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MERRY SKULL BITES: Latchkey Summer, Dirty Deeds

"Everyday I would dress hopelessly in a blue Colorado River tee shirt that hung down over my skateboard scuffed legs and walk bra-less to the community pool where friends and I would whittle away the day. Our toys consisted of knives and pens for carving up park benches with the latest objects of our frustrated lust's names. Our ghetto blasters maintained a musical background as we frantically struggled to memorize the words to illicit sounding songs like "Shook Me All Night Long". I would open my mouth wide, inhale a nicotine puff and wait for my very favorite line. "Knocking me out with those American thighs…" Read Kimberly Nichols's debut column about music as soundtrack to our lives.

by Kimberly Nichols

COPYRIGHT © 2002, 3 A.M. MAGAZINE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


We never forget the flavor of our senses that pepper our first sexual escapade. We never forget the surrounding elements of the moment: what was in the air, the texture of the ceiling, the color of the carpet, the liquids on the skin.

I was lying in my friend Jeanne's bed after eating her mother's supply of brandied blueberries with my current boyfriend Joe. Joe was cornrow blonde and wore heavy metal sleeveless t-shirts. He sucked the tips of matches because he liked the tang of sulfur. He lit my first Marlboro Red that I actually inhaled and poured me tiny sips of Wild Turkey that helped form my aversion to hard liquor. He was three years older than me with a black and white checkered bandanna forever secured around his neck in my memory bank. The soundtrack to my deflowering will spin eternal captioned with the gutter seed words of AC/DC as they sang "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap".

I will never forget that Summer. Raised by a hard working single mom, I lived in a small town stigmatized by its poverty, meth amphetamine production, juvenile delinquents and loose, vulgar mouthed teenage girls. I attended private school which prevented me from having hometown friends and for the brief two hottest months a year I could mingle with the locals instead of being a mere white trash wanna -be in a guilty Catholic school uniform.

Everyday I would dress hopelessly in a blue Colorado River tee shirt that hung down over my skateboard scuffed legs and walk bra-less to the community pool where friends and I would whittle away the day. Our toys consisted of knives and pens for carving up park benches with the latest objects of our frustrated lust's names. Our ghetto blasters maintained a musical background as we frantically struggled to memorize the words to illicit sounding songs like "Shook Me All Night Long". I would open my mouth wide, inhale a nicotine puff and wait for my very favorite line. "Knocking me out with those American thighs…" I would sing it loud enough for at least one boy to notice and take heed of my legs. At that age I wasn't mature enough to comprehend the true complexities of sexual attraction but I could feel the power of a lyric's innuendoes.

I was wet with a blooming damp beauty that year. I was immersed in the lazy summertime lull of experimentation, bad flattery, wicked first attempts and latchkey freedom. I was excited by the seeds of arousal that threw my libido into the strange New World of puberty. When I look back towards that ironically innocent time when I'd yell "Big balls!" and jiggle along to Ace Frehley's manic strums, I realize that AC/DC was my introduction to the electrical taboos I felt tingle the pelvis and stab the brain.

Dirty Deeds, indeed.


Kimberly Nichols is a freelance writer and artist living in the California desert. She is co-editor of 3 AM Magazine and SinglesFAQ. Her short stories have appeared in Feminista, Small Spiral Notebook, Alternative Arts & Literature.








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