Saturday, March 03, 2012

The First Cut Is The Deepest

This is a picture of the first person I ever had "sex" with.

Dianne Hicks was her name and I couldn't even tell you where she is or even if she is still alive.

Dianne was a waitress at Harvey's, the restaurant that consumed my life at that time. Around this time, my sister in law knew someone at The Academy of Radio and Television in Bettendorf, which was basically a school that taught you how to be on the radio. I couldn't go even part time because of the stupid restaurant. I needed the money and my folks were not the type to allow me to go to radio school while there was work to be done. After passing the audition over there and despite Chuck Hamilton (the head of the school) taking a personal interest in me, I couldn't go. I had to work in most of my spare time.

Dianne showed up at the restaurant one day as the new waitress. She was very lovely, long fiery red hair, pulled back and a bit of a lisp that I thought was very cute. Dianne was 19, I was maybe 17.
Dianne was also six months pregnant from a gentleman who heard the news and left. She was always very sweet to me which only heightened my curiosity about her. Apparently, the father came home from Vietnam, they went out for a bit, he got her pregnant, left her a goodbye note and that was it, she never saw him again. I was immediately very empathetic and started to find her fascinating.

The restaurant was open 24/7, so we worked together a lot, and sometimes when the clientele had a bit too much to drink, I would have to step in and "save" her. I was her "hero". In that environment, she knew she could count on me to do my work and we'd rock as a team. We worked in very close quarters so we were right up on each other most of the time in somewhat stressful situations.

As the day of her delivery came, I began to realize she really didn't have much of a family. Her dad was dead and her mom lived far away, she was on her own and had to keep working. Her life wasn't easy. I guess I became the "surrogate" father, little brother, best friend and confidant between taking orders, clearing tables and running the restaurant.

My mom was our boss and she could tell Dianne and I were getting pretty close. She warned me about older women at my age. "In ten years, the age difference won't matter, but she knows so much more of the world than you do, be careful  about being in over your head" she said. "She could really break your heart."

Dianne went into labor on a Saturday morning about 10:30. It was not a"regular" labor. She was struck with massive pains that brought hew to her knees, the water broke all over the restaurant and there was no one there to take her to the hospital but me. We weren't really busy, so I called mom at home, told her Dianne and I were off to the hospital and she needed to get to the restaurant.

The ride to the hospital was not an easy one. Dianne was screaming at the top of her lungs and was in great pain. We got to the hospital emergency room, they wheeled her in, I parked the car and waited. No, I'm not the husband, brother or any relation, thanks. No, I'm not her boyfriend either.
Who am I? Good question.I'm her best friend, I said.

I'm no doctor, but apparently, the baby moved into a "breech" position, where the ass comes out first. I can't even imagine what this does to a woman, but the picture in my mind isn't good. Dianne was fine, she had a baby boy who was "healthy", I think he was about a nine pound baby.

I visited her when I could between school and work, it seemed she was in the hospital quite some time but healed pretty quickly. She was back at work in a month, not quite up to speed, but I helped her as much as I could. One Friday night, she wanted to go get a drink. She knew a bar where we could get served since I was barely seventeen.We went by, had a couple of drinks and wanted to know if I wanted to go to her house.

I about swallowed my tongue.

"S--s-ure." I stammered. Oh boy, this was it. There were a few instances at the restaurant where she would throw a glance my way or rub up against me, but I always dismissed them.

Not this time. Man, here it was! The boy was about to become a man. Yippie-kayo!

I was ready. I read about this moment in Playboy and as we were driving to her house, I ran everything I read through my mind to make sure I got the whole thing right.

OK. Done. Ready.

Dianne had a bit too much too drink and it was a rough night at the restaurant, but I didn't care. We got inside her house, she paid the babysitter and finally, we were alone. She leaned over and kissed me with those big red ruby lips and told me "I've wanted to do this since I met you".

Oh crap.

I thought I was going to burst through my skin. Uh oh, not so fast, wait a minute, what did Playboy tell me to do? Think about something else entirely. Right.
What was Bob Gibson's ERA? Guitar solo. What was the square root of 67? Who wrote "For Whom the Bell Tolls?" Drum solo. OK. Whew!

Dianne started taking off MY clothes. Shit. Guitar solo.

Then hers. Double shit. Beethoven's fifth symphony.

Not now. Please not now! This was such an unknown territory to me I might as well be Magellan sailing the ocean blue, I needed a sextant AND a compass.

OK, what actually counts as foreplay?


The next thing I know, we're in the missionary position and I am trying to figure this out. I think I'm in. Wait, I know I'm in. I don't feel anything. Is this the way this is supposed to be? I am NOT impressed.

As I try and figure out this sex thing from the top, I look down and Dianne is completely passed out and gone. I didn't feel anything and apparently, she didn't either. Now I don't know what to do and I'm devastated that this "sex" thing was a sham. All this holding back for what?

I was physically ready to go but according to Dianne, she hadn't completely healed from the breech birth surgery, so she was not. As delicately as I can put it, there was no friction and it was just well...nothing.

For me or her.

First attempt at sex:major fail. Having someone fall asleep on you during the act could have done some real deep psychological damage but at that point, it didn't matter, I didn't feel a thing. I thought that's what "sex" was, and man, was I disappointed. How cruel for this young man to be led on to thing it was this wonderful life changing event.  I didn't feel a thing.

All this teenage angst, still unreleased.

After that, Dianne called in sick one day at work and I never saw her again. I guess she found someone and took off. She never said "boo", just left and that was it. I never even heard from her, ever.

Mom was right.

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