Diary Of The Sex I Didn’t Have

BY Jane Dickenson

I. My brother’s 18th; I guess I was 16. My best friend and I were allowed to be present, but not seen. We hid in the kitchen as the kids from the year level above congregated in the lounge. We stole beers until we were bold enough to infiltrate the lair of the cool, my brother now also drunk — too drunk to care. After a while everyone left except one boy, I don’t remember his name. My brother, my best friend, the boy without a name and I ended up lying on the concrete at the bottom of the drive. My brother with his arm around my bestie, me tucked into the armpit of the boy. We looked up at the sky, talked crap until my dad came down to tell us to come inside. What are you doing? Dad asked.Nothing.

My friend didn’t kiss my brother. Lucky; they were practically siblings. I didn’t kiss the boy. But he told me he worked at the deli at Safeway and that he and the other boys leant into the glass refrigerators and pretended to be organising the meats so they could check out the pretty girls who walked past. So, y’know, be careful when you’re walking past, he said. Me? A pretty girl!

Did ya get with him? my friends drilled me on Monday at school. No. But. Ya know.

II. A trip to Florida Keys from our working-holiday home base in Miami. Three very excited girls. In a bar we met three boys. Three boys, three girls. I refused to talk to them unless I got the cute one, a US Marine called Ray. The Marines bought us drinks, lots of drinks. My Marine wasn’t drinking. He drove us, three boys, three girls, to a deserted beach. We got pulled over for speeding. He said to the police, in his thick American accent, I’m very sorry for this sir, I’m a Marine; I can show you my ID. I cringed. He got a fine. Secretly I was pleased.

On the beach, couples disappeared into the darkness. My Marine sat down beside me. We talked. Kissed. Entwined. We nearly had sex. Nearly. Are you married or something? he asked. No. I paused. I’m absolutely dying for the toilet.

As we ran to a nearby Wendy’s we passed a man sculpting a sand castle in the dark. I giggled. In the illuminated bathroom the night lost romance. Face flushed, legs coated in sand, hair not sexy like I thought. I bumped into my friends. Do you think they’ll buy us ice cream? one said. Oh yeah, and hot chocolate! Let’s go see.

The Marines dropped us back at our van we’d left in town. Kisses goodbye and we three girls tumbled in. Sleeping on the floor under the seats, waking occasionally to giggle, or lament the lack of comfort. Cold floor, neck grating on metal.

The next day we returned to the beach for breakfast. I blushed when I saw the giant sand castle in the distance… That. Looks. Like. Bodies. Entwined. I felt invaded; our moment had been documented in sand. When I got up close I realised it was only mermaids.

III. I met the surfer in a bar. I plaited his long blond locks and I lent him a hair tie. He said he’d never worn a plait before. We pashed. He was older, maybe even 23. After a few dates I went to his house to watch DVDs. I wore new jeans and a new top, annoyed when he said, Sexy, as he opened the front door. I was going for casual.

He lived with his ex-girlfriend, who was still in love with him, and his best mate, who was now dating his ex-girlfriend. We took our tops off on the couch. I was terrified she would walk in. I dragged him to his room. His walls were covered with posters of naked women. I wanted to take off my jeans but I was embarrassed because I was wearing a g-string and my bum didn’t compete with all the other bums in the room. I asked if he had any shorts I could wear. He seemed disappointed and gave me some boardies. He got into bed and closed his eyes. I went to his ensuite and couldn’t wee because I was worried he would hear me. I gave up, went back in and lay still all night needing the toilet.

In the morning I got up tired, and grumpy. I went to the toilet, no longer caring whether he heard me. As I crept back into bed he woke and pulled me on top of him but I pushed him away because I was worried about my breath.

IV. In Vietnam, a guy called Tim. He was British. Cartoon-esque. I adored him. Bumped into him in every town I visited. He had a girlfriend. I told myself I didn’t care. I said, this is a time to be predatory, you deserve a fling. She was in England. He was in Vietnam. If it was serious she’d be in Vietnam. I was in Vietnam. I was drunk. I was on a mission. We were in a restaurant. A child came in handing out flyers for a secret bar that opened late at night. We went.

After a few hours I told Tim we should leave. We got a lift home on a motorbike. I clung to his ribcage. At my hotel, I asked him to come in. He paused. Said, Nah better not. I went to bed disappointed. I woke up an hour later and threw up all over the bed. It was okay; my room had two beds. I threw up some more on the floor and then got into the other.

The next day a friend told me Tim had been really confused. He’d wanted to come home with me; he nearly came back. I was infinitely glad he hadn’t.

V. My friend’s wedding. I met a guy despite the ridiculous bridesmaid dress. I’d been warned to stay away. I wonder who’ll fall for Matt this weekend? someone had pondered the night before. I made a beeline. He had a pierced nose, a pierced belly button, maybe a pierced tongue; I can’t quite remember. He’d recently removed another piercing but his mates still talked about it. We went to the after party at a hotel. People told us to get a room. He had a room but he was sharing with a mate. I made my friend come back with us. My friend told his mate she would sleep with him if he went out and found her chips or pizza. He was keen but everything was closed. Oh well, she told him. Your loss. They slept in the double bed; she told him to keep to his side.

Matt and I slept on the floor. I wanted him. I still remember his skin, so soft. Not with them in the room, I told him. In my head he would call me the next night and we would catch up. He never got my number.

VI. Dan. We’d started sleeping together. We were wrapping up but he hadn’t realised yet. We fought the whole train ride home. We’d been out with my friend and she’d brought home a boy. He had strange hair and carried crystals. His name was Laith, pronounced Leaf. He drew me a picture of a tree and then ate it. We could hear them in the room next door; Dan had lent them condoms.

He whispered, Does it seem weird that they’ve just met and they are in there doing it and we’re actually together and we’re not? I whispered, No. Not really. I added, Sometimes it’s best not to have sex. I rolled over and went to sleep.

The next morning I dropped Dan home, my friend in the car with us. He told her he was glad he could help out with the condoms. It’s not like I needed them, he informed her. I told him to fuck off.