MY FIRST HOUSE PARTY

The year was 1992. I was 14 and had been invited to this house party(yes house party.)

My parents were cool on me going because the parents were going to be there, and there would be appropriate supervision(supervision? my parents were such squares GEEZ)

Daddy-O agrees to drop me off and as we approach the house, i hear the bass heavy thump of music, and my heart leaps into my throat. Can I change my mind? I'm not ready to do this. No, that would be stupid. I begged my parents to go, so i'd better just (wo)man up.

We pull up, i bid my farewells to my dad and walk up the front steps to the house. As i near the front door, i hear the voices of the kids rising up for the basement. Ugh i don't want to do this. There are a million bookstores i'd rather be in right now.

Anyways the father lets me in, and ushers me to the basement. I pass through the kitchen(cuz the kitchen leads to the basement) the smell of curry nearly overpowering me.(they were jamaican.) Walking down the narrow stairs, I enter the basement and see through the dim lighting that, per usual, the guys and girls are posted up against the wall, on opposite sides of the room. I don't really know anyone there so i kind of attach myself to a group of girls that seem amiable, and commenced to joining their buttressing of the basement walls.

There's no real DJ, just a hodgepodge of records and cds and a turntable on one wall, while a random kid doing a bad imitation of kid capri manages the ones and twos.

It kinda of goes on like this for a few minutes until the father of the house comes down the stairs.

"Why aren't you dancing?" He has a booming voice and thick accent(which i won't attempt to phoneticize here)

"Why the boys over there?" He tilts his head towards the gentlemen leaning on the wall.
"You afraid of these beautiful ladies?"

Walking over to the turnables he relieves young capri of his duties.

"I'll get you guys dancing."

He flips through the CD collection till he finds what he's looking for. Inserting the CD into the changer, he selects the track, and turns up the volume with a self satisfied smile.

"Crying moaning just can't wait till morning..."

*blink*

Why oh why did this man pick Mad Cobra's Flex(time to have sex) as the icebreaker song????

"Like a clock ticking on the wall..."

My face gets flush with embarrassment.

First of all WTF?

Second of all, I wouldn't listen to this song with my parents around. I also can't imagine my parent deciding to play it for my friends at a party.

Third of all WTF?

But he isn't my parent, and apparently the theme of the song does not concern him.

I can smell the post traumatic stress disorder coming.

As the beginning strains of the sensuous music kick in he walks over to each wall dragging the boys and girl from their respective spots, pairing them together to dance. He's getting close to where i am and i try to gauge if i have enough time to make a mad dash for the kitchen.(That curry suddenly sounds so good) But alas, there is nowhere to run(nowhere to hide).

Its my turn to get paired up.

Mr. P jerks me together with some random kid. I can't really see his face cuz its so dark, and he kind of fumbles his hands about my waist. We kind of do a slow shuffle step. The bassline comes in and i attempt to get on beat.

Well this is weird. I peer into the darkness, and realize some of the girls have lost their shyness and have begun...um...flexing. My dance partner appeared to be just as clumsy as i, so we don't attempt to do any thing of the sort. We just kind of ambled about in silence, waiting for the agony to be over. I still can't get over why he picked this song.

My dance partner decides to take a chance, and pulls me closer to him.

"what's your name" he yells in a whisper.

"alexis."

"you look nice alexis."

"you can see me?"

(I could/should have said thank you, but my social skills at that point were still in their embryonic stages. Don't hold it against me.)

"Kind of."

"oh."

This is dumb. I don't even like this song, and now i'm being forced to dance to it with a kid whose face i can't even see.

Emboldened by the darkness his hand travels lower, resting on the top of my booty. To the beat, i move his hand back up to my third vertebrae.

We dance in a buffalo stance for the remainder of the song. (Don't...you get fresh with me)

Finally, finally, the song ends and we separate.

The party continues on, fortunately without anymore bizarre choices from the man of the house.