Prisoner at Large pt 2

So, I had a decision to make: Bus Girl (Margaret), Van Girl (Debra), or Sensuous Greeting Girl (Tina). I was very nervous around all of them, and despite their obvious interest, I didn't have the confidence to get close to any of them. So, what would it be? Door number one, door number two or door number three?

Before I tell you that, did I mention Suzanne Kohler? We had health class together. Health class was a euphemism for sex ed. Suzanne was short and stocky, but cute in her way. Suzanne told me one day that her friends were going to beat her up unless she got me to kiss her. I'm not making this up! But she surely was. So, I agreed to meet her after school behind the back gate. We walked to the woods across the street and lay down. Then I kissed her. Once. Then I said, "Well, your friends won;t beat you up now!" and walked away. She must have thought I was pretty thick.

And I was.

So, who did I eventually choose? None of the above. I chose an altogether different maiden. A woman who was absolutely irresistible, a girl that always relaxed me instead of making me nervous, one that always made me feel good and never reminded me of my sad past.

She was Miss Columbia 1977, Maria Juana.

While the girls of southern Maryland were trying to get to know me, I was making friends with the local stoners. My closest friend was Chuck. We first met while comparing bong designs for art class. Chuck had recently moved down from the DC area and he still had lots of contacts up there - as did his older brother and sister. In other words, he always had good dope.

Weed (and alcohol, to a degree) provided release from my inhibitions and allowed me to just be normal - or what passed for normal among the school's stoners. For the next three years, I got high nearly every day. I actually kept track on a calendar and achieved my goal of smoking pot every day for the entire year of 1978. Yay me!

Eventually, I was able to have a few short-term girlfriends, but no relationship lasted more than a couple of weeks. My relationship with pot was more enduring, however. I skipped school frequently, turned in little of my homework and didn't care when my grades plummeted. Every Friday was spent trying to acquire an ounce of pot and the rest of the week was spent trying to maintain a continuous high.

I met Binky during that time and also Nikki. I even got back in touch with Suzanne Kohler and dated her for a short time. But that's another story. So drugs helped a little, as it provided an atmosphere in which I could actually interact with females. But as I got to know a girl and we inched closer to having sex, my old insecurities came back and got in the way. I never kept a girlfriend longer than a few weeks.

Finally, in college, I met girls (like Lindsay) who were aggressive enough to plow through my insecurities and just do me. After a few encounters like that, I no longer needed pot and stopped smoking it. My grades improved, too. Go figure. About that time I also sorted out any doubts that my abuser had caused me to have about my sexuality.

I was not cured, but I was on my way and functioning approximately like a normal person. It took self-medication and sexual promiscuity to do it, but I felt better. So forgive me if I don't throw in with conventional morality.

What was my point in all this? I don't know, really. Just that a recent encounter with a real asshole and abuser brought it all up to me again. I've realized that my injuries are scabbed over but not so healed that they can't be ripped open again. I've realized that there are fuckers who prey on people with these experiences, and rather than helping the abused (which they often claim as their goal), they actually revel in the pain of others and seek to probe it for their twisted pleasure.

So, if you decide that you like me and you see me walking down the hall, I may not acknowledge you unless you grab my hand. Even then, I may not let on how much your touch means to me, but it does mean so very much. It truly does. I thank you for that.