Today marks the occasion I was in monumental peril for wanting to get laid.
I can still hear those powerlines buzzing.
It all started when, after having procured my learner's permit, I went with my 'practise car' in search of one of my boy-friends who also had a spot open in his weekend schedule.
With him picked up a block away, we drove off the main roads, down a lane or two, and then out into the relative 'wilds' of his neighbourhood, across the street from the abandoned, vine-reclaimed air strip used back in WWII. He had suggested we go to the shed where first I fired a gun -- a 5.56 rifle, also with him. It seemed far too dangerous a place in complete isolation, and it already had the reputation and graffiti of older kids and their anti-social proclivities. So, no, not there.
Instead, as we are out in open country with only the buzz of high-tension powerlines to music our union, I start to hear hoots and hollers of boys in the distance. At first [] didn't hear them, but my hearing has always been superior -- so said the testers at school -- and while he refused to cease, I began to grow increasingly more frightened of what would take place should we be compromised. When at last [] heard their voices, he -- the brave lad that he was -- attempted to flee on foot without me.
I was having none of it, and as I pulled on my top and hopped into the front seat, we were surrounded by three boys, with two more in a run to help stop and extract us. Bashing of the doors and attempts to open them, -- and brave [] almost ready to open a door and run out, over open terrain, back to his neighbourhood... My survival instincts kicked in, and after hearing about the plot of, 'I Spit on Your Grave', from my older sister, I was determined not to be caught and dragged out, or etc.
Of course, once his parents got separated, and then divorced, there was plenty of time hiding in his room, and showers, and whatnot... But, that was one of the times I nearly got a lot of trouble for not that much satisfaction -- ' intch relief. '
