His name was Johnson, although Johnson wasn't his real name. The rumor throughout high school was that he acquired the name Johnson because he masturbated too much.
I realize now that this probably isn't true.
But the rumor was that he couldn't stop touching his johnson. He bragged about the mark on his car windshield where one time he came so hard that he couldn't clean his semen off the glass.
I realize now that this probably isn't true either.
Johnson was older than me, but we were in the same social circle. The details are fuzzy now, but I think we were in the same math class. Either he had failed or I was in advanced math, but he was a senior in my class. We were also in the same after-school club.
I was always a little intimidated by Johnson. I considered him more popular than me and infinitely cooler than me. Despite these terribly awkward rumors about Johnson, people liked him. Teachers even liked him. I was shy, friendly, but mostly unconfident in myself. I never really talked to Johnson because what could we ever have in common?
One afternoon after school, I hefted my book bag on my shoulder and began my daily walk to my job. It was a short walk. The movie theatre was probably three-fourths of a mile down the road, on the other side of the park. Two traffic lights away.
Johnson pulled his car up next to me on the sidewalk.
"You need a ride?"
"Oh! No thanks! I'm just going to the theatre."
"I know. Just hop in and I'll take you there."
I looked at Johnson's beater car. "It's really not that far," I hesitated.
"I'm going that direction anyway."
I got in Johnson's car, bewildered. We've never been alone together. I'm not even sure we've spoken directly to each other, despite spending a lot of time in each other's presence.
Johnson pointed to the milky spot on his windshield. "That's the stain," he said.
"Really? Um, that is a far distance from your lap," I managed.
"Yeah, I really blew my load that time."
I looked out the window uncomfortably. I wish I didn't get in this car. I don't know how to talk like this. I've never had a boyfriend. I've never been French kissed with the exception of Spin the Bottle in eight grade. I'm pretty sure I didn't do it right then anyway. No boy has ever wanted to kiss me.
Johnson stopped at the first red light. I turned and looked at him.
His pants were open, and he had his penis out, stroking it.
It was the first time I had ever seen a penis.
"I have to go!" I screamed as I got out of the car. "Thanks for the ride!"
I ran from the car into the park. I would walk through the trees where the car couldn't reach me. I cried without being able to articulate why. I felt violated even though he never touched me.
Later that night I saw Johnson's beater car pull up to the curb in front of me. I was working the box office, so I was alone on the street surrounded by glass. I was exposed. I had no choice but to see him.
Johnson walked up to the glass. His face was full of remorse and I could tell he felt like shit. I wondered if I was the first girl he pulled this stunt with, or if I was just the first girl to react badly.
"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I'm... I'm so sorry. Please forgive me," he croaked.
"It's okay," I whispered through the glass, unable to use the microphone.
Except I didn't feel okay.
I never spoke to Johnson after that night. We avoided each other until he graduated and went off to college. I worked my senior year at the box office in peace.
Johnson reappeared 18 years later as a Facebook friend request. The next week a prank he pulled went viral on the Internet. He's married now, with a son.
He added my email to his work contacts and now sends me business newsletters. He also added me to his charity fundraising page. He runs for kids with cancer.
Fuck you, Johnson. It's not okay.