There was a cool body of water near my college, not quite large enough to be a real lake, but that was what everyone called it. A couple of my friends from the area liked to fish there. The surrounding neighborhood started developing around the time I started college, and one development was an unremarkable little restaurant called "Ricky's." I still remember the name because Ricky Gervais reminded me of the owner of that place, when I fell in love with that show years later, and made a "that's kind of interesting" moment of synaptic linkage. Ricky's served mostly traditional American food, burgers, club sandwiches, etc. They had a period where they tried to revamp the menu to include more local food, and I liked the way they cooked their fish, but I doubt much of the yield came from the lake.
That was where I had my first date with Minnie, if I could call her that. I remembered it so well mostly because what happened afterward was one of the most intense sexual experiences I've had in my life. She picked me up from that small townhouse apartment. She drove a red American made car, Chevy or Pontiac, as everyone did around here, and my roommate laughed about the clear sexual role reversal when he saw her. Her car was a bit small and I felt a little suffocated in the passenger seat. We bantered a bit, and all I remembered was being strangely aroused the minute I stepped into that car. I really wasn't paying too much attention to what she was saying--a few details I don't even know if it was given to me then or sometime before. She was from a few states over in California. Her father was a dentist and her mother stayed at home. She had two brothers, and I eventually met one of them. She spoke with a certain slow, bewildering tone that was quietly sexual, and I remember distinctly that all I ever wanted to do was to grab her above and below at the same time.
Don't really remember what we had for dinner. After dinner we took a slow stroll down the lake. I remember it being very awkward until we reached a patch of mud, where I made my move. It wasn't very late and the sun was barely set. She took a good look at me and I kept quiet, and said "what?" As dull as I was, it was easy to grab her and kiss her. I kissed maybe a half dozen girls before her, and always marveled at the soft, fluid-filled texture of a woman's lips. But what struck me was how hard her tongue was, as it invaded me in an obvious passionate tension. I remember thinking, nobody kissed me like that before--what does she want from me?
That thought did last very long, and as I slowly touched her breasts with the tip of my fingers through her thin dress, I grew hard pretty quickly, a pattern that continues to this, when seeing a naked body doesn't necessarily turn me on but kissing it and touching it would make me feel that electric link from up here to down there, and that part of me become embarrassingly engorged and indefatigably yearning. The sense of touching is much more erotic to me than the sense of seeing. When that happens I often like to move closer, as I am taller than most women I have kissed, and I like to them to know that pushing right next to their pubis was my pulsating desire.
That night we did something pretty stupid. We had unprotected sex. I suppose she should've taken more responsibilities because of her age, and I always thought that I wouldn't be the type who would do things like that either, but it happened anyway. It was also the first time when I felt, after the sex, that I was falling deeply tangled into something emotionally viscus, like falling into a spider web, or stirring a syrup with a wooden rod. For a few days thereafter I was convinced that this feeling was Love.