You hear a lot about first kisses and first dates and first
loves and first god damned near everything else. But nobody
ever talks about their first handjob. I don't mean wanking of
course, I'm talking about the first time a girl reaches into
your jeans and strokes your bizz until you jizz. Am I right?
I could care less about that other junk. I mean, my first
kiss was from some cunt bitch who died in a car crash two
weeks later. It's god damned depressing. I don't even
remember her real name. We called her Bee Hive or Honey Pot
or Bee Sting or some ridiculous bee related thing.
And my first love, Miranda, gave me VD. How's that for
romantic? I knew she had it too. We'd talked about it
beforehand and I told her that I didn't care. I didn't. In my
mind we were going to be the Bonnie and Clyde of sexually
transmitted diseases. Pubic outlaws bound by love.
I'm not even going to tell you about my first date. It was at
the Pizza Hut, that's all you need to know.
But my first handjob, that really meant something. It was
sweet and naughty. Intimate and raw. A tender moment that
I've never come close to recapturing. And I try all the time,
trust me. When I'm with my wife I close my eyes and it almost
works. I'm back at the soapbox derby. Rebecca's dark hair is
swirling in the wind and her fingers, oh my god, but then
it's just me with my eyes closed trying to re-live something
that was too real and too nice to ever come back. And I never
say something is nice. But that was fucking nice. I've
accepted that it's gone. But I still try to remember it
exactly. It's stupid. Like when you try and explain to your
buddies how completely hilarious something was that you saw
on TV and they understand but they don't get it and there's
no way they ever will unless they see it for themselves.
The soapbox derby was at Knobby hill that year because they
were doing construction over at the Pike. I was 16, but still
into kid stuff like racing and fighting and lighting fires.
Rebecca was 17 and she looked just like Audrey Hepburn except
she was wearing cutoff jeans and a Billabong t-shirt. She
came down to the derby to watch her little brother race.
Tommy and I had spent six months building the ultimate
go-kart. The Tin Alligator. It was ferocious. It was really
just four sheets of tin nailed to some wooden wheel tracks
but we painted the hugest alligator teeth on the front.
We lost. Just like every other year. But this time we got
some serious respect for having the sickest looking machine.
And I got more than that. After the race, I was sitting in
the kart soaking up the sun and squishing bandit ants as they
wandered over the ripples in the tin. And then Rebecca was
kneeling down in the grass, next to me. She touched my face
and smiled. Her dark hair swirled in the wind and her
fingers, oh my god. My first handjob.