Once upon a time- somewheres around 1988, to the best of my recollection- I managed to get to second (or third? Shit, I don't know what the rules are concerning this anymore) (O.k, I just checked- I guess it was third on one count, third+ on the other) with two brothers in the same year.
I was even going to use their real names, but I just checked and realized that one of them is currently serving as a city council member for one of the larger Twin Cities suburbs, so I guess I'll play nice and change them.
I was 16 or 17 when this all started at a little place called "Faces". I have briefly mentioned Faces before, but for the sake of argument I'll recap:
Faces was an all-ages "nightclub" in the lovely city of Duluth, MN in the late 80's and, I think, very early 90's. They had different theme nights, with "New Wave Night" being the favorite among me & my friends. New Wave Night was AWESOME. All of the kids we thought were so very cool at the time went to it, and it was a most excellent chance to show off new clothing ensembles and ridiculously uncomfortable recently purchased shoes from London that we had to special order with money saved from babysitting or mowing lawns.
Unfortunately for us, New Wave Night fell on a weeknight, so getting permission to go & getting someone to drive us the 20-25 minutes it took to get there was very often equal to, or slightly harder than, getting our parents to grant us the ability to wear a thong and pasties to church.
So when we did go, we made the most of the situation.
Many a New Wave Night launched off with us smuggling cans of warm beer or flasks of whatever into the club- initially in our bags, but once they started checking bags & patting people down for contraband we brilliantly thought to stash the offenders in our unders.
No one EVER checked there. We thought we were criminal masterminds. One caveat: try walking normally with a beer or small flask stuffed in your unders, nudged against your bits.
Not so easy.
There were two brothers that hung out, to varying degrees, with many of the same people we knew. Tom, the intellectual older brother, was a couple of years older than we were, and he and his younger skateboarder brother Tim went to the local catholic high school up on the hill.
I had been dating a classmate of theirs at this point that we'll call Crew Cut. Crew Cut and I had been dating for a while (maybe 6-8 months) and I was the lucky woman who could lay claim to being the dragonslayer that had won the virginity of Sir Crew Cut.
Thus- Crew Cut had convinced himself that I was indeed the sole inventor of fornication and his clinginess grew exponentially each time we made the unfortunate beast with two backs.
(From this relationship on, I vowed to never again be "that girl". No more virgins for me- the pressure is just too much.)
Crew cut had recently graduated, and he made the unfortunate decision to go to college in Wisconsin, 2+ hours away from where we lived.
That fall- well, pretty much the same instant Crew Cut got in the car with all of his dorm gear and mutterings of "I love you baby, we'll be together forever. This long-distance thing won't matter a bit"- I decided to start making up for lost time.
One New Wave Night very soon after my "boyfriend" left town, Tom (the older brother) and I started getting very cozy in a corner of the club. We decided we needed privacy, and our drunken (very drunken) teenage behinds decided to go across the street to Leif Erickson Park to frolic and such. Right there- in the middle of the park- we shamelessly got to third++ that night.
Unfortunately for Tom, I was really more interested in his younger (and in my opinion), slightly cuter brother, Tim. (Tim was a year or so younger than me, but I figure since we were all under 18 no crimes were committed.)
I pretty much lost any interest I had in Tom and moved on to Tim like only a 17 year-old cougar can. I mercilessly hit on him, called him, and tried to wear skater-girly things I thought he'd like. I instantly hated any girls that spoke to him and mentally clawed their heavily rimmed in black eyeliner eyes out.
Eventually, Tim gave in. I think I just wore him down, truth be told.
We met up downtown one Saturday afternoon, as that was the routine: Thursday night was New Wave Night, Saturday afternoon was hanging out downtown Duluth, rummaging through The Last Place on Earth (no Electric fetus yet)and Global Village, stopping occasionally for a burger at McDonald's. Saturday afternoons you were guaranteed that most of the area's punkers/new wavers/skaters/etc... would be hanging out- smoking, being angsty and committing minor acts of civil disorder and such.
After an afternoon of "wanna get a coke?" and "um, yeah" we decided to have a proper date.
We agreed upon a movie (maybe this one?) of some sort and arranged a double-date with my girl Waffle and (I think, can't really remember) her boyfriend Scooter.
A movie was seen, and a post-movie "get together" was arranged at Scooters now-razed kind of dingy apartment on 2nd Street.
Stilted conversation was had, schnapps and Mickey's was consumed, and before you could say "Rock Lobster" Tim and I were making out hot and heavy in the coat closet.
A few days later, I got a call from Tim.
He seemed concerned that I was still technically "dating" Crew Cut. I technically still had a "boyfriend".
My "boyfriend" was technically kind of a lug and could possibly pound Tim into a bloody, whimpering mass of goo.
He was unashamedly scared shitless for his safety should we continue dating.
We ended our brief, yet torrid, closet affair that day.
I wonder if they ever discussed "that slut Whiskeymarie" over the Christmas ham at the Tom and Tim family home.
Poor boys, they had no idea what they were getting into.
And, if you have a second- go over and say a big-assed CONGRATULATIONS to my favorite girl Lollie, who is officially knocked up, a.k.a preggers.
She's earned it.