Charlie left her only to get them cups of Kool-Aid and to go to the boys’. So much for her parents’ rule of dancing with different boys. She didn’t mention it, though. They hadn’t mentioned it to Charlie.They had mentioned the 11:00 curfew, though. And Charlie drove directly to a make-out spot. They weren’t the first cars there. Craig, at least, had looked for privacy. “I know this is a first date,” Charlie said, “but the front seats in the Jeep are really impossible. You’d be more comfortable in back.”“Okay,” she said, “but treat that 11:00 as when they call the cops. Try to get me back a little after 10:30.” She climbed into the back seat. Charlie kissed her lips for a while before inserting his tongue. He didn’t put his hands on her breasts, but his arm rested against her right breast when he held that arm. He wasn’t a bad kisser, but she was more nervous than aroused. He got her back before 11:00 and kissed her before she got out and went into her house. He’d been right; the front. This one comes to mind first, possibly because it was the most outrageous, shameful and the most public act of all.I was 25 at the time. It was about a year after Brian and I had broken up after almost 6 years together and I was still in a bad place. I was sad, depressed, moody and angry - any or all of these at any given time.I was under court mandated counselling for smashing a plate of ravioli over the head of Brian's new girlfriend in a crowded restaurant and I hated it. The counselling I hated, I loved smashing that plate of ravioli over that big titted, red haired slut. I refused to call my counsellor 'doctor' even though he had a doctorate and deserved the honorary. He was a psychologist, not a medical doctor and I told him it was misleading and deceptive to the general public who were not versed in the academic protocols and who would naturally assume, quite wrongly, that he was a medical doctor.He started it by insisting right at the outset that I call him Dr Matchett. I.
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