I Love Tomboys
When I was twelve and scratched the naked, hairy ass of my first so-called girlfriend in our homemade hideout, somewhere under cardboard boxes, rat poison, and industrial pallets, I knew what the rest of my life would look like. She wasn’t one of those normal girls who plastered their faces with makeup, ran to pedicures, and shaved their legs, but my best buddy – for years. We jumped like Power Rangers over sacks of earth, beat each other senseless in the woods, and late at night watched the first soft-core porn on some shabby TV channel, together with her little brothers, to laugh at her own flesh and blood and shove them whooping down the stairs. I admired Mara through and through. She was my first tomboy.
A few years later we had sex for the first time. She had just come up from waiting tables in her mother’s place, and we talked all night, about wild dreams, the future, and pop music. With one motion I slid the yellow panties off her and burrowed into her hairy crotch. A friend dozed grinning beside us, the full moon poured in – how romantic. A year later she confessed she was lesbian, had wanted Nina and Elena to hug her at kindergarten nap time. That didn’t stop me from loving buddy-type girls. I never liked annoying girly girls, though I dated some. Girls with brains, directness, and a taste for rough were more my type. Boxers not thongs, bloody knees from skateboards instead of burns from tanning salons.
I wanted girls who could push through, were cheeky, had opinions, and would rather screw life than be screwed by it. The best times were with women more buddy than girlfriend. Drinking, coking through summer nights, then taking them on the balcony while Muse blasted and the city melted. Small, firm breasts with puffy nipples, as if God chose their sex at the last second – I was grateful. They’d poop next door mid-sex, come back grinning with a salami sandwich, keep going, snap photos, send them to another buddy. That’s true love, far from Disney. I hope to fall for a loud, freckled tomboy. A life of sex, beer pong, fights, sunsets, Slipknot, skinny-dips, and that grin when you’re fucking your best friend.