By Leslie Lindsay

Hey all–it’s fiction Friday and this is from my novel-in-progress, “Slippery Slope.”  This scene is actually a flashback from a high school prom night.  I’d appreciate your thoughts on the authenticity of the scene, it’s point-of-view told by a guy (now grown, but at the time, about 17, 18 years old). 

[Remember, this is an original work by the author/blogger.  It is not intended to be represent anyone, similarieties are coincidental, and work of the writer’s imagination]. 

Here goes:

        There was a huge rainstorm the night of prom.  Had to have been eleven o’clock or so as we were leaving the dance and I was driving her back to her parent’s home in the suburbs.  Mom had loaned me her car that night.  It was nicer than mine.  I parked it about a quarter of a mile from her house, “Let’s run in the rain,” I said. 

         Annie looked at me like I was crazy, “In my prom dress?”  It was as much a statement as a question. 

         “Yeah.  It’s over.  The prom.  You looked fantastic.  When are you going to wear it again?” 

            Annie’s shoulders had slumped, sliding down the leather seats of mom’s car.  Her lips jutted out into a soft pout as she contemplated my spontaneity. 

          “Okay!  Let’s go,” she was already removing her matching heels and hopping out of the car. 

           I was unbuttoning my bow tie and undoing the red cumber bun.  I ran after her, she looked back at me with that sparkle in her eye that said, “Come and get me, if you dare.” 

          By this time, the rain came down in light drops.  Her hair no longer balled up in a bun, but falling down about her shoulders.  Her mascara left her eyes dark, but she looked fantastic.  We giggled and fell to the ground.  I remember brushing her hair out of her eyes with my clammy hands.  She was too beautiful.  Sometimes, I wondered what I had done to get a girl as cute as Annie to pay attention to me. Under the tree near her suburban home on prom night, I whispered, “I love you,” to a girl for the very first time in my seventeen years. 

           She teared up, picked at the hole she developed in her panty hose from running without shoes, then looked back at me, “Steve, I love you, too.” 

          I cupped her face with my hand and drew her to me.  We kissed.  I felt the warmth of her mouth under her lips, which were cold and wet.  I wanted her so badly.  No longer trying to hide my erection, I pressed against her and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.  I remember she froze a bit.  But I continued. 

          She gasped as I reached around and found her breast, “Steve.  I…uh…I think we should stop.” 

         I was disappointed.  I was hoping. 

         “I don’t want to lose my virginity tonight.  Not on prom night.  It’s too cliché.”  She seemed conflicted. “And definitely not outside.  In the rain,” she shook her head.