Great White Buffalo
For those of you who don’t know, “Great White Buffalo” is a term which originated in the film Hot Tub Time Machine. In said film, the phrase essentially means “the one who got away”. In reality the same phrase is a reference to White Buffalo Woman, a legend of the Lakota Sioux. But You can do your own research into that. The point of this post is to discuss my own “Great White Buffalo”. But before we get to that, why don’t I share a little about some of the other females who have ensorcelled me over the years. For the sake of not listing every porn star whose work I’ve ever had the privilege to…”enjoy”, let’s just keep this discussion limited to women whom I have actually met in real life. Let’s also cut out the strippers. (What can I say, I like strippers. But, that’s another post.) But, I digress. The ladies! First off, you have to understand that I’ve been attracted to girls for a long time now. You could blame that May 1987 issue of Playboy (I’ll leave you to do your own research on that one too), but the point is. I was in kindergarten the first time I thought a girl (one of my classmates) was cute. That being said, the list is kind of long. Fair Warning.
Now, that first girl… I don’t remember her much except that she had a uni-brow and she was nice to me. But the first girl I can remember any real detail about was Barbara. In second grade, she was the teacher’s pet. She always finished her work first. I remember that in particular because she would make fun of me for not finishing mine. Let me take this moment also to clarify something. I started school in Germany. I started First Grade! But when my father (First-Sargeant U.S. Army Ret.) got transferred back States side, I couldn’t read or write English even though I could speak it just fine. Seriously, the first thing I ever wrote in English is hanging up in the room right now.. and it is HILARIOUS (in hindsight)! Anyway, I had to go back to kindergarten for a semester and the next year, they jumped me back up to where I was supposed to be. What this meant was that I had a year less practice with some of this stuff than everybody else, so I was slower. This is also why I think I still have difficulty with simple arithmetic (i.e. 7+5). At the time, I remember being “sick” often. You know, the standard, “I’ve got a tummy ache” and calling my mother to pick me up from school early, type of deal. I wonder sometimes how prevalent those types of psychosomatic illnesses are these days. At any rate, now you have the background. Suffice it to say, I didn’t really like Barbara at first. But then the school choir happened. We were performing, among other pieces, the theme song to The Flintstones. I don’t remember how, maybe it was just cuz I was bigger than most of the other boys in the class, but I was going to play Fred Flintstone. Barbara was playing Pebbles (again, maybe only cuz she was short). What we rehearsed was that she would run out on stage and jump up into my arms and I would put her down in the mock-up Flintstones car that had been constructed for our performance. And that’s when it happened! That exact moment! My first contact with a girl. (Let me clarify again, this is the recollection of an 8-year-old boy, but just in case I need to, I’m calling “No-Pedo” on this story!) A hug! Her arms around my neck, hair in my face. She smelled nice! Come performance day though… I didn’t finish my class work on time. So I got bumped from the part. My understudy, if I may use such a professional term for a Second Grade production of The Flintstones Theme Song, did a piss poor job. I had the “WIIIILLLLLMMMMAAAAAA!!!!!!” line at the end! I was gonna kill with that performance. He kinda half mumbled it (HEY! This is my memory and I’ll tell the story how ever I damn well please!). But I still remember Barbara. My first hug!
Don’t worry, the rest of these will go a lot quicker since most of them aren’t attached to any of my other childhood traumas!
Third grade, I met Krystal. She sat in front of me in class. I remember her because she was the first Latina I ever met (to the best of my knowledge). And she always wore her hair in one THICK braid of a pony-tail. I remember wanting to touch her hair… it looked nice! To this day, I still dig long dark hair on a woman. Third Grade was special because that was also the first time I remember having a crush on a teacher. Ms. Kicklighter. (Giving away a lot here!) She was tall, (obviously taller than me) and thin and (comparatively) young. And she wore those long cotton sundresses with the colorful floral prints. I don’t know, it was different. I like different! I think in Fourth Grade I was still sorting out this thing about having a crush on a teacher because my next crush wasn’t until Fifth Grade. Her name was Meredith. She was a little blonde haired, blue-eyed girl. This was about the time when we had our desks arranged in groups of four, facing each other. For a little while (not even a whole semester… a couple of weeks maybe) she sat directly across from me. Her hair was short (I think they call it a “bob” or something) and she had, what I call, a bunny face. Her nose turned up a bit, and between the shape of her lips and her teeth, she always looked like she was smiling just a little bit. Vanessa Hudgens kind of has “bunny face”. Honestly though, that year was mostly about Recorder Band for me.
Sixth Grade! The first girl I ever wrote poetry about. Shitty sixth grader poetry, but poetry none the less. Heather was her name. She was the first girl I remember liking because she had freckles. That was a busy year for me. I was in the Chess Club, I started playing saxophone, I got in my first fight (shoving match really, but again… this is my memory!) and this happened. Childhood Trauma Alert: My parents and I went out to dinner one night to a local seafood restaurant. Apparently Heather’s mom worked there and she was… I don’t know… “helping out” that night. Somebody thought it would be a brilliant idea, because we were classmates(?) to have her take my order. Now, in the grand scheme of things, I don’t think it made one bit of a difference, but subconsciously, I feel like my order that night mattered. I could’ve ordered anything off the menu at this SEAFOOD restaurant. What did I ask for? CHICKEN FINGERS!!!!?????!!!!! GAH! I regretted it almost immediately and I ate those deliciously breaded strips of poultry in shame. I think I ate a lot of things in shame after that but, that’s neither here nor there. We moved at the end of that school year. I think part of me was glad for the escape from my humiliation.
Seventh grade came and went, then we moved again. Eighth Grade! Aside from a post lunch “Fight Club” kind of deal, and doing so well in school that I got almost every award at the end of year assembly (shit ton of trophies… which at that age were not particularly welcomed by me but made my mother happy) I had a small crush on a girl named Marie. First time I had a crush on a Black girl. Also probably the last… Then High School started. And among the various “hot” girls named Elizabeth (seriously I knew like six of ’em, and they all kinda hung out together… it was a little weird), there was Katie! The first big booty white girl I ever saw! Now, I admit, in High School (and maybe a while after) I was kind of a creepy dude. Suffice it to say, I was keenly aware of her ample buttocks. Then there was the cheerleader (who I will not name) that featured in my first (and to date, only) wet dream (the details of which will also remain a secret… although I will admit that it took place “in school” and she was, in truly cliché manner, in uniform).
In truth, there were a lot of girls I thought were pretty, or cute, or attractive in High School. But my Great White Buffalo!?! She was beautiful. Honey colored skin (think Jessica Alba), brown hair… maybe a little auburn. Aww Hell! I don’t even know. You know that Kiefer Sutherland AXE commercial? She was MY Susan Glenn! Words fail when I try to describe her! She was in marching band with me, and when she floated it was because she was rolling her feet! (And that’s the ONLY clue you’re getting… unless you were there for the rest of this story, in which case I swear if you give away the identity of my Great White Buffalo, I will hunt you!). Anyway, we both wound up going to The USC. I’m not sure why… maybe because TheFacebook (it was called that once upon a time) was in its infancy and I thought it would be cool, or maybe we ran into each other, either way, I invited her to a little party a friend of mine was having. My friend, and another friend of ours and my Great White Buffalo, wound up smoking (weed). I didn’t smoke (weed) at the time… that wouldn’t happen until a year or so later, so I just played DJ. The only other time I talked to her was the next day. She asked me if I knew where she could get some more (weed). I didn’t! And we never really talked again. Actually, I did run into her one more time, in the parking lot of a restaurant my friends and I used to frequent… we exchanged pleasantries… but that was it… that was the last time I saw her (in person). I’ve since de-freinded her on Facebook… along with everybody else I knew in High School and never spoke to again. She lives on in my memory though. Smart, talented, and gorgeous. My perfect woman. And, if you’ve read one of my other posts, the first chapter of “The Dome”… she is who I imagine when I write about Iris (beautiful but unpretentious about it). I don’t imagine this will get back to her… and I don’t think anything would come of it even if she did read this… but that’s my story. great white buffalo….
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