Monday, March 23, 2009

This One Time, On Flag Duty...

It never fails to amuse people when they find out what I was like when I was younger, and I don't blame them. What the hell was I doing in ROTC?

I was hiding, that's what. I was fighting the inevitability of who I am now... It doesn't matter why.

A friend's post reminded me of this incident... And I can't stop giggling about it.

I was on flag duty for a football game at my high school. Usually I avoided this like the plague, preferring to handle the stationary pole in front of the school where no one was watching, but the girl who was supposed to be doing it had some kind of mishap, so there I was. The back up.

I hate football. I hate football players. They guys at my school pretty much ruined me for any kind of athlete fantasy, they were such enormous douche bags. The Lacrosse team was a different story, but I digress...

So Connie and I got all suited up, secured each other's white, patent leather flag holsters (Oh the fucking humanity!), checked that our 'lil hats were on right, and waited inside the gym, near the locker rooms for further instruction. I don't think either of us had ever been saddled with this duty before. We had no idea what we were doing.

I remember hearing a god awful lot of whooping from outside, the rednecks were all riled up. The team was doing really well that year, hurrah. -I can't remember who it was that finally approached us, standing there, fondling our poles, but we were instructed to go out to the field via the boys locker room.

Personally, I assumed at this point the boys must have been suited up and ready to go, as the flag ceremony was supposed to directly proceed their emergence onto what would surely be the field of victory, but I was wrong.

Connie flung the doors open, probably with the opposite assumption in mind, grinning like a fiend, and walked slowly towards the exit.

I felt my face go burning hot before anyone even noticed we were there... It was just so damned naughty. In memory, it seems like the benches stretched on into eternity, towels flung all over, mostly naked, impressively muscled young men standing around with beads of water or sweat refusing to drip from their skin... I'm not immune, just steadfastly apposed. Give me a fucking break!

George, bane of my existence since about fourth grade, was the first to realize we were there. He took two easy steps towards me, a maniacal grin creeping, "See anything ya like?" he drawled. "Fuck off." I replied, keeping my eyes glued to his, though I could see the swing of his cock, fuzzy in periphery.

He took another step in my direction, menacingly... "You're blushing." he whispered in my ear as he passed.

I was blushing... I was seeing a lot... Pretty much for the first time, at least in living color. I was supposed to be... What? Embarrassed? Shocked? Scared to death of cock? I wasn't... And that's why I knew I should hurry my ass right out of there.

But where the hell was Connie? Well, she had wondered from our route, and she was chatting up someone she did not yet realize was a freshman... "Connie!" I hissed. "Whaaaaa?" She was outwardly the hooch that I was hiding, though I was privy to the fact that she NEVER went there. -In the four years we were friends, she was engaged to three guys whom she teazed mercilessly, but never so much as stroked any of them. -Which in a way lead to the end of our friendship, I guess.

Anywhore, I retrieved her just as the Coach walked in, almost had a stroke, and started yelling at the team to, "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST! Put some fucking cloths on! Where are my pills?!?!! Damn it boys, there are LADIES present!" We scurried towards the door and out, memorizing the stunning array of flesh as we went.

There was no time to laugh or digest what was going on until we were outside. Connie immediately started a wish list... I immediately started mentally flogging myself. There was a time when I gave a shit... About what kind of girl I knew I was going to be, and I fought it. I beat myself up about it for some time before deciding to just embrace it.

We did our thing, while a stream of leering boys with all the wrong ideas flooded the field, and then we hung around ignoring the game.


George had always enjoyed tormenting me in whatever way his pea brain could concoct, and he didn't have to think real hard anymore. Whenever we crossed paths he'd try to back me into a corner, or taunt me with inuendo... Little did he know that I suspected Hate Sex would be the most fun of all, and I tried not to let on.

I have three enduring memories of him, all somewhat disturbing.

1- In fourth grade he had racked up so many visits to the office that they decided corporal punishment was the only answer, so a paddling was scheduled. We weren't pals, he was a pecker head, but I still felt terribly sorry for him... Through a rediculous series of events, I ended up in the hallway, crossing paths with him on his way back from the event.

His freckled face was beat red, and I could see the tracks where tears had fallen. My immediate reaction was to reach out and touch his arm, words of sympathy and reassurance flying to my lips. He jerked his arm away and growled something unintelligable, storming towards the bathroom. I think that's probably the day he actually started hating me. I understand, I was a witness to a rare moment of weakness... I still feel kindof bad about it. I don't know what they thought they were going to accomplish with that, but they failed.

2- In sixth grade... I sortof accidentally... Punched him in the face. *grimmace*

Yeah, it was around Christmas break time, and it was a free for all in class. I was at the back of the room with my best friend, joking around and dancing like a moron, and he came up behind me and grabbed my arm. I spun around and popped him right in the nose, and then we simultaneously covered our noses- me in horror, and him.. Ya know, in pain. "SHIT!" I yelped through my hands, and his eyes just burned right through me as the boys all made that, "Oh no she di-in't" hissing sound... Again, his freckles all but disappeared in a burning sea of red, and he tore his hand away, lurching towards me. Two or three of our mutual friends jumped in front of me, aborting I don't know what... Part of me thinks they should have just let him hit me back, at least we would have been even.

I wonder what he was about to tell me before that happened... -The teacher witnessed this whole exchange, by the way. She was kindof a bitch, she didn't even check on him or send him to the nurse, nor did she admonish me. Maybe she knew it was an accident? Her face said she thought he deserved it. And he kinda did, but I still wish it wasn't me.

3- Naked in the locker room, of course... I have no idea why he was so pissed off at the world, he was hung like a moose, and if that isn't having God on your side, I really don't know what is.


  1. A lot of people say that those who have their glory days in school are the ones that will be less successful after they have graduated. What do you think of this?
    And, I've also sort of accidentally punched an old classmate in the face.

  2. I don't know really. I've seen cases that support it, and am ashamed to say I was sortof pumped about that... But I've also seen some people who were pretty high on life in school turn out okay. I guess I was happy about that too. -By and large though, it IS my favorite group of slacker-nerd-weirdos who grew up to be really interesting and successful in their fields.

    Of course, the way I measure success might be somewhat skewed. One of my favorite cases of slacker-nerd-weirdo success is a guy I knew since kindergarten who grew up to be a truly fantastic tattoo artist. I couldn't really be more proud of him. He seems happy, too.

    I'm resisting the urge to google George:p

  3. The only question I have is "Did the Curtains match his pubes?" No wait...I did that wrong.

  4. This was an excellent blog!!