The Story Garden 5.0
Flash Fiction
Tin Alligator
You hear a lot about first kisses and first dates and first loves and first god damned near everything else. But nobody ever talks about their first handjob. I don't mean wanking of course, I'm talking about the first time a girl reaches into your jeans and strokes your bizz until you jizz. Am I right?
I could care less about that other junk. I mean, my first kiss was from some cunt bitch who died in a car crash two weeks later. It's god damned depressing. I don't even remember her real name. We called her Bee Hive or Honey Pot or Bee Sting or some ridiculous bee related thing.
And my first love, Miranda, gave me VD. How's that for romantic? I knew she had it too. We'd talked about it beforehand and I told her that I didn't care. I didn't. In my mind we were going to be the Bonnie and Clyde of sexually transmitted diseases. Pubic outlaws bound by love.
I'm not even going to tell you about my first date. It was at the Pizza Hut, that's all you need to know.
But my first handjob, that really meant something. It was sweet and naughty. Intimate and raw. A tender moment that I've never come close to recapturing. And I try all the time, trust me. When I'm with my wife I close my eyes and it almost works. I'm back at the soapbox derby. Rebecca's dark hair is swirling in the wind and her fingers, oh my god. But then it's just me with my eyes closed trying to relive something that was too real and too nice to ever come back.
I never say something is nice. But that was fucking nice. I've accepted that it's gone. But I still try to remember it exactly. It's stupid. Like when you try and explain to your buddies how completely hilarious something was that you saw on TV and they understand but they don't get it and there's no way they ever will unless they see it for themselves.
The soapbox derby was at Knobby hill that year because they were doing construction over at the Pike. I was 16, but still into kid stuff like racing and fighting and lighting fires. Rebecca was 17 and she looked just like Audrey Hepburn except she was wearing cutoff jeans and a Billabong t-shirt. She came down to the derby to watch her little brother race.
Tommy and I had spent six months building the ultimate go-kart. The Tin Alligator. It was ferocious. It was really just four sheets of tin nailed to some wooden wheel tracks but we painted the hugest alligator teeth on the front.
We lost. Just like every other year. But this time we got some serious respect for having the sickest looking machine. And I got more than that. After the race, I was sitting in the kart soaking up the sun and squishing bandit ants as they wandered over the ripples in the tin. And then Rebecca was kneeling down in the grass, next to me. She touched my face and smiled. Her dark hair swirled in the wind and her fingers, oh my god. My first handjob.
--Benjamin King
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