said replied calmly.

She drew her head back, still leaning against me.

“What? All of the things I’ve heard about you, and you don’t have a girlfriend?”

“I’m not too good with girls.” I muttered, trying to keep a grin on my face.

I was beginning to get the depressed again. It was probably the wine.

“I don’t believe that,” she said softly, “Why?”

I felt like I was going to choke up. I took a long deep breath to regain my composure and to gain time to think about what I was going to say. I guess I took too long.

“You don’t have to talk about it.” she said

I took another deep breath to try once more; too long again. “It might help,” she almost whispered, “maybe I can help.”

I felt stupid. I didn’t know her. Maybe she was older than me, but she was still a girl. How could I explain it to her?

I tried to turn my depressed feelings into an “psychiatric” mood, in order to get them under control. I sighed and started

“I shouldn’t bore you with this. It’s my problem”

“How do you know, unless you tell me?” she said.

Another big sigh, and I let go. Again, I guess it was the wine, but I started spilling my stories about what happened with girls since I started getting interested. I kept my voice down so Carl and Cynthia wouldn’t hear me. Laura listened intently. I looked at her a couple of times. Her eyes were concerned now, but I still felt embarrassed and scared.

“Well, that’s it,” I said, “I just screw things up”.

We were pulling up in front of Carl’s apartment. Laura reached up and turned my head to face her.

“That’s not what I’m hearing.” she said.

Carl looked up in the mirror.

“Hey, it’s been awful quiet back there! You guys still alive?” Laura sat up and smiled.

“Just having an adult conversation!” Laura answered.

“John? Adult? Since when?” Carl laughed.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I answered. Carl turned around.

“Look, Cynthia and I have to go see how her aunt is. Would you guys mind staying here for a while? We’ll give you a call and tell you how everything’s going.”

Before I could answer, Laura spoke up.

“We can wait. John here will protect me, he’s a big boy.”

I have to be honest. I really didn’t think anything would happen, but the possibilities were promising.

Really, I liked Laura. She seemed to care and listen. She was…. comfortable. “Cool”, I said as I opened the door. Laura practically pushed me out when the door opened because she was leaning on me. We started laughing and I helped her out of the car. Carl handed me his apartment key and we waved goodbye as they drove away. Laura was giggling, trying to get the keys away from me.

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