Engaged on my 17th birthday, my fiancée’s parents were not pleased their only child chose a young, poor, Catholic, Asian to marry. Well, mostly they were upset with my being Catholic but could say little due to their failed status.
With, our engagement, my fiancée took control of my life. I was to finish high school, plan the wedding, work weekends to save money for marriage and be with him. As I was "promised" I missed the high school dating game which at a girl's Catholic high school isn’t much to miss. As a concession to my high school status, however, I was allowed Saturday “girl’s nights out”. The 1956 Desoto I bought at the start of my senior year meant I was the driver.
My high school friends in exchange invited me to their slumber parties and taught me about makeup. I learned how to look older, hide minor blemishes, make my eyes more oval, paint my nails and style my hair. It was my first experience of looking pretty to be noticed. I loved red lipstick and nail polish.
The girl’s game was to see how much makeup we could get away with at school until forced to go to the lavatory and wash it off. We polished our toe nails, concealed by shoes from the nuns and did our finger nails Fridays after school then smudged them clean Monday mornings. I applied lipstick before the rear-view mirror as soon as entering the Desoto after school in Mom’s hotel parking space. I raised the hem of my skirt to the height limit imposed by the nuns and higher outside of school.
Neither Mom nor my fiancée were in favor of "girls night out", my attending slumber parties, driving girls around or the makeup sessions but I enjoyed them. They became my allotted weekly highlight. We put on makeup at a girl’s house then I drove them to the drive-in and afterwards cruised about downtown so they could seek boys.
My fiancée and I helped support our parents and endured our fathers cash raids, he for drinking, me for gambling. I also endured sibling "borrowing" but hid my savings in a secret bank, a carved-out niche in the sheet rock above and inside my bedroom closet door. No matter how hard they searched my safe was never discovered and they had to officially “borrow.” I suspect my safe is still intact if the current occupant even knows it's there. We both helped our mothers with cash pinches.My fiancée opened a real bank account in our names, one which required both signatures for withdrawals. Our marriage nest egg grew even while helping parents instead of them supporting us as we prepared for the wedding.
His infatuation with me remained a mystery but I accepted I was to be married on graduation by wearing his ring, except to school where it was prohibited. There I wore it on a gold chain concealed from the nun's view under my blouse instead of the Saint Christopher's medal I once wore.
While poor and from a dysfunctional family like me he had a future with his college graduation. I wanted security from the monthly rent is due crisis, out of my cramped house and a husband who didn’t leave on the weekends. Not the best reasons for marriage but for me, good enough. Love, I didn't think of romantic love. Instead, I loved suddenly having a secure economic future.
I wanted a successful husband who went to work in the morning, didn't drive away in the evening, a home we owned with a white picket fence, a nice neighborhood and 2 kids. In return, I would be a super wife and mom even though I didn't think of it that way. It was just a vague assumption. He didn't want to be his Dad and I was determined not to be Mom, a breeding, hotel housekeeper stuck with a womanizer.
Engaged to a man, the only one I ever kissed, provided a degree of self-confidence. A man loved me, whatever love was. I knew he was going to be successful, enjoyed cooking for him and enjoyed my “already taken” status. While controlling, he never belittled or physically threatened me. With him, I was safe, safer than being alone or at home were lack of money was a constant hazard.
He brought groceries to our house for me to cook, ate there and took leftovers to his parents resulting in my cooking for 10 and our engagement pleasing all. I was happiest with him at our dinner table and me at the stove cooking, especially if Dad was there and we cooked together.
Friday nights we saw a movie, went for pizza afterwards or drove around but rarely stayed at either of our dingy houses. We went to the County Fair and spent more time looking at the animals than the carnival rides but he did foolishly try to win a teddy bear. Instead he had to settle on a pair of fuzzy dice to hang from his car mirror.
We did things which didn’t cost much like go to the Rosicrucian Museum and look at mummies which was free or a San Jose State football games to watch our team typically lose. Once we went to the international flight section at San Francisco Airport. There we contentedly spent an evening watching travelers arrive and depart at the gates and imagined we were dressed up too and coming from or going to an exotic location like Tokyo. He took me to my senior ball with a dress I made. He continued to live at home after his university graduation and start of work to be next door to me and save money.
There was, however, the draft. His student deferment ended on his January graduation. The scheduled wedding was not until June when I graduated from high school. The draft could swoop down like it did on my older brother Rickie and take him away before or even after. The war in Vietnam required draftee fodder. Losing Ricki 2 years earlier was a crisis in our family which seared the danger of the draft in my mind. While he said we would marry regardless, his being in the army was not the security promised. His draft status initially kept our scheduled marriage uncertain, my future vague and our marriage unassured.
Then in January 1968, just after his graduation, his student deferment statues changed to ll-A, a technical civilian deferment due to his employment as an engineer at Lockheed Aircraft in Sunnyvale. It was the good job promised with no draft risk. With my graduation and his “good job” the deal was sealed. I was taken, promised, engaged; my marriage assured on high school graduation, my future set, an 18-year-old bride.
Mom became more pleased with our engagement as she knew him better due to his "honoring and protecting me" but still lectured about not getting pregnant. Like the nuns she didn’t talk specifics, just don't, inferring I was to remain a virgin. With marriage assured and the months counting down, however, being a virgin on the altar was no longer important to me.
Like puberty and menstruation, no adult talked to me about birth control or the "pill" which was starting to change the world. At school, among the girls, it was the big topic of discussion with the talk often of how to get "the pill." A few, very few, had a mother who went with them to the doctor and got them on "the pill". The nuns seemed flustered girls could "do it" and not be punished with pregnancy. The church was in turmoil over this earth-shaking change.
For me it didn’t matter. At 17 I couldn’t get the "pill". You had to be 18 to see a doctor without a parent. Mom would never agree to take me to a doctor to get "the pill". Sex was a taboo subject. To say, "Mom, take me to the doctor and get me on the "pill" so we can start screwing” would in my mind, stop the earth's rotation. Instead, it was don’t ask, don't tell. She lit a few more candles in church to keep me a virgin and I never broached the subject of what happened in his car.
My fiancée could be arrested if we had intercourse, me being under 18 and he over 21. While we came close, we didn't. Once our wedding was certain with his safe draft status I was willing despite Mom's extra candles and the nun's admonishments. I figured my fate’s sealed; it dosen’t matter if I’m pregnant on the altar but he "honored and protected me." As with other things he took responsibility for my virginity, It as well as I, belonged to him.
With his draft status clearance and good job, we shifted from just kissing good night to ‘necking” and "petting" as it was called. Then it happened. After a movie, parked overlooking Steven's Creek Dam, we were grinding against each other on the front seat, fully clothed, what was called “dry humping” back then. I pulled my blouse and bra up and had him kiss my nipples, for the first time. While he did, I lifted my skirt and put his hand on my panty crotch.
I climaxed in a shudder, 4 months before our scheduled wedding. He was the more surprised at my ardor and exclaimed I was, “Vixen,” as I straightened my clothes and sat up. I was not sure who Vixen was but, thereafter she was my sexual persona.
I bought bullet bras and nylon panties at Macy’s, to make Vixen feel and look sexy. “Necking” and "petting" became our sex life. Soon after overlooking Steven's Creek Dam his parents went out and we were alone in his house. We went from kissing while watching TV to my leading him to his bedroom. On his bed I opened myself to him but again he asssured we didn't go too far.
I unbuckled his pants and saw for the first time his penis. Unlike my brothers it was circumcised. Too inexperienced for oral sex I stroked it.
When his semen spurted out I jumped back in amazement, got up, got a towel and cleaned up the distinct, faintly bleach smelling mess, proud of my accomplishment. Thereafter his penis was tagged Squirt.Vixen still took soapy showers while I thought of his spewing and fantasized making other men spew.
He scolded Vixen when she became too aggressive and kept his “honor and protect” promise.
Author Notes: With marriage assured a girl makes herself sexually available but her fiancee keeps his promise to honor and protect her.