Chapter 3 Becky Has A Boyfriend!
That night, I lay in bed trying to determine if the events of the afternoon had been a dream. Theory One still haunted my mind. Visions of excruciating humiliation mixed with pictures of me dressed as Carrie with blood running down my gown flitted through my dreams. I tried to think of every embarrassing moment I had ever had in my life, and the prospects of being made a fool by Dave Khadaj quickly rose to the top of the list.
Why, oh why had I agreed to go out with him?
I didn’t even know when the Christmas dance was. I got out of bed and scrounged through my desk to find the school calendar of events. Where was the damn calendar when you needed it? My mom was constantly harping on me to post the calendar on the wall above my desk so I would always be able to find it, but who ever does that? Then I looked up on the wall, and there it was. Guess my Mom had been in my room again, because I couldn’t remember ever putting the damn thing up on the wall.
I found the Christmas Dance posted on the calendar and it was, thankfully, still far distant in the future. I didn’t have to worry about going to the stupid dance. A lot could happen between now and then. The world could come to an end. A comet could crash into Earth, wiping out all life and Christmas dances. Yellowstone Park could erupt in a volcanic demise to civilization. So many unpredictable disasters could befall the human race. Way too many to list.
I didn’t have to worry. A lot of things could happen between now and the Christmas dance.
On the other hand, maybe I didn’t want the world to end. After all, one of the handsomest guys in Jefferson High School had asked me to go on a date with him. I looked in the mirror at the sleepy-eyed girl wearing the frumpy Snoopy pajamas. I squinted at the ugly apparition that squinted back in the mirror. If I scrunched up my eyes just enough, turned down the lights, fixed up the hair, re-did my chin, filled out my cheeks, did ANYTHING with my nose, well then I might be considered fairly pretty. But I gotta tell you, it would take a lot of makeover work to turn this dandelion into a rose.
What did Dave Khadaj see in me?
Oh, God, it was Theory One! My Prince Charming just wanted to humiliate me!
The next day, I tried to avoid Stephanie. I knew that her curiosity would know no boundaries. She found me anyway. Steph is good at that kind of thing. She wanted to know all the details about our meeting. I was a bit reluctant to give them to her, mainly because I didn’t have many details. He hadn’t called me yet, so what information did I have, other than my wild speculations? And I knew Stephanie was capable of wilder speculations than I ever could come up with. “Dave asked me to go to the Christmas dance with him,” I finally confessed.
“You’re shittin’ me! There is no way he is taking you to the Christmas dance!” I glared at her in angry exasperation. She relented. There are times, rare I admit, when I can be intimidating. “I mean, I didn’t mean that, Becky. Dave would be so lucky to take you, but what about Sue Martin? Did he say anything about her? Did he dump her? Did she dump him? And why you? And besides, isn’t he a Hindu or a Muslim or somethinbg? I don’t think he celebrates Christmas.”
I could suggest several things that might take care of Sue Martin, but I kept my mouth shut. I also didn’t tell her about my fears that this was all a mean-spirited prank. Maybe I was hoping that Dave was sincere in wanting to date me. Please, God, let him be sincere! “Maybe he is trading up,” I suggested. “And besides, there isn’t much Christmas at the Christmas dance anyway. Just a bunch of fake snow. This is California after all.”
Stephanie shook her head with the absolute certainty of someone who knows every piece of dirt on every student in Jefferson High. “More likely she dumped him. We will have to check out the rumor mill and find out what’s going on. But not now, I’ve got to run.” Stephanie hurried off to her first class, leaving me wondering, for the ten thousandth time, why she was my best friend.
I met Dave at lunch in the cafeteria. Or rather, he sought me out. Which was kind of nice in a way. Although I usually shun any public attention, having Dave Khadaj come over and join you during lunch was pretty special. A lot of people noticed, and the whispers were already starting. I would have to stop eating in the cafeteria.
Dave joined me for lunch each of the next five days. The first two days, he joined me at the table that I shared with Steph, Todd, Shamal, and Gary. On the third day, he led me to a table on the other side of the cafeteria where we could sit by ourselves. I glanced over at the table where I usually sat, but my friends didn’t seem to notice my absence. Then, once Dave started talking to me, I didn’t think about it.
After the first week, Dave brought me a rose, which really embarrassed the hell out of me. It must be an Indian custom because I never saw any of the other boys bring a flower to school for their girlfriend. There were a lot of catty remarks by those less fortunate than me, a bunch of lewd suggestions by a handful of guys who weren’t smart enough to realize they should have dropped out of school, and one encouraging remark from Todd: “It’s not an Indian thing, Becky, it’s a gay thing. I wish he had given me that rose! Girl, I am so green with envy!” Todd tried so hard to prove he was gay.
Then it hit me. He gave the flower to his girlfriend and that girl was me!
Stephanie confirmed through the rumor mill that Dave and I were a number, but the masses were split as to whether this was a good thing or a bad thing. The good thingers were in the minority, but they asserted that Dave’s interest in me showed that some jocks were really enlightened. The bad thingers maintained that Dave was scraping the barrel after giving up one of the prettiest girls in the school. As far as Sue Martin was concerned, the gossipers were still trying to figure out what happened to her. Some said that she had gotten pregnant, and that was why she and Dave weren’t seeing each other any more. Some said that she had an older man, and had dumped Dave for a more experienced hand. Or whatever it was that older men had. I decided I didn’t want to go there.
We were into our second week of “seeing” each other when I finally amassed enough courage to ask him if he would like to come over to my house after school on Wednesday so we could study together. Both my parents would be out. My mother was visiting her sister in Ohio and my father often “worked” late. Their blessed absence would give us several hours of quality study time.
Yeah, sure, you’re thinking, “The girl has such high morale standards.” You all think you know what I really had in mind. In fact, I really expected us to study. It never occurred to me that our afternoon innocence might evolve into something else.
“You’re not going to study,” declared Stephanie. “I bet that within an hour, you and he are going to be sprawled on the couch making out. Just make sure he uses a condom.”
“Stephanie! What kind of girl do you think I am?”
Stephanie rolled her eyes and wandered off.
In fact, it turned out just as Stephanie predicted. Well, almost. We didn’t need a condom. I am naive, not stupid. Yes, we did study for a while. A couple of hours in fact. More studying than I usually do. Maybe I was trying to make a good impression on Dave. After a couple of hours of staring at books, while make surreptitious glances in Dave’s direction to see if he was looking at me (yes! he was!), then we took a break. I went to the kitchen to get us some soft drinks, and when I came back, Dave was sitting on the couch. He looked so sumptuous that I almost felt myself drooling. I quickly composed myself and told my hormones to calm down. I sat next to him, careful not to touch him. I was afraid that if I did touch him, I would start climbing all over him. Apparently, he had the same concerns, since he tried to keep a safe distance between us. Fortunately, men are more practical than us girls, because he quickly realized the safe distance wasn’t enough. So, as I was hoping, before I knew what was happening, he had his arm around my shoulder. God, don’t you just know it? My head just naturally plopped onto his shoulder. Studying is hard work, and it just wore me out!
It was a wonderful feeling, so warm and comforting. Every time he touched me, I tingled with new and strange sensations. I finally got bold enough to put my arm around his waist to hold him closer to me. He lifted my chin and bent my head back. I looked up into his dark, mysterious eyes, and felt myself falling under his spell. He leaned down and gently kissed my forehead. I tilted my head back a bit more, and we had our first real, honest-to-goodness kiss.
Kissing Dave wasn’t like anything else I had ever done. This is true. I had led a totally sheltered life up to then! This was my first kiss by someone other than a relative. At first I thought I was awkward, but hey, kissing is one of the things that you can pick up with very little practice, though I must admit, the more practice, the better it is. Or maybe Dave was just a good kisser, I don’t know. A sample of one is not much to base your statistics on. If I was a gawky kisser, Dave never let me know, but continued to press his lips against mine. When his tongue started going places I didn’t expect, I found myself unable to stop him. What I had once thought was disgusting now turned out to be quite pleasurable. Strange how things change over time.
Whatever his or my experience was, we put it to good use. We continued to explore the many ways two mouths could bring pleasure to two people. I personally wanted it to go on forever, so it is not surprising that I lost track of time and the universe around me. The only thing I could focus on was the excitement I felt in Dave’s arms. I don’t know why I didn’t hear the car drive up; nor do I know why I didn’t hear the door open. But I did hear the loud, booming oath that came from the door to the living room that brought an end to our afternoon delight.
“What the hell is going on here?” yelled my father. “Rebecca! What is the meaning of this?”
I guiltily pulled away from Dave and turned to face my father, looming in the doorway to the living room. What the hell was he doing home so early? He was always late on Wednesdays! What was I doing that could possibly get him so angry? I felt Dave pull away from me. Oh, yeah, that was probably enough to piss off my Dad.
“You!” My father pointed at Dave. “Get the hell out of here! You!” He now pointed at me. “Get up to your room!”
“Dad, we’re just studying,” I tried to say, trying to keep a grip on Dave who was struggling to stand up. My father was not one to be reasoned with, but I might as well make the effort. You never know when miracles will occur.
“I know what the fuck you’re studying, Rebecca! And I can see what he is studying. I don’t want this kind of behavior going on in this house when I am not around! I don’t want some fucking Mexican in this house. I will have none of it! You’re just a baby, for Gods sake! I won’t have some over-sexed senior trying to take advantage of you.”
“I am NOT a baby,” I shouted, a bit childishly. “And he’s not a senior, he’s a junior. And he’s not Mexican, he’s Indian!”
“Maybe I better go,” said Dave as he got up and collected his books. He retreated towards the door, trying to put as much distance between him and my father as he could. My father was probably no match for Dave, but even an angry old man can be imposing at times. I couldn’t blame Dave for not standing his ground. I myself was a quivering mass of Jell-O, unable to comply with the one order I had been given.
I did manage to squeak out a half-hearted “I’ll see you in school tomorrow, Dave!” just as he escaped through the front door. I hoped he heard me. I hoped that he wouldn’t avoid me because of my insane family.
My father seemed to have forgotten that he had ordered me to my room. Instead, he decided that my continued presence was sufficient reason to rant at me some more. “Who told you that you could bring boys over here when we are not at home? What kind of a girl are you becoming, Rebecca? Are you going to get pregnant like your sister did?”
“Daddy, we weren’t doing anything!” Well, I guess we were kissing, but my knowledge of human anatomy led me to believe that pregnancy was not an immediate outcome of simple osculation.
“I saw what you were doing. And that is the first step towards him getting you into bed. As long as I am paying for your room and board, I will not have that behavior in my house.”
I felt tears starting to well in my eyes. I will not start crying! I will not start crying! “I am old enough to know how to say no, Daddy! Nothing would have happened.”
“Your sister was a year older than you, and she said the same damn thing. I won’t have the same mistake happening again. You’re grounded, Becky.” He shook his head. “Wait ’til your mother hears about this.”
“I don’t care if you ground me,” I snapped back. “You never let me go anywhere anyway, so what difference does it make?” And with that profound defiant defense, I stomped off to my room, as though it had been my idea all along.
I thought I was safe in my room, but, stupid me, I forgot to lock the door. I thought everything was all over and done. My stupid father had probably ruined any relationship I had with Dave. We weren’t doing anything, I kept telling myself, except kissing. And kissing was alright, wasn’t it? Geesh, everyone was kissed on television, and no one thought anything of it.
I was surprised when the door opened and my father stormed in. At first I just stared at him in surprise, wondering how he had gotten the lock opened. I was pretty sure I had the only key. But then I saw him starting to take his belt off, and I forgot all about the lock.
“What’s going on?” I asked, suddenly knowing all too well. “No, Daddy!”
“Lie down on the bed and pull your pants down,” he ordered.
“I didn’t do anything, Daddy!” I protested. “You have to believe me. All we were doing was kissing.” I didn’t want to move, but he came over to me and pushed me down on the bed.
“You know the rules in this house, Becky. I’ve told you over and over, I don’t want you alone with boys. I’ll not have you turning into the whore your sister is. Now, do as I told you.”
I started to cry as I did as he ordered. Throughout the punishment, I kept telling myself “It doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt.” But, damnit, it did hurt. And I really hated being treated like a child. I was fifteen, after all. I was too old to be spanked.