I swear I wrote this two days ago and didn't finish it.

Submitted to CISWY, December 2008.

Sixth grade was a tough year for me. Not only did I have a bowl cut, but I also sported jean jumpers, turtlenecks tights and lace-up boots (all at the same time). This was during the era of Limited Too, which I was too fat to fit in. Plus, sequins* just don't tend to flatter a rotund, pre-pubescent figure.

So to sum up, if I wasn't already desperately uncool because I wasn't wearing Limited Too, I also was totally into dissection, I brought in a leather-bound version of Treasure Island to school (because duh? I loved Treasure Island), I didn't have a trapper-keeper and I couldn't figure out how to put my hair in a ponytail. Instead of writing notes in class I was writing stories about Pegasus and unicorns and imaginary creatures. I formed a club called "The Iron Horse Club", devoted solely to the pursuit of galloping around the playground; members: 2. Me and the horse.
One day whilst galloping and prancing about I happened to prance by a crowd of my cooler classmates who were playing truth or dare. They invited me to join. Thrilled that I had been invited, I accepted, dismounted and tied up my imaginary steed and sat down in the space that had cleared for me in the circle.

"Truth or Dare?" asked Jennifer.

"Truth?" I, tentatively replied. Both sounded dangerous, but at least with Truth I could lie. I was good at writing stories...and telling them.

"You can't pick Truth, you have to pick Dare."

This in hindsight was a red flag, but I was desperate. I shifted in my jumper, glancing back over my shoulder at the school yard and the observing teacher. Both seemed very far away.

"Ok, dare."

A snicker erupted in the circle and I remember how my face flushed. How I hid my blush behind my mop of tangled hair. Even writing this almost fifteen years later my heart pounds in memory of the next moment, my legs are still hot with adrenaline.

"We dare you to have sex with that telephone pole."

I was mortified and the snickers were unabashed. Some even surpassed snickers and came out as snorts. I looked at the circle, and they were staring back. In the distance my Iron Horse was pawing at the ground, restless and desperate to carry me away across the soccer fields, across neighborhoods and cul-de-sacs and in to the safe arms of my mother. We had just completed Sex Ed. in school and the act of sex had seemed too personal, too intimate to contemplate. I was universally undesirable in sixth grade and I knew it.

"You don't have to take off your clothes. The teacher would definitely notice that."

Today I am sitting in my office remembering the feel of cool, smooth wood on my lips and tongue; my awkward thrusts and the splinters in my hands as they clawed the pole. I had clenched my eyes shut and imagined a day when I would write this story without feeling my shame and desperation as physically as I did that day. That day has not yet come.

*A staple of all limited too clothing.