Rhonda's First Time

I represented my high school Bishop McDonnell , at an organization dedicated to brotherhood the National Conference of Christians and Jews.  I was an earnest sophomore determined to eliminate racial intolerance one bigot at a time.  If world harmony depended on sensitivity exercises, the NCCJ was team trainer to we teenaged brotherhood Olympians.  We performed anti-racist dramas. We argued ceaselessly that religious and cultural differences added value and diversity to the human mosaic. We sang, held hands and swayed.

During a routine NCCJ prep sessions I felt heat!  Out of the blue, a spark ignited between me and the outspoken Lincoln High School firebrand.  He was cocky, opinionated, argumentative and today suddenly very cute.  Les* and I lingered after NCCJ functions discussing independent films and the best countries for expatriation.  He was science fiction, I was science fantasy.  We just might end up being friends.  When not crusading against racism, we explored the underground labyrinth of Rockefeller Center, discovered treasures of the Botanic Gardens and roamed the Coney Island boardwalk.  If it was free in a NYC park we did it: movies, concerts, Shakespeare.  I thought we were friends.  Les thought we were dating.  Turns out we were both half right.

When our friendship got to the I.D. bracelet stage, our hand holding led to kissing. That’s when things got weird.  Les was a senior graduating into full testosterone overdrive.  I was a chaste Catholic school girl contemplating the possibility of life as a nun.  A romantic goodnight kiss, for any normal person is a sweet sign of affection.  To a good Catholic girl it’s a deadly “Occasion of Sin“.  I didn’t have a clue what sex was but all that tongue dancing & groping felt like a one way ticket to hell.  I resisted… for months.

One night I finally beat Les in a particularly competitive game of Scrabble.  I was probably gloating a bit when I mentioned it was after 9 o’clock and time for him to go home.  In the downstairs hallway I pursed my lips for a quick kiss and I raised my hand to open the door.  Les pressed me against the wall. He kissed me like he was trying to tell me something that I couldn’t hear over the sound of my own heart beating.

I thought, this can’t be sex, I’m standing upright.  Is this that source of secret laughter?   Why do  I feel totally out of control in a very powerful way?  Every part of me is having an out of body experience.  I’m kind of scared.  Just like when Les insisted we go on the Coney Island Cyclone.  Once I realized I was really doing it, I couldn’t stop the experience.  I had to keep breathing and hold on until that ride came to a jerky halt.  Did I feel good? Did I feel bad?  I don’t know.

I DID know these three things:  I definitely felt different, my life would never be the same…and I just might do it one more time. THAT is exactly the way I felt the first time I did stand-up comedy.

*Names have been changed to indicate the guilty.