At the start of my senior year in high school, just after I turned 18, I became the "new girl" in school. My mother had been transferred, so we had to pack up and move from Manhattan to Pittsburgh. I left behind all my friends and everything I was familiar with. I hadn't been all that popular or even particularly happy in Manhattan, but it was home. I dreaded what new humiliations awaited me in Pittsburgh.
I shouldn't have.
I went from being barely tolerable to my peers to being one of the most popular girls in the school. I was pleasantly surprised that there was actually a social cachet to being in honors classes. And my father affectionately remarked that I "bloomed" over the summer before that year. I figured he was just being nice. But judging from the reactions I was suddenly getting from guys, he must have been right. An although I sometimes got some flack for being from New York, I generally seemed to be regarded as an authority on what was stylish and cool. One negative word from me and a hairstyle would disappear from the school; a positive comment on a skirt and every girl was wearing it next week. I was in Heaven.
I had my pick of cute guys to date. First I went for the obvious ones: I was positively giddy when I went to a dance with the school's quarterback! Me! He asked me out! And danced with me! In public and everything! Of course I let him "molest" me in his car after the dance. (Okay, okay. We took a break in the middle of the dance to make out in his car too. Twice.) We went as far as third base (fingers, no tongue, unfortunately), but I gave him a "not yet" when he wanted to go farther. But after the ego boost of a few dates with him and some other stereotypically cool guys, I started to think about what I really wanted in a guy, both emotionally and sexually. I was smart enough to know that, now that I had my pick, I could be choosey about what I did, and who I gave it up to. I could also tell that I was "missing" something sexually, although I couldn't put my finger on what it was.
The key came one day when I went to the girl's restroom and discovered one girl sniffling as the other girls picked on her. Now, having been the one on the receiving end of this treatment, it pissed me off majorly to watch it happen to someone else. I shoved a couple of girls out of the way and barked, "What the fuck are you doing to her?! Knock it off!" I put my arm around her and she sniffled into my shoulder while the other girls stared mutely, looking cowed by the alpha-bitch, but still angry at their victim. Finally, one of them stated blankly, "That slut was fencing." The others nodded significantly, like that explained everything.
All I could think was, Since when do we have a fucking fencing team?? And why is that pissing them off so much? I asked, "What do you mean she was ‘fencing'?"
A couple of the girls tittered. "Oh, you don't know about the fence?"
"No, enlighten me." (I noticed the victim burying her face in my shoulder, as if ashamed at what was about to be revealed.)
"There's a chain link fence out behind the bleachers on the football field. It's hard to see from anywhere else because the bleachers are on one side, and there's a line of bushes on the other side of the fence. Boys go hang out there, and a few girls go there – slutty girls!. The girls lean back against the fence, and grab on to the fence, like their hands are tied or something, and then …" the girl speaking paused, smiling and obviously building up the suspense, "…and then the guys feel them up." The restroom was strangely quiet now. I swear you could hear all the girls breathing, deep and slow, at the very thought of "the fence." She continued, "The sluts will just hang on to the fence, and the guys will switch, taking turns with them. They feel up their tits and finger their holes, and sometimes one guy will be frenching a girl while another guy is shoving his hand down a girl's panties. And I heard that sometimes the guys even J.O.!"
It was still quiet, but you could see it on their faces and smell the pheromones in the air. Lust. Raw animal lust. I felt it too. The ache between my legs was familiar, but the intensity was greater than I had ever felt before. I swear my knees were trembling slightly.
But I had to decide how this situation was going to be resolved. The girl I had rescued was still holding on to me (like a life preserver). The safest bet for me was to push her away and toss her to the wolves.
Instead, I turned to the girl who had just given the long explanation of "sluts" and the fence. "So how come you know so much about the fence, huh?"
Her hand was caught in the cookie jar, and her face showed it. "Me?! I dunno. I've just heard."
"Sounds to me like you're pretty interested in the fence. Maybe you're just pissed because no guy has ever wanted to feel you up?"
"Hey, fuck you! Plenty of guys have felt me up!"
Snap goes the trap! I raised an eyebrow as I said, "Plenty of guys, huh?" The other girls in the pack giggled and started to back off from her, like she was infected with uncoolness and they didn't want to catch it.
"Well, I didn't mean it like that," she said, turning red.
"Maybe you've never gone to the fence cause you know guys would ignore you and do some other girl who was there."
"They would not!"
"Maybe you don't like guys then. Or maybe you're one of those prisses who doesn't like sex."
"Of course I like sex with guys!"
"So what's your fucking problem with her?" I nodded to the girl on my shoulder.
Pause. "I dunno." Shrug. "I dunno. I just—I'm sorry, I guess." The pack dispersed.
That night I masturbated frantically, images of the fence coming unbidden and relentlessly into my fervid and hormone-fueled imagination.
The next day, I was a little worried the restroom incident had cost me cool-points. But I had forgotten one of the basic rules of adolescent life: displays of power make you cooler. Even more girls than usual sucked up to me. And many of them talked – in a largely positive way, I noticed—about the fence. "What do you think it would be like?" some asked, wide-eyed. Others confessed: "I did it. Once. I felt dirty about it afterwards, but it was so hot, and now I think about it all the time." Many wanted to know, "Are you going to do it?"
Well, it was my job to be the trend-setter, wasn't it?
I thought about making an official "announcement" that I would be in attendance at the fence, but then I realized the whole fucking school would be there for the show. I found out what day and time the smallest number of boys were at the fence. (Less chance of the situation getting out of control.) I also found an accomplice: Callie was a girl I was friends with but didn't know terribly well. She moved in the popular crowd, but she seemed quiet and thoughtful. More importantly, she had approached me and seemed extremely interested in hearing all I knew and thought about fencing. So I said, "I'm going to go. You wanna go with me? It's probably safer if there's two of us." I couldn't read her expression at first. Shock? Fear?
She swallowed hard. "Yeah," she finally whispered. "I'll go with you."
When we rounded the corner we saw about a half dozen guys hanging out, trying to act and talk cool, the way guys do. They got quiet when they saw us coming. I noticed Callie slouch nervously, but I tried to maintain my usual teen-princess bearing. As we got closer, we noticed that there was already a girl there. It was just like I imagined it. A guy was making out with her, insistently pushing his strong body against her, so her back and ass were against the fence. The fence bowed rhythmically in response to his grinding against her. He just grunted and breathed heavily, but she occasionally sighed or moaned, her hands tightly grasping the fence, leaving her body defenseless to him. Fuck, it was hot.
I noticed someone had brought a few beers. I asked for a couple and handed one to Callie. As we sipped the beer, the guys, Callie and I made some of the most inane and incongruous small talk that any human has ever produced.
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