Charro

My friends and I were cruising Grand that night like we predictably did every Friday night. Gone were the days we hung out at the mall, looking for boys and trouble, we had wheels now and life was so much more exciting for us.

It’s funny because when I try to share my teenage years with my son he can’t fathom why we enjoyed driving around in circles for hours at a time. I don’t think he will ever truly understand the magic of finding people through happenstance and not through the virtual world. It’s beyond his reasoning and thinking. He’s been brought up as generation Z, a generation of cyber babies. I wouldn’t expect him to get it. But I did. And I loved sharing with him long drawn out, eye roll worthy stories.

One story I hadn’t shared with him though was the night I lost my virginity at the mere age of 17 years old. I am not even sure if I will ever tell him about it to be honest.

It was a typical cold December weekend. I believe it was the weekend before Christmas in fact. My friends and I were jamming out to Motley Crue, head banging no less, when we heard a guy in a lifted bronco yelling for us to pull over. His lit Marlboro red pursed between sexy lips, pointing towards the Denny’s Parking lot. We circled around and found him sitting on his hood, eagerly waiting for us to come to him. He was everything you would imagine a bad boy to be. He had that slightly dangerous appeal that drove most girls wild. Especially me. My father had taught me to stay away from those heathens. And of course I wanted to do nothing more than rebel at his authority.

His name was charro. He looked like a cross between Billy Idol and Vince Neil. He didn’t even have to speak. He could have spoke a foreign tongue. I didn’t care. I didn’t even know what I wanted exactly from him. But I knew there was something about him I had to have. He motioned for me to come towards him, never letting go of his smoke in hand. He wore an unforgettable chain sleeveless shirt. I had never even seen anything like that before around my neck of neck of the woods. I asked him where he was from and he told me he had just moved here with his Latino girlfriend from San Diego. I had never been to California. I had only seen it in the movies. I was even more intrigued. And I certainly didn’t care if he had a girlfriend. I was naive and believed once he got his hands on me she would be history anyways. I mean after all. I was told more often than not that I looked like the girl from the Aerosmith videos. And that was definitely not a bad thing. She was hot or so I thought.

I can’t believe how crazy I was back in the day. I had no filter for my sailor infused mouth and I was in fact a relentless spirit that felt immortal at times as did my crazy friends. We were all a force to be reckoned with. I don’t know how I made it through some of the things I did and somehow managed to make it out alive. He was the most dangerous man in our little town and I was about to take him in like a shot of Jager. I lit my smoke up, a camel wide, and entered into what looked more like a garage then an actual house. He had little strings of lights hanging from the falling ceiling, drips of water made clunking sounds with each penetration into the buckets through out the room. A lamp lit up with a green bulb sat on his makeshift night stand ( a collection of shoes boxes stacked up on top of one another). His room with the green hue, little lights and Harley parked in the corner. I wasn’t crazy about the Goliath sized iguana sitting at the end of his twin mattress. I wasn’t sure how his steroid cut 6 ft body even fit on the thing but I couldn’t wait to find out.

He lead me to his bed without even asking me my name. I knew his though, he didn’t hesitate to tell me as he grabbed my hand with a forced grip. He was quite aggressive. Again. I didn’t mind. I knew that there would be a high possibility of that as soon as he grabbed the back of my neck and kissed me ever so passionately. I had been kissed many times by boys in the past. But never a man in chains. He pressed his heavy body against mine. I started to feel the affects of the alcohol kicking in over time and felt the room spin. I wasn’t used to Jager. I was more of a Boone’s girl but that night I felt like being a bad girl.

He was speaking to me in a language I wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t Spanish. It wasn’t French. I had taken both of those in High School. This was seemingly unfamiliar. But honestly the thunderous roar of Metallica blasting through the speakers above his bed kept me from hearing my own screams. It was the cocktail of green lights, Metallica, ripped sheets and blood coming from my area that had my heart racing and my mouth looking for a way out as I began to salivate with great eminently, searching for the closest bathroom. No bathroom was anywhere to be found.

And It was over. Just like that. I had lost my virginity to a named Charro and his green iguana. And managed to keep from puking to save myself from humiliation.

The bad boy wound up being quite the gentlemen and offered to take me home. I took him up on the offer of course without hesitation, sneaking in at the stoke of a half. past midnight. He and I both saved one another’s phone numbers in our Motorola’s. And we did meet up a few more times later. He never did leave his Latin lover. They actually got engaged and I was a distant memory. I think they had a baby together. I supposed I will never know really. All I know is that Charro would always be my first and was the catalyst of many bad boys to follow.