I will warn you up front, this is a bit of a PG13-ish post. Do with that what thou wilt.
I’ve spoken in previous blog entries about Gary (no, not his real name) who was a neighbor of mine. Gary had an older brother, who I will call “Earl” here. Earl was three years older than our little peer group, and unlike Gary – was a decent dude. He was the trainer “apprentice” for the Largo High athletic clubs, especially those using the football stadium – which would include soccer, track, and so on.
We had a mutual friend who even as a freshman was one of the best players on the girls soccer team, and Earl knew I made a habit of going to the contests when I was an underclassman – so he gave me a lift back home one night, but some of the girls on the team had nagging injuries that needed care. Thus, he commissioned me to assist him.
One of the girls (who was older than I was) had an ankle or knee injury, something like that, so Earl asked me to hold her leg in place while he got something to treat the malady. (And by the way, the locker room showers in the locker rooms didn’t work at LHS when I went there- nor did the girls get changed there, so this wasn’t like some act of perversion was going on for me to be there.)
I’m holding up this girls leg – I don’t think I was acquainted with her, but I probably made some small talk, what have you. The blue shorts are a bit high up on her, where the fabric is only covering up the top of her thighs, but something is peeking out a bit. It takes me a few seconds to figure out I’ve accidentally seen some of her pubic hair – and this is the late 1980’s when “woman-scaping” wasn’t that much of a thing, so it’s dark in color, and somewhat abundant.
It’s one of those instants where time to seems to slow down. Do I tell her what I’m seeing, out of courtesy? I didn’t really see the upside of that – that leg could wind up emphatically in my crotch. So I try not to stare at it and ignore it – and think about football players or something like that. Earl comes back with whatever it was he went to find, and life goes on.
I wasn’t much of a chatterbox in my high school days – so that incident has stayed with me, that is – until now.