[Amy Sue]

Part 7: A Stop in Nevada
(mid 1980s)

When I look back on some of the things I did in the those days, I just can’t imagine what I was thinking. I know we all feel that way sometimes, but I am certain that not long into this story, you are going ask, “What the hell was she thinking?!”. It will probably make you realize that my decision to sleep naked with unexpecting classmates (part 4) was not even close to the strangest thing I’ve done.

It was the summer before I left for college. It starts with my learning which way an egg is facing when it is laid by a chicken, and ends with my first sexual experience – with a boy. (I don’t count innocent experimenting with a girlfriend.)

Whether it be from books and movies, or the talk at school, I had come to believe all the girls my age were having sex. But not me. The preacher’s daughter had been working hard to break away, but I had yet to make a valuable connection with a boy. I think partly because I generally fell for boys beyond my reach, and I expected something meaningful. So, as my move to Gainesville to attend the University of Florida drew close, I was determined not to be the only virgin there. I set out to find a boy and just get it done.

I came close a couple times through the summer. But something always went wrong. At the beach one night, I was straddling a guy I had admired for years. But just at the critical moment was about to occur, I was literally pulled away by my father who had come looking for me past curfew. I was 18 years old, but this had no relevance to my father.

With the clock ticking, I turned my attention to a boy who I knew liked me all through high school. There was nothing really wrong with him, I just never felt that way about him. Nevertheless, I now thought it would be nice for him to be seduced by his high school crush. And my problem would be solved.

I spent the morning in my room listening to one of my Billy Joel albums. The same song over and over. The lyrics were about a woman leaving her old life behind, but first had to make a stop along the way to complete a crucial step in her journey. It was not about losing her virginity, but the tone paralleled that of my venture. It had become a theme for my endeavor. Although I was looking forward to it, I still needed to get worked up. This day should be something I would remember for the rest of my life.

However, there was one thing that had happened a while back that I thought could be a problem.

A few weeks earlier, I did something really stupid. It began like most trouble I caused around this time. I was home alone with my urges. Having spent years in the same house, trying everything I could think of, I found myself now looking through the refrigerator for something new I could use for stimulation. Wanting a break from my usual methods. I decided on an egg. Yes, of all things, an egg. Like I said, sometimes I don’t know what I was thinking.

Lying naked on the kitchen floor, just as I was starting to really get into it, the egg was suddenly, for lack of a better word, slurped far up inside me. I know I should have expected this, but it was not my plan. My worry became panic as I realized the egg was incredibly difficult to extract, particularly considering the way it was facing. I found myself using spoons and other utensils in varied efforts to remove the egg. I was very concerned about the possibility of the egg breaking. What would the jagged shell fragments do to me?

After a long while of fruitless efforts with several devices and many awkward positions, I was sore and exhausted. I collapsed flat on my back and cried. I thought I would have to go to the hospital. This was devastating for me. My father would have to know. No doubt some of the hospital staff attended our church where he preached. I cried hard as I did everything to make one more effort with the spoons.

As I lay there, I could see the vacuum stored away in the laundry room off the kitchen. From what I thought was working best so far, I believed that suction combined with the business end of a spoon just might work. The tube at the end of the vacuum hose was quite large for where I needed it to go, so I added a narrow attachment. I thought the suction might grab, or at least encourage, the egg just enough.

No pun intended; the vacuum idea sucked. As soon as I began this effort, the vacuum aggressively sucked to my flesh. It was very painful as I worked to pull the hose away. For a moment, I thought I was stuck. I was just making things so much worse. As I wrestled with the spoon and nozzle, I began to cry harder. I was bawling and frightened as it finally occurred to me to just turn the vacuum off. But before I could, I saw through my tears, Michael standing on the back deck at the sliding glass door.

I had known Michael for years. I was aware he had a crush on me all through high school, from where we had both just recently graduated. His family was heavily involved in our church. But we were not very close. I don’t recall him having ever come to my house before.

My vision was distorted by the tears, but that was not enough to keep me from seeing the look of shock on Michael’s face. Before I could react, he ran. I wanted to stop him. Even in my current state, I was able to recognize immediately that this was incredibly bad. Our mutual friends, my church, even my parents would be likely to hear that I was having sex with the vacuum cleaner, while crying uncontrollably.

I needed to get to him first. I realized to just pull the nozzle from the vacuum hose to cut the suction. Once free from the vacuum, I raced out the back door, but did not see him. I called for him in desperation, several times, but he was gone. Or maybe he was hiding. I don’t know why I expected he might return. It was quite a scene. I was naked, crying, clutching a vacuum nozzle, with the handle of a spoon still protruding from my vagina, and screaming his name. Not my best moment.

During my continued efforts to extract the egg, it broke. Dealing with the pieces was most uncomfortable, but not as bad as I had feared. My attention turned to the Michael problem. I called his house several times that afternoon, and no one answered. I eventually went over to his house and knocked on his door. His mom said he was not home. I wondered if she already knew.

By that night, I had decided to just wait and see what happens. I didn’t really know what to say to him anyway. And if word got out, I would just own it, like I had learned to do at the hotel when so much of my class saw me naked. Michael was not at the hotel that night. I imagined he wished he was. But he got to see me naked now. I imagined he wished he hadn’t.

Nothing ever came of it. No one said a word. I don’t know if he told anyone, but he certainly didn’t make a big deal about it. I respected him for that. I was never very attracted to him, but this made me feel good about the idea of making him my first.

In my room, listening to that same Billy Joel song repeatedly, I worked myself up into the right mood. When I felt it was time, I got on my bike and rode to Michael’s house. The song still playing in my head as I thought more about the egg incident, and what I would say to Michael. I wondered if he had come to my back door that day with the same intention that was bringing me to his house now.

Anyone who has not seen the movie American Pie, you might want to skip this next paragraph. The movie came out years after these events, but I related very well to a particular moment. I saw a nerdy girl say something that very much reminded me of myself. I could appreciate the contrast between what seemed to be an innocent girl blurt out, “One time, at band camp, I stuck a flute in my pussy.” Watching this movie, I laughed so hard I cried. Many tears, happy and sad, came out of that egg incident.

As I rode my bike to Michael’s house, I decided I would just come out with it. “I put an egg in my pussy.”, I said out loud, just to see if I could. A big part of owning it was to be honest and just come out with it. And for some reason I would have rather he knew I had inserted an egg than he believe I was having an intimate relationship with the vacuum.

I feel lucky that Michael was home that day. A beautiful summer afternoon on the island. It plays out in my head today as if it were a dream. Michael did not ask what I had been doing that day in the kitchen. And I chose not to say anything about it. I don’t remember saying very much at all. I just led him to the woods near our school, where I understood this kind of thing happened.

When we were far enough from the trail, I undressed in front of him, then undressed him. He was hesitant and nervous. But he went along, as much as he could. I don’t know if I was too aggressive, or if he thought he could not compete with a Hoover Upright, but he could not maintain an erection. I still enjoyed the experience a great deal. Just lying on top of him, I loved the feel of our skin touching, the air on our bodies, and being out in nature in such a natural way. This began my fondness for making love outdoors.

When we heard people passing on the trail, he scrambled to get dressed. I tried to hold him there with me and let them pass, but it was just too much for him. I was thought by most to be a “good girl”, although I was far from that. But Michael was a “good boy.” I let him go.

I lay there alone in the woods for a long time, thinking about it all. How I would soon be leaving behind the island, this part of my life with my parents, and my girlhood. It was all so terrible and terrific. I got dressed and rode my bike home while trying to determine if I was still a virgin. I decided that I would consider this my stop in Nevada.



Of course, I do not have pictures from the kitchen or the woods, but I have attached here a few pictures of my 18-year-old self, taken just a few weeks before I took Michael into the woods.