by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 35
“The Lights-Out Party”
The following week I had a little dinner party for some friends. To make things interesting I surprised Delmore with an invitation. I thought it would be fun for him to spend an evening in society and I knew that his humor, wit and gay joie de vivre would go over well . And if society took to him, well, then all the better.
I had Delmore come over early Wednesday evening to prep him on who would be there. He wore a lovely Armani suit with those muted dark tones, but Armani’s elegance is never muted. First thing, I gave him the tour of my Park Avenue apartment. You’d have thought he fell into heaven as he took several steps from the vestibule to the main hallway. I took his hand, incase he’d faint.
Interestingly, out of all the rooms in my apartment it was my prized walk-in closets that impressed him the most. He swore that he was inside the Pyramid of Ghiza, or at least what he had seen at the Met. Then we had some fun and pulled out a box of photos from a shoe box and I showed him pictures of me when I was a teenager. He picked out one and said: Honey, you were a scrumptious little thing. How did a pretty white rich girl like you ever do your homework?…My notebook and textbook were opened on my knees, and I was busy painting my toenails.
He thought it was real cute and laughed when I said: How else is a girl to do her homework?…He said: I bet you got straight A’s… I let him know not only did I get straight A’s, I was on the honor roll every year through private school. He pressed the photo next to his heart and teased: If you don’t let me keep this I’ll never be happy…I took the photo away from him and said: Start suffering.
He found another photo of a group of us kids celebrating my best friend Cassidie’s fourteenth birthday party at a Madison Avenue specialty store where the cakes start at two-hundred dollars. Delmore pointed to the two boys horsing around with me, each one of them pulling my arm — I was just fourteen — and he teased: Any of the boys feel you up yet? I said: None of your business, and the answer is somewhere between no.
“Baby doll, either they did or they didn’t.” I wouldn’t answer. “And you were developed for such a little girl.…” I snapped the photo away from him and put it back in the shoe box. He found another one. We were at Cassidie’s apartment later and we were all in her Fifth Avenue living room in anticipation of the Lights-Out party. The memories of that Fall afternoon suddenly came back to me.
I was wearing these awfully tight washed out blue jeans ripped at the knees, fashionable for a few moments back then. I had bought these hot new funky little English Madonna/punk booties down on St. Marks Place. To contrast my funkiness — a playful rejection of that style — I chose a royal red button up cashmere sweater with pearl buttons. I also liked the way it showed off my developing uppers, but before I put anything on I first talked it over with Cassidie just to make sure.
Cassidie came over and I tried on my outfit for her. She said the only thing wrong was my candy pink panty. She picked out a lacy black boy-short I had just bought and said: This is more like it. Look at the way it hugs your firm little tush. I think the only reason you came over was to get me jealous.
I tried it on and stood before the mirror and she said: If I had your legs…Hers weren’t all thatbad, but they certainly weren’t as good as mine. And with a growing confidence I said: I can’t wait for the party can you? She teased: They better behave themselves.
I had hoped so, too. I stared into the mirror and for a moment I had boys’ eyes. Cassidie was right. I looked wickedly hot in my black lacy boy-shorts, though I don’t know where they got that name. I loved the way the panty hugged my butt and really showed me off.
But Cassidie was right. I had developed a lot in the past few months. I suddenly realized I was no longer that little girl that I still kept in the back of my head. I had these great legs and a wonderful firm tight tush, and I had breasts full and round. I did a little walk before the mirror and felt that sublime and strange warmth ooze right up my spine that told me I was ripe and ready to be fucked. I quickly got that nasty thought out of my head. I turned to Cassidie and looked at her with that are-you-thinking-what-I’m-thinking look, afraid that she was reading my mind.
Se said: Do you have any idea how good looking you really are?…It sounded more like a warning than a compliment. I told her: Yeah, but is this really me?… I was this skinny thing all my life and now all of a sudden…I turned to her and she said: And you still think you are….She was right and said: Some of the boys wanted to know if you’d be at the Lights-Out party. I wasn’t too sure what to tell them.
I asked her: Why did they want to know? She rolled her eyes and said: Duhhh! They want to feel you up. That’s what happens at Lights-Out parties. I can’t believe you, sometimes. It’s like you’re not normal. Anyway, I told them that you probably wouldn’t come…I cried: But I’m going! She said: You weren’t until this morning.
She was right. This morning I had spoken to a friend of mine who had been to a Lights Out party and she said I’d be the only girl who hadn’t gone to one if I didn’t go. So, I changed my mind. And I wasn’t a prude; I just wasn’t in a rush. There’s a difference, and any decent girl knows what I’m talking about, anyway.
So I changed subjects and discussed her outfit, which was a cute punk plaid skirt, calf high Doc Maritins and a black V-neck sweater with safety pins. She wanted to die her blonde hair jet black and pencil her eyes like Chrissie Hind. He mother wouldn’t allow it and I sulked with Cassidie about how mean parents could get. But Cassidie was athletically built, very pert and firm and very cute, sort of like a very young Renee Zellwegger, but even better and hotter. So we streaked her hair and did up her eyes and she looked just great. She worried the boys might not think so I told her she behaved worse than I do.
Finally we got around to talking about the party again. Sort of shyly, I asked her: You plan on doing that, too? Get felt up?…She shrugged her shoulders bravely as if to say why not and said: Unlike some other person I know, I’ve been to second base before.
I didn’t like that dig, just because I had never even kissed a boy, but I had imagined all sorts of things when alone, as all girls do, pretending boys touching me and kissing me, but whenever we went to a party I’d sort of get prudish. Hell, I was still fourteen despite the sex crazed era that we lived and live in. So I said to her: Well, I have been thinking about it, too, if you know what I mean. I mean, there are one or two cute boys I have my eye on, not that I want them to know or anything,
Then she tried to scare me: At a lights-out party you never know who’s going to tickle you. I said: Well, I don’t want just any boy tickling me. And she said: That’s why I only invited the cool good looking boys…And I said: It’s just tickling, right?….Cassidie said: Just push their hands away if they get smart. You know how to do that?
It was mean of her, but I didn’t take the bate. In fact, I told her which one of the boys I planned on making out with and she approved. (I hadn’t really planned on any.) Somehow it put me in better standing with her so I told her another lie and said that I was going to let him feel me up, too. But she didn’t believe a word of that.
The night of the party Cassidie called me and told me that her parents were going to some Broadway musical and wouldn’t be back till at least one in the morning. All the kids would be there at nine. She told me if I stayed home and didn’t come she’d tell all the girls that I was a scaredy-cat. I knew she would, so I took the bate and promised that I’d be there. I slowly got dressed and thought about those thoughts that are hard to think about when you get them for the first time.
