Jeff Lee is an awesome writer (playa's short story)

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Unpublished Short Story

Fishing

It’s been nearly 10 years since Stephanie made me a man in the summer before my junior year of high school. She had turned many boys into men in Virginia Hills. She took me into her bedroom while her parents were at work. The sun’s rays shot through the cracked blinds in the window and heated my face.

Maggie was really drunk. I met her at a party that EJ had while his parents vacationed in Florida. I walked her into their bedroom and laid her flimsy body down on the bed. I left her bra on and slid her pants off fast. I came out smiling and EJ slipped me a high-five when Maggie wasn’t looking.

“I love you.” Deanna made me say it. I didn’t know her very well, but I knew that I loved her for those seven minutes. She wanted me to hold her for the eighth minute, but I had to pee.

I called home and told my mom that I was staying at Billy’s. Sarah was much older and had her own place. We stayed awake all night long and then she made me leave early the next morning. She didn’t cook breakfast.

I’d take Leslie for a drive if my parents were still awake. She didn’t talk much while I drove. We’d drive around until the light in their bedroom would go out. We’d go in and watch a movie in the living room. My mom always got up out of bed to see what the movie was about.

While Brother Ryan was finishing his sermon about tithing, Melissa and I snuck back into the chapel and sat on the back pew. Nobody knew we had been gone. Melissa had given more than 10 percent to me in the closet next to my mother’s Sunday school class.

I’d take Tina to the old landing strip. It was cold, but she wore a black skirt. The light nearby put an orange glaze over my icy windshield. I climbed into the passenger seat and lifted her skirt. The light faded.

Samantha would push my hand off her thigh twice before she was ready. She was funny like that.

Holly was an exchange student from Sweden. She was a sweet and quiet girl during biology class. In her downstairs room at Mrs. Austin’s house, she grabbed my hair and clawed my back. I told her more than once that she had to be quiet. The next day my mom said that she would put some medicine where the cat had scratched me. My dad, sitting in his recliner, pulled down his newspaper from his face, smiled and winked.

Madison looked at me from across the gymnasium floor. The colored lights were scattered across the faces in the Homecoming Dance crowd. She put her cold hands around my neck and we slow-danced. I thought of her every day for six months during my senior year.

Whoever said “less is more” must have been a woman. During high school, the more meant the better. The more meant the cooler. We all compared stories during lunch and P.E. One day Timmy told us what Karen Drake did to him under the bleachers in second period. Karen later left trigonometry class crying. We didn’t listen to Timmy much after that.

College was different from high school. The dozens of opportunities turned into thousands. My freshman year EJ and I had our own apartment. We made bets on different girls. We kept up with who had the most. The pencil marks on the inside of the closet door clearly showed EJ was better. He had an older brother Mark who taught him the game. Mark was the coolest guy I’d ever known.

I met Caroline at the beach during Spring Break. I think her name was Caroline. On the windy beach, tucked in the shadows away from the moon’s light, she unfolded a towel and pulled me between her tanned legs. She took off my hat and ran her fingers through my hair while gently pushing my head towards her ocean. She tasted like sand. The next night, EJ found out what I was talking about.

Kristen’s were the biggest I had ever seen in real life. When she bounced on me, they applauded my valiant effort.

Afterwards is the worst part. They lay their head on my chest and wrap their arm around my waist. They want some sign of affection. They talk about my future like they may be a part of it. They talk about this weekend and ask what we’re doing. I just wish they’d get off of me so I could smoke my cigarette. They want me to make them feel like it wasn’t casual, like it actually meant something. Somewhere along the time line of this world, they were given the idea that it’s wrong for it to be meaningless. They refuse to admit to themselves that they wanted it just as bad as I did. Reality must be a bitch for them.

My desk lamp was the only light on when Leah grabbed my T-shirt with both hands and bit my lip softly. She threw me down on my bed and took off her clothes. She unbuckled my pants and bowed her head. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had said no.

Keri was an education major. She said, “Kiss me here.” “Touch me there.” “Do it like this.” “Rub that again.”

I met Dana at The Dugout one night while playing pool. We played six games of Eight Ball under a cloud of cigarette smoke and I let her win five. I didn’t take her home with me, nor did I go home with her. I didn’t want her to be another mark on the door. I called her the next day and we spent hours on the phone. She told me where she was from and where she wanted to go. “I wish my mom could meet you,” I thought. I never put a mark on the door for Dana. She graduated four months later and moved to Westchester. I missed her voice.

Morgan lived next door. With her brown hair, dark eyes and short shorts, she was always on my mind when I was alone.
For six weeks, Kim made me hate the game. The more she said no, the more I called. I got tired in the end.

We gave nicknames to each girl. “Elvira” was Kristen. “Xena” was Leah. “Mona” went to some girl EJ had. “Mustang” went to Sally. She was a cowgirl and showed me one night after our weekly poker game.

Bell was a nice girl. She brought her Calculus book to help me study. EJ said the odds were 3:1. Laying on my bed, I closed her book and raised her chin with my index finger until she looked me in the eyes. “You need to know how to do this,” she said. “Believe me, I do.” I kissed her softly and rubbed the outside of her warm shorts. While a rerun of Melrose Place played on the TV, I tasted her and she tasted me at the same time, but that was it. I took her home.

I was asleep when my phone rang at 3 a.m., it was Joanna. I unlocked the door and climbed back in bed. Her silhouette entered my bedroom with heavy breath. She slid in next to me and with her long fingernails, softly caressed my chest. She put my hand between her wet thighs and tilted her head back. “frick me,” she whispered slowly into my ear.

Climbing the stairs on my way to class, Jill turned the corner and we made eye contact. She gave me an evil look and didn’t speak when I said “hey.” She must have thought I was really going to call.

It’s kind of like fishing. You’re always looking for the keeper, but in the meantime you want to get a few in the boat. There are easier fish to catch than others. Anybody can catch the easy ones. Others are more complicated. To land those, you need stronger tackle and expensive baits and you have to know what you’re doing. Sometimes you learn on your own through experience and sometimes someone teaches you. The harder ones take more time to learn how to catch. You hook an easy fish and you feel content, but you don’t go out of your way to tell anybody. You land a harder one and you gloat. You want everyone to know what you did. You go after a hard one and fail, and you sometimes lie a little, but you never forget what you’re fishing for.

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