Boy Crazy: Coming Out Erotica by Unknown

and me, then drove away, trailing a noise like a disturbed beehive.
     
    “Where’d you meet him?” I asked Patricia.
     
    “School. He’s a senior.”
     
    “Are you going to date him?”
     
    My sister glanced down the road. “Maybe.”
     
     
    My mother wasn’t thrilled about Patricia going out with a senior. “Invite him to dinner,” my mother said. “After I meet him, we’ll see.”
     
    Dan appeared two days later, on a Friday evening. He wore a starched, long-sleeved Oxford-cloth shirt, dress slacks, and leather slip-ons. A pack of Winston cigarettes rested in his shirt pocket and he offered my mother one, then lit it for her with a brushed-nickel Zippo that made a ringing sound when he flipped the lid open with his thumb.
     
    We sipped Cokes on the screened porch at the rear of our house. We sat on rattan furniture upholstered in fabric with a hibiscus motif. It was six thirty. The sun hung low and shadows were long, and my mother switched on a table lamp. This was October and the central Florida weather was still warm. My sister wore shorts and sandals and a sleeveless blouse, and she’d fixed her hair more carefully than usual. She sat beside my mother on the sofa while Dan and I occupied cushioned chairs facing it.
     
    “My family moved here from Pennsylvania, in June, just after school let out,” Dan told my mother. “My dad’s an engineer, he works for a defense contractor.” Dan had two siblings, he said, a brother and a sister, both far younger than him. His mom was a homemaker.
     
    “Did you date up north?” my mother asked.
     
    Dan shrugged. “Some, but nothing serious. I didn’t have transportation.”
     
    “Yes,” my mother said, shifting her weight on the sofa. “I’m not keen on motorcycles. If you plan to take Patricia places, you must borrow a car.”
     
    Dan dropped his gaze to the porch floor. He nodded but he didn’t say anything. Lamplight reflected off his identification bracelet, silver with chunky links.
     
    “My husband passed away five years ago,” my mother told Dan. “I function as both mother and father in this household, so I’ll be blunt: I think Patricia’s too young to date a boy your age. She’s…inexperienced.”
     
    My sister squirmed on the sofa. “Mom, I’m not—”
     
    My mother raised a hand to Patricia’s face and gave her an icy stare. “Let me finish.” She turned back to Dan. “I’m not naïve. I know what teenagers do—boys and girls—when they’re alone.”
     
    I glanced at Dan. He’d rearranged himself in his chair, and he rested his forearms on his knees. His fingers were interlaced and his cheeks were flushed. He kept his gaze on the floor while my mother continued:
     
    “If you plan to date Patricia, you must treat her with respect. Her blouse will stay buttoned, and you’ll keep your zipper closed. Am I making myself clear?”
     
    Dan’s entire face turned brick red; so did his ears. He raised his chin and looked at my mother for a moment. Then he nodded and dropped his gaze to his hands. “Yes, ma’am.”
     
    My mother rose. “Now that we understand one another, I’ll get dinner on the table.” She turned to my sister. “Patricia, give me a hand in the kitchen.”
     
    My sister scowled while she followed my mother out of the room.
     
    Dan looked at me and drew a hand across his forehead, wiping away imaginary beads of sweat. “Whew,” he said. “Your mom doesn’t mince words, does she?”
     
    I rolled my eyes and shook my head.
     
    Dan produced his pack of cigarettes, pointed to them, and looked at me. “Are you allowed?”
     
    I shook my head. “But sometimes I sneak one when I’m alone.”
     
    Dan glanced at the doorway leading into the house. Then he tapped out two cigarettes and he handed them to me. He winked and said, “Between us, okay?”
     
    I smiled and nodded.
     
     
    The day after Dan came to dinner, I met my best friend, Gus Andriakas, at a gas station temporarily closed