The funny thing about this story is that I remember all of the names involved except for the one that jizzed on my back.
I met Mike Coleman when I was 16ish and he is still in my life. I love Mike. He has life stories that would sell a million copies. Mike is a hapa hawaiian. He was a football god at some decent school in Portland and straight edge. We met one night when my best friend Patti and I were “strolling” the turnaround. That’s what you did in Seaside. You walked (or cruised if you had a car) around the turnaround. The most futile, desperate act of all time. But that is what we did. We walked and walked and walked. Tried to look cool, tried to catch the eye of a guy with a car. On a night like many others I met Mike. Mike, Darrell, and this other guy. This other guy was short, blond, and kind of cute. Cute-ish. Which was usually enough back then. Mike was taken, the blondie was boring but Darrell was in a band called National Guard and he was more my type. Big, funny, rough but sweet. I set my cap towards him but some how ended up sleeping next to Nameless on our makeshift sleeping bag cuddle puddle in the sand. That’s what you did back then. You found a sand dune, a Mickey’s 22, and flirted awkwardly at each other.
Not one to be pawed at I turned my back towards the blond and feigned sleep. It wasn’t long before I realized that the harried shuffling going on behind me wasn’t a man settling into sleep. It was a boy jacking off on my back.
When I told this story to Mike many years later we had a proper chuckle. But thinking back on it now I am reminded that as women we tolerate a bit too much from a guy just because he has a hard on. I don’t think of it in the feminist sense, I think of it like this; if you are going to shoot an unsolicited wad on my back the least you can do is wipe it off.