The Wayback Machine Part 4

Because I’m having so much fun with my new toy, I’ve decided to drop another story about my primitive social skills as a bluzteen. This go-round is set for the autumn after the Big Move from Columbus.

Sherman, now set the Wayback Machine for Whitehouse OH, 1976.

The Situation:

It was Sophomore year… another new town, another new school. But unlike years prior, love found me before the first snow. I’d decided to take advantage of this relocation as a way to start to change the way I was. I wanted to be more outgoing and not so shy. I wanted to speak up rather than blend into the background. It started off OK.

Shortly after school started, I met a really nice-looking blonde named Kathy, who became my first girlfriend. That, alone, was an adventure in itself. I thought she might like me so I sent word through an intermediary, who then reported back that she did like me. I tracked her down immediately, and said something like, “Since I like you and you like me, want to go steady?”

No build-up, no sweet talk, just the facts. Yeah, I know:

Surprisingly, she accepted and our 2-year romance provided me many lessons about how not to treat someone in a relationship. I thank my lucky stars that she wasn’t experienced enough to notice. 

Now with a chance to start fresh in a new school, here I am awarded an opportunity to play Lady’s Man. Sadly, I hadn’t a clue how that was done. I tried to be cool, but my biggest fear was that she’d figure out what a putz I was and bolt. I was so determined to do nothing wrong, that I mostly did nothing, period. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for over 3 months, without ever having kissed... not once, not so much as a peck. We’d walk down the hall, holding hands, or with arms around each other, but at the end of the day, we’d walk out to the bus, and I’d be dying to sweep her into my arms and plant one on her. But we’d just kind of look into each other’s eyes, say goodbye, and let our hands slowly part as we walked away to our respective buses. 

I desperately wanted to kiss her, but the “moron” part of my brain kept telling me that she wouldn’t feel the same way. I couldn’t accept that someone that fine was interested in me. 

Eventually, after months of torment, (and I can look it up, I have it chronicled in painful detail in my 10th-grade journal) I brought up the subject. I basically asked for permission… hell, I did all but produce a graph and pie chart to back my case. She was totally receptive, so in the back of my mind, I was telling myself, “Nice going jagoff… you just wasted 3 months that you could have been sucking face with your hot girlfriend!”

Eventually, kissing became a regular event…hell, we practically OD’d on it. It wasn’t long before we were holding feverish make-out sessions, where I would spend hours kissing her, and plotting how I might “accidentally” brush the back of my hand across one of her boobs. (Yes, I had “taking it slow” down to an art form)

Take 2:

No mystery, I just kiss her.  I find a moment, look into her eyes, and say something like, “Would you mind if I kissed you?” Or maybe I just lean in and go for it.

Analysis:

There are probably no big life-changing results here…just a little more confidence in a relationship, and a lot less stress from fussing about it. We still wouldn’t have ever had sex…hell, she was a “good Catholic girl,” and I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. 

It was a shame the way things went between Kathy and me. I mean, I had no idea what a relationship meant, or what was expected of a boyfriend. The only thing that kept us “together” was that she didn’t either. I mean a whole summer would go by and I’d never call or visit, even though we only lived a few miles apart. (I was far too shy to be that forward.) 

This doesn’t really have a lot to do with my premise in conducting these past-bending endeavors, but Kathy was a really good girl and I should have done a lot better by her. 

I broke up with her early in our senior year. This was around the time I was bonding with my buddies with whom I would set up The Barn. I’m sure I was influenced by their poon-hounding ways and decided that since no poon was forthcoming to this hound, I ought to hunt in another forest. She was most decidedly NOT happy with me and I can’t blame her.

The funny thing is that I would have had no idea what to do. I’m sure it would have been a disaster and I probably would have knocked her up. So that worked out…

After high school, we almost got back together. We went out a few times… made out a few times… I don’t remember why it didn’t “take.” But we parted on good terms.

I saw her again at our 20th high school reunion. She was an upright, square-shouldered, clear-eyed Air National Guard officer, and still damned fine-looking.  I told her that she’d been a “rough draft” experience for me and that I learned a lot about what not to do in a relationship. I told her I’d become a lot better man after we’d parted, and I was sorry that I couldn’t have done better by her. At least that’s what I think I told her. 

After all the beer that night, it’s hard to remember. I might have just said “Nice tits”.