I was 16. A girl called Tanner sat on the ground in front of me, with her legs crossed in a little skirt. Her skin showed through the rips in the pantihose, warm ripe gold bursting through black nylon gaps.
Her boyfriend was in jail. I took her on the back of my bike to see him. I wanted those thighs apart, touching my ass, and her breasts against my back on the turns. And I figured I had one sexual advantage over the bad boy in jail: I wasn’t in jail.
I was a dumb 16 year old. I’ve still got traces of the wound her bad boy’s friends gave me. It was the first time I saw a part of one of my own bones. When I looked past the skin and the blood, there it was: living bone, palely yellow. And I never did get to fuck Tanner.
But she looked sexy on that lawn.