Welcome to the life and times of everyone's favorite Phoenixian!

WARNING: Some material may be considered controversial and/or crass in nature.

Chapter 5 - Kissing Miss Pierce

We're in the back of Poker Face's dad's truck.  It's me, Camilla, Bret, Terrence, Nina, Jill, Dana, Tara and Poker Face's girlfriend is squished up front with Summer's enemy/friend from high school, Becca Lariat, and Summer and her boyfriend, Rob Tabler, and some British guy named Euan Bennett and his girl, Darcy, who's from Vegas, and, of course, Sven Anderson.

Tara says she's cold, and as the other girls shiver, Bret takes off his jacket and puts it around Tara (who thought to wear a tank top) and she smiles at him and I see her mouth a 'thank you' back at him and I see Bret blush a little and he looks down at his lap and I hope it's only me and him that sees his enormous woody poking out of his slacks.

Terrence turns to me and I hear something of a grunt come from his mouth and I think maybe Terrence noticed it, too, or maybe he was trying to make fun of the niceness of the situation, but I'll never know because Terrence grunts as much as Bret mumbles.

Camilla snuggles her head deeply into my chest and then she raises up her lips to my ear and she says, "I think Bret's penis likes my roommate."

I smirk and say to myself, 'Unreal' and place my hand over Camilla's eyes and then I kiss her forehead, but not before I say, "I know who's penis likes Tara's roommate", and her hand goes down my pants.

I'm glad I wrapped us up in the extra blanket we brought.

I can't help but look up at the stars as she plays with me.

We reach the river and set up our temporary camp and get the bonfire going, but Camilla wants to go for a walk because she misses New Mexico and this is the first time she's been outside the city since she moved here, so we go.

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All I hear is the river and I'm still carrying the one blanket we planned to picnic on and the basket with the grub and swigs we planned to engulf out here in the wild.  They're starting to get heavy but I don't say so but I stop anyway and Camilla's asks what's going on and I say we should sit for awhile and listen for anyone nearby, but then Camilla starts to whisper funny things in my ear.  And then the funny turns to slower sentences and I sense her breathing has become slightly heavy, too.  

I listen and I smile.  

Her voice is soothing and it's then I realize that Lin Sue Shepherd has moved down to number two on my "list".  I never thought the local newscaster's voice could ever be replaced, but Camilla's voice has her beat and I turn all my attention back to her.

Her voice has also made a heartbeat in my shorts.

Actually, it isn’t until then that I turn all my attention back to her.

We kiss like the predestined lovers we feel we are and after I pain-stakingly unfold the extra blanket we brought and carefully press every crease out of it as I set it over the cool desert floor I turn to her to tell her I'm ready and she's already naked.

Beautiful.

She sees the serenity in my eyes as I stare at her in all her moonlit glory and she smiles back a comparable serene smile and walks up and against me and our tongues make their own kind of love.

Then we make our own special kind, taking turns mooning the moon.

I love making love with Camilla Dorsthe Pierce.

I'm not sure how long we spent in our affections and private displays of caring but I eventually find myself lying back with Camilla on my chest asking me if I ever wanted to be a teacher.

I tell her I already tried and she asks when and how.

Then, I explain:

"Of the coolest kids, who were Junior's at Mountain View during my Senior year there, Doug Oleynik was the third coolest.

Nobody would argue about me being the hypercoolest of all, of course, and especially my own grade, all of whom I'd known since Kindergarten, so looking down on the masses: the paupers, dukes, heroes, dogs, jesters, and viceroys, I had sort of taken Doug under my wing, since I saw his potential the summer before my own Junior year, when he tried to pick a fight, with me and my buddies, on Mill Avenue, and he with his gaggle of Junior-High-Schoolers, I think one seventh-grader included.

He was impressive.

I had only tried to run over his bike and he on it just 'cos it was camped on the parking spots I wanted at Tempe Town Lake Park.

The fire in his eyes, as he said, "Hey, you fuck!  Them's fighting outrageously horrible double-parking skills!" (complete with a drawl, even though he wasn't a cowboy) reminded me of a younger, Italian (or maybe he was Mexican) version of me, and he pretended to roll up his sleeves (because he had no shirt on) and he dashed his lean, tanned body over to my window and gave me a black eye.

That's the only wound any of the five of us got because we pounded those lunch-bench-pimp-life-dreamers into a bloody, pulp-like ghoulash, that didn't match any of the snazzy art or decor in the park.

Then, later that summer, his family stayed at a beachhouse near ours outside of San Diego and now we're pals.

He had some damn potential and I was gonna mold him.

I knew he'd never pass the Junior Class' Official Number One: "Handsome Himself", Keller Campagna.  (Lindsay Warmuth actually made him a gods-awful shirt that said that on the front.  He loved it and made it look good.)  Kelly was a captain of the football team, the Junior Class President, on Honor Roll, and Terry Giles had mentioned he had a really long dick.

And then she said it was really thick and that she wanted to ride it again sometime soon, but that she'd settle for mine at the time being because I was a Senior and her Homecoming date was making out with that fag, Jason, in the locker cage at present, which is wierd, because I never thought Bob was a homo.

Then, at #2, Doug had to contend with the Wagstaff twins, Kurt and Court, who, for Juniors, could pass for NFL seasoned veterans; they never seemed to shave, which seemed to drive the girls crazy, and one of the girls tennis coaches.  They had pubic hair in third grade, was the rumor.  Who could ever top that?  (Well, yeah, Kelly; who, I guess, was the true Wagstaff.)

My mission was to get Doug Oleynik to 3rd position of cool and to keep him there, which wasn't really too difficult to manage, but at one point we had to deal with the guy we called Nairobi; he was a foreign exchange student from somewhere in Africa.  And he was only cool because he always said, "It piss me off!", even about the smallest things, and we always got a kick out of that: "It piss me off!" but he smelled like rotting, larvae-infested fruit, and I know first-hand 'cos my nose smashed into his armpit once in P.E. when he fouled me playing basketball, but I didn't have to have that experience to know what his pits smelled like, he was so tall anyway, everyone knew.

We all talked about it.  We'd say, "Gods!  Nairobi stinks!  It piss me off!" or "It piss me off I have to wear two brands of cologne just to be around Nairobi!"  Africa needs to invent deodorant or Axe body spray.

Or Lever 2000.

Anyway, Doug and I had a great time his Junior year, so it really bummed me out when his dad cut off his little sister's head, while they were camping out in New Mexico, 'cos he didn't take his meds and also he thought she was the devil.  (I guess cutting off the devil's head would kill the devil.)

He was never the same after having to watch that from the bushes, right off the side of the road, because his dad had just pulled over and his sister had told him to run.

I never saw his stab wound.  They said it pierced his lung in the back.  He must have been wheezing in those bushes.  Wheezing blood.

Gross.

I heard he got heavily into drugs and periodically signs in and out of mental institutions.

His sister was deformed.

And mildly retarded.

I felt like a failure.  All my plans for him.  I didn't have to help him get laid, but I introduced him to all the important people and to dealers.  He could have been cooler.  Too bad he had a sucky family.

To me, Doug and I, we're still pals.

I think his dad was Islam.  That didn't help him in prison when the towers fiasco went down.

A skinhead ate his eye.  I don't know which one."

I yawn like Chewbacca.

"I'm tired", I say.

Camilla's asleep.  She'll never know how much of a loser I was.

I'm not a loser.  Loser's don't wrap the retro red and white checkered picnic blanket around the most beautiful sleeping girl in the wilderness right now.

I can't believe I got us lost.

I can't believe then it rained.
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---Stoke-on-Trent