Prior to this, I had kissed three girls from other counties and believed I could acquit myself well, but Tessa explored my mouth like she was planning a topographical map. Her body pressed against mine, her hands were on me, and I became lost in a delirium of desire. She took off her shirt, then her pants, the dim light outlining her body. I could not believe I was actually seeing a naked girl. Tessa quickly removed my shoes, then dragged off my pants and pushed me back on the bed. I could feel the softness of her chest, the smoothness of her skin. She put her arms around me. We rolled over and I held her as tightly as possible. I frankly thought I was going to die. Nothing had ever felt better, and I wanted to prolong it until I did die.
I bucked my hips and squirmed like a salamander, trying to stay on my knees and elbows so as not to mash Tessa too much. I mainly just hoped for the best. She put one arm across my back and the other on my hip and began to assist my maneuvering. After a while, during which I lost all sense of time, our activity slowed.
Enduring the fatman’s touch had instilled in me the habit of ignoring all sensation and withholding any reaction. As a result, I was unable to climax with Tessa. However, my father’s books had taught me about female anatomy to the point that I could provide her with ample pleasure several times. She started putting on her clothes, and I did, too. When we were fully dressed, she said, “You’re better than guys three times your age.”
“Thanks,” I said.
She opened the door and we stepped into the hall, blinking against the sudden light. At the elevator I heard the sound of an opening door. Down the hall, my father stepped from a room. He said something low and a woman responded with laughter. Dad closed the door behind him and straightened his hair.
I pushed the elevator button repeatedly, fearful of getting caught. Tessa and I descended to the lobby without talking. Dazed and happy, I wanted to remain in her company, but she avoided me for the rest of the con. I didn’t mind. I’d finally had sex.
Chapter Nineteen
DURING MY senior year in high school, my father and I were in perpetual conflict. Instead of talking, we avoided each other. My misery wasn’t entirely his fault, but he’d taught me to blame others for my misfortune, and I dutifully blamed him. He seemed to regard every word I uttered as a challenge to him. Perhaps it was. No one else stood up to Dad. I protected my siblings, but nobody protected me. I was on my own and I knew it.
Dad was forty-two, at the height of his porn career. The house was mired in tension, seething with sexuality. John Cleve presided over everything with a tyrannical intensity. We still ate supper together, but the family scattered immediately afterward. My sisters and brother stayed in their rooms. I roamed the woods at night, fearless and hoping for trouble. A friend had an old car, nearly indestructible, unable to reach high speed. We began wrecking it on purpose for excitement.
A long argument between my father and me ended with us in separate parts of the house. Dad stomped into the room where I stood and handed me a note. I saved it for years, committing it to memory:
Your need to have the last word makes it impossible to talk with you. Here, then, is mine.
The next day I took the military aptitude test. It was the first year the ASVAB was unilaterally administered by all the services. Each branch received the test results and competed for the top candidates. I was inordinately proud that my score was the highest in the state. It didn’t occur to me that the military test was not that difficult and academic standards for Kentucky were not very high.
Each branch actively recruited me. Having never seen an airplane, I ruled out the air force. I eliminated the navy because I didn’t know how to swim. I never fully understood what the Marine Corps did, since “marine” meant water, but they were ground troops. I settled on the army because the recruiter told me I could wear a short-hair wig instead of cutting my Southern-outlaw hair. He explained that since the Vietnam War was over, I wouldn’t have to take orders if I didn’t want to. I believed his lies and enlisted.
My ASVAB scores were high enough that a different sergeant arrived, a stern man who represented Military Intelligence. Originally from Texas, he said he’d been the same at my age, brimful of brains with nowhere to aim them. The army, particularly intel, helped him reach his potential. He hinted that after my service, I’d have opportunities to work for the government in an interesting capacity. His implications and vagueness impacted me more than the overt sales pitch from the other recruiters. I left that meeting with a clear vision of my glorious future: paratrooper, army intel, college on the GI Bill, then the Central Intelligence Agency.