Tinder O'Dell was always strange, so naturally I gravitated toward her. She was tough, pixie-cute, and she stunk. I heard her house didn't have hot water, but I liked how she smelled. Even today, I'll walk by someone at an outdoor art fair, smell girlie sweat, and feel a longing for Tinder.
I was thinking about my old childhood friend, Tinder O'Dell, so I wasn't surprised when her older brother walked into the diner. Stuff like that happens to me all the time. 15 years, at least, passed since I saw him last, so I was annoyed with myself when butterflies hit my stomach. I figured he wouldn't know me from Adam, so I went back to my lunch and my newspaper. I pretended to read, but my mind drifted back to growing up near the O'Dells.
Every girl loved Tinder's other brother, Rick. I went to a tiny Northern Michigan school in a tiny logging town. Rick was the best and the brightest. He had handsome viking features, a big white smile, and was nice to everybody. But, I liked Tinder's middle brother. He was not nice to everyone. His nose was broken, I saw it happen at a baseball game, saw him rush the mound with blood pouring on his white jersey. His grin was crooked. This brother would tease me to the point of tears. It was this brother, Cord, that I felt staring at me in the present. Before I had to breathe, he was across the room and pulling up a chair.
"Memory has a way of playing tricks on you, doesn't it?" he started, "For example, I didn't remember your hair being blonde."
"Not my memory," I was already laughing and red, "because I clearly remember you being an Ass."
He laughed loud and pulled his chair closer.
"Hey, Tinder told me about your Mom and I'm sorry," he said and I believe he meant it, "I know it's been a while and I meant to send something..."
I held up my hand, "No no no, Cord, that's okay! I know you've been in prison."
"I work at the prison," he started, then realized I was playing with him. "And you're still a bitch."
Something about the way he said it, or the way he looked at me, made me feel strange, bashful almost.
"I remember what you're like," he said in a low voice.
I didn't know what he meant; he read my expression.
"I know what you are," Cord O'Dell told me in the little town diner, 15 years since I last saw him. Then he reached out and pinched my nipple very hard, and didn't let go.
Two things didn't happen and two things did happen. First and second: I didn't cry out and I didn't pull away. In the millisecond or in the millennia that he hurt my tit, I remembered everything he did to me. It started out with teasing. For example, when I went to Tinder's after basketball practice, he'd grab my jockey bra, put it over his eyes, and be a "fly". He'd sit on my chest, dripping his spit over my face and sucking it back in before it hit. He sat on my chest outside, pinned my arms, and stuck a piece of grass up my nose, while I fought in humiliation. Cord gave me brutal wedgies, often giving my butt a hard smack.
One instance, when a bunch of us were sledding, I went and laid belly-down on a tobaggon to go down head first. Cord came over and laid on top of me. He ground his hips against my rear and instinctively, I arched my back to press my ass against him. I couldn't believe how good it felt. After going down the hill, he looked around for the others, grabbed me by my braid and smashed my face in the snow.
"That's for being a cocktease," he said, "If you were two years older I'd fuckin' rape you right now."
I stood there stunned, watching his back as he stomped up the hill, leaving me to pull the tobaggon.
The last encounter came at a bonfire. He was leaving for the the Army and was dating a beautiful girl, a few years older than he. I got up to go to the bathroom and was surprised to when I turned around and saw him following me.
"This is to remember me by," he said, "Now shhhhhh,"
He put his hand over my mouth and pulled me close to him. With his other hand, he held a long fork used for roasting marshmellows. He told me to pull up the back of my shorts and he pressed the burning hot tine against my skin. My body spasmed in pain and he held me firmly. My scream was smothered by his hand,
"Good girl, good girl," he whispered in my ear. I could feel his hardness pressing against my back. I broke out in a sheen of sweat. "Now thank me for that."
I whispered a thank you and he let me go. I went to the bathroom, wiped myself and was shocked by the clear goo on the toilet paper. I stood on the bathtub, looking at the little burgundy burn on my upper thigh, most of it blistered. When I went back down to the camp fire, people snickered and gossiped that he was in the woods fucking his girlfriend.
The other thing that happened in the diner was earthshattering.
I was thinking about my old childhood friend, Tinder O'Dell, so I wasn't surprised when her older brother walked into the diner. Stuff like that happens to me all the time. 15 years, at least, passed since I saw him last, so I was annoyed with myself when butterflies hit my stomach. I figured he wouldn't know me from Adam, so I went back to my lunch and my newspaper. I pretended to read, but my mind drifted back to growing up near the O'Dells.
Every girl loved Tinder's other brother, Rick. I went to a tiny Northern Michigan school in a tiny logging town. Rick was the best and the brightest. He had handsome viking features, a big white smile, and was nice to everybody. But, I liked Tinder's middle brother. He was not nice to everyone. His nose was broken, I saw it happen at a baseball game, saw him rush the mound with blood pouring on his white jersey. His grin was crooked. This brother would tease me to the point of tears. It was this brother, Cord, that I felt staring at me in the present. Before I had to breathe, he was across the room and pulling up a chair.
"Memory has a way of playing tricks on you, doesn't it?" he started, "For example, I didn't remember your hair being blonde."
"Not my memory," I was already laughing and red, "because I clearly remember you being an Ass."
He laughed loud and pulled his chair closer.
"Hey, Tinder told me about your Mom and I'm sorry," he said and I believe he meant it, "I know it's been a while and I meant to send something..."
I held up my hand, "No no no, Cord, that's okay! I know you've been in prison."
"I work at the prison," he started, then realized I was playing with him. "And you're still a bitch."
Something about the way he said it, or the way he looked at me, made me feel strange, bashful almost.
"I remember what you're like," he said in a low voice.
I didn't know what he meant; he read my expression.
"I know what you are," Cord O'Dell told me in the little town diner, 15 years since I last saw him. Then he reached out and pinched my nipple very hard, and didn't let go.
Two things didn't happen and two things did happen. First and second: I didn't cry out and I didn't pull away. In the millisecond or in the millennia that he hurt my tit, I remembered everything he did to me. It started out with teasing. For example, when I went to Tinder's after basketball practice, he'd grab my jockey bra, put it over his eyes, and be a "fly". He'd sit on my chest, dripping his spit over my face and sucking it back in before it hit. He sat on my chest outside, pinned my arms, and stuck a piece of grass up my nose, while I fought in humiliation. Cord gave me brutal wedgies, often giving my butt a hard smack.
One instance, when a bunch of us were sledding, I went and laid belly-down on a tobaggon to go down head first. Cord came over and laid on top of me. He ground his hips against my rear and instinctively, I arched my back to press my ass against him. I couldn't believe how good it felt. After going down the hill, he looked around for the others, grabbed me by my braid and smashed my face in the snow.
"That's for being a cocktease," he said, "If you were two years older I'd fuckin' rape you right now."
I stood there stunned, watching his back as he stomped up the hill, leaving me to pull the tobaggon.
The last encounter came at a bonfire. He was leaving for the the Army and was dating a beautiful girl, a few years older than he. I got up to go to the bathroom and was surprised to when I turned around and saw him following me.
"This is to remember me by," he said, "Now shhhhhh,"
He put his hand over my mouth and pulled me close to him. With his other hand, he held a long fork used for roasting marshmellows. He told me to pull up the back of my shorts and he pressed the burning hot tine against my skin. My body spasmed in pain and he held me firmly. My scream was smothered by his hand,
"Good girl, good girl," he whispered in my ear. I could feel his hardness pressing against my back. I broke out in a sheen of sweat. "Now thank me for that."
I whispered a thank you and he let me go. I went to the bathroom, wiped myself and was shocked by the clear goo on the toilet paper. I stood on the bathtub, looking at the little burgundy burn on my upper thigh, most of it blistered. When I went back down to the camp fire, people snickered and gossiped that he was in the woods fucking his girlfriend.
The other thing that happened in the diner was earthshattering.
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