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Copyright © 2005 by J.F. Gonzalez.
All rights reserved.
Wildside Press LLC
August 13, 1982, 10:45 a.m.
Alfonso DiMartini was at home washing the breakfast dishes when George Castro knocked on the front door and then let himself in, as was custom at the DiMartini house.
Al was blasting an old Kansas album on the stereo, and George crossed the living room to the stereo to turn the volume down. Alfonso turned around in annoyance. “Hey, what're you doing?"
“I gotta talk to you,” George said. He entered the kitchen, looking around. “Pam at work?"
“Yeah.” Pam was Alfonso's cousin. Al shared a two-bedroom duplex with his older brother, Dominick, and his cousin, Pam. Dominick was a PhD student at UCLA and was one of those esoteric fall-outs from the hippie era. He had dropped so much acid that he could sit in the middle of the room and go into auto-trip just by listening to vintage Pink Floyd or Genesis. Pam, on the other hand, was a working girl. She pulled down a nine-to-five at a local insurance company. Al was bumming it this summer until the fall semester started. Come September, Al and George were freshman at Long Beach State.
“Good,” George said. He went to the refrigerator and got himself a beer. He opened the bottle with an opener and took a deep swig. He sat down at the kitchen table, not knowing how to approach this. Alfonso took a break from the dishes and got himself a beer, too.
“Something's troubling you, my friend,” Al said. He pulled up a chair opposite George and regarded him. Al was short and wiry, with sharp features and high cheekbones; he had nice, Italian features. His black hair was collar length, brushed back from his forehead. His grin was merry, his eyes gleeful; they seemed to say,
going to be a good day, my friend, no matter what is troubling you. So lay it on me.
That's what friends are for
“Okay.” George took another swig of beer. He had already killed half the bottle of Michelob. “Yesterday afternoon, Stacy Temple and I went over to visit John Burke. And
... well, after we got back to Stacy's place one thing kind of led to another and—"
“Say no more,” Alfonso said, grinning. “I know just what's troubling you. You're on the rebound from Sara and you fell back into your thing with Stacy and you're afraid that you're going to lead her on."
“No,” George said. “Well, yeah, I guess, but that's not really it.” George shook his head, not really knowing where to begin. Al had it half right. Last year George had fallen into a fling with Stacy Temple, one of their classmates with whom they had just graduated from high school. Stacy was a pretty girl with tan skin and long black hair. She was tall and had a body to die for, but you would never know it to look at her. She didn't wear much make-up, she wore her hair long and straight, and she dressed plainly. George had never really known why such an obviously pretty girl would want to downgrade her appearance until yesterday.
George had known Stacy since the two of them were in the fourth grade. She had been somewhat popular in grade school, but by the time they reached junior high school she had stopped all the extra-curricular activities; no more after-school volunteer or club stuff. She became a nobody like George and the crowd he hung with. He and Stacy had known each other casually for the better part of their childhood, but when they were both juniors in high school their relationship started off with a bang when she had invited him over to her house one afternoon after school to get stoned.
Funny how drastically things changed from one's junior year of high school to graduation. In January of 1981, when George and Al and Stacy and their friends had been juniors, graduation and the future were the furthest thought from their minds. George's hair was shoulder length. Despite an almost daily ingestion of hemp, George still had managed to maintain a B average without trying. Stacy was the opposite. She was on the honor roll and appeared to live the life of the perfect high school student. So he had been pretty surprised when she invited him to her place to get high one afternoon when they were on their way home from school via the public bus system.
They had gotten off at the corner of Van Ness and Compton Boulevard and made their way to the simple three-bedroom home set off from the semi-busy street. George still remembered that day perfectly. School had let out early due to some faculty meeting, and they arrived at Stacy's around one. Her parents had been at work. By one-fifteen they were lounging in her bedroom, her stereo tuned to the local FM rock station, and she retrieved an impressive looking water bong from her closet. That was the second thing that impressed George.
The third had been her choice in pot. She'd had some prime Thai Stick. They were stoned and giggling like a bunch of fools within minutes.
Eventually one thing led to another, and they were making out. George had never thought of Stacy as particularly attractive before, but once her clothes were off he saw that she had a beautiful body; long legs ending in curvy hips, a flat stomach, full breasts with large, dark aereoles. For the first time, George began to wonder why she downgraded her appearance so much at school. But then he stopped dwelling on this thought as they began making love. The weed only helped to heighten the orgasm. It made every sensation, every touch of skin, every kiss, seem electrified.
He had seen her the next day. Got stoned. Had quickie sex. He was out of the house by four.
And the routine had repeated itself. At least three times a week. Depending on how horny she got, sometimes Monday through Friday.
George had melded into the relationship easily. During school their relationship was the same as it had always been, but once inside the privacy of her bedroom the barriers broke down. They became lovers in a way that George had never imagined they would. She had obviously gained valuable experience in the things she showed him, and it didn't strike George until much later that she had a sort of used look about her.
“Remember when I first started seeing Stacy?” he asked Alfonso. “How I felt kind of funny about it?"
“Yeah,” Al said. George had confessed to his friends that while he enjoyed having sex with Stacy, he didn't feel right about the relationship. His friends had urged him to dump her. George had stuck with her for another few months.
“I couldn't express the reason why I felt that way about her because I didn't want to sound like an asshole,” George said. “But what I felt weird about was that she ... well, she seemed to have been around the block quite a few times, if you know what I mean."
Alfonso shrugged. “So she's a closet slut. Big deal."
“That's not it, though,” George said, taking another pull from his beer. One quarter left now.
George had become so immersed in Stacy that the months had flown by. Stacy had guided him from shy, inexperienced lover, to a stallion in just a few short months.
Stacy had always been the aggressor and George liked playing the role of the passive, submitting willingly to her advances and letting her have her way with him. That seemed to have been all she wanted, because she never brought up relationship stuff; no, “are you ever going to take me out on a real date?", or “Do you love me?", shit like that. All she really ever said during their sexual interludes was “I want you to fuck me!” He had been only too happy to oblige.
What broke it off for them was a chance encounter with a cheerleader from North High School he'd met at the Del Amo Mall. He had been there to see a movie with Shane Taylor and Peter Suzuki, and George was smitten with her. Apparently she had been equally smitten, and they had exchanged phone numbers. They had gone out on a date a week later, and within a few short days they were an item. George tried to keep the relationship a secret from Stacy, but he knew he would have to tell her something. She continued to call him during the first month of the fall semester of their senior year, and finally he told her that he was seeing somebody else. At the time, she hadn't seemed to mind. In fact, he was positive she hadn't minded. Stacy had said she understood, she would be busy this upcoming school year trying to make the grades to get into a good university. They had remained friends.
“So what is it?” Alfonso asked.
George finished the beer then retrieved another one. He opened it up and took a long swallow. He sighed, fighting back the memories. Even now, thinking back on it, everything had still seemed so innocent. He recalled hugging Stacy after the graduation ceremony shortly after the entire class of 1982 had flung their caps into the air. He remembered catching a glimpse Stacy's father videotaping them. That sure brought things into focus; especially after seeing the video tape yesterday afternoon that Stacy had goaded him into watching. After the graduation ceremony she'd kissed him and said “Call me in a few weeks."
“So I called her yesterday,” George said, narrating the events that had followed the graduation. “She had called me a few days before, suggesting we visit John, and I said, yeah, sure. So we did it. I had my mom's station wagon, so I picked her up at her place and we went to John's house and had a great time. We just sat there and bullshitted, had a few beers, that was it. We left a few hours later and Stacy suggested we hang out at her place. I had told Stacy that Sara and I had broken up and ... well, I caught strong vibes coming from her. Know what I mean?"
Alfonso nodded. “Sure. She was horny, and so were you."
“Right. Anyway, an hour later we're at Stacy's house, in bed. And we were really into it when she pushed me off her and ... got on her hands and knees. She kind of ...
leered at me, and she ... just looked so
. As if she wasn't the same girl. And she told me to fuck her in the ass. And her voice—"
Alfonso chuckled. “Is that all you're riled up about? Some girl wants you to do it in her backdoor and you got cold feet? Shit, George, that's nothing to be all freaked out over."
“That's not it. It wasn't the act
. It was the way she demanded it. It was like she became an entirely different person. She wanted me to ... dominate her, hurt her. Even her voice changed. It got ...
That's the only way I can describe it. Her whole facial expression changed. It was like I was looking at a different person."
Al shrugged. “Maybe she's into some weird role playing shit, and figured you would get into it with her."
“Will you let me finish?” George was getting irritated at Alfonso interrupting him.
“All right, sorry. Continue kimosabe."
“Okay. So, I refused to, you know, fuck her that way, and she ... got this look in her face. It was weird. She got up and grabbed me, threw me on the bed. She said she was going to rape me. She was still talking in that weird voice and she sort of wrestled me down. She was holding me down and she started reaching for something on her dresser, and I saw that it was a pair of handcuffs. I don't know how I did it, because she was so fucking strong, but I got out of her grip and pushed her off me. She sort of fell on the floor and I was up, starting to pull my clothes back on when she ... well, she lost it.” He swallowed some more beer. “She said ‘what do you know about making love, you fucking asshole! You never cared about me in the first place'."
“Whoa,” Alfonso said, spellbound by the story.
“Then she seemed to snap out of it,” George said, taking another swig of beer.
“She started crying, and I mean hard. It was as if something inside her had died, or as if some deep buried sense of rage and despair was being let loose. I didn't know what to do, I was just so stunned. Finally I went to her and tried to hold her, comfort her. She fought me off at first, crying even harder, but after awhile I had her calmed down. Finally her crying trickled down and I asked her what was wrong. It was then that she basically ...