Fast Times at Ridgemont High - A True Story

It’s Up To You, Mike

Stacy Hamilton caught up with Mike Damone on his way to the bus stop. “Can I walk you home?” she asked.

“I was going to take the bus.”

“Let’s walk.”

“Okay,” he said. Might as well give her a taste of the Damone charm, he thought.

They made some small talk about how all the sophomore guys blasted K-101, the lamest station in town. Then Damone just said it point blank.

“You know Mark Ratner really likes you, don’t you?”

“I know,” she said.

They walked on.

“Do you like him?” asked Damone.

They arrived at Stacy’s house. “I like you,” she said. “Do you want to come in for a second?”

“Do you have any iced tea?”

“I think we have some.”

“Okay.” He was just going inside for an iced tea, Damone told himself. “You know Mark’s a really good guy.”

They stood around in the kitchen while Stacy fixed two iced teas.

“I really like Mark, too,” said Stacy, handing Damone the tea. “He’s really a nice boy.”

“He’s a good guy,” Damone said.

“You want to take a quick swim?”

“Well . . .”

“Come on. Brad probably has some trunks you can borrow. I’m going to my room to change!”

She’s going to her room to change.

“I think I better go,” said Damone.

“Don’t go! You don’t have to shout! You can come back here to my room!”

She’s asking me into her room while she changes.

Stacy was standing there in her bikini.

“Let’s go to the changing room and see if there are some trunks,” she said.

“I think I better go,” said Damone.

“God,” said Stacy, “you’re just a tease!”

“I ain’t no tease,” said Damone.

“Good!” said Stacy. Things were working out just as she and Linda had planned.

They went into the changing room, and Stacy locked the door behind her. “Are you really a virgin?” she asked.

Damone could feel his legs starting to shake the slightest bit. “Come on. . .”

“It’s okay.” Stacy walked over and kissed him.

“I feel pretty strange here,” said Damone. “Because Mark really likes you. He’s my friend.”

He kissed her anyway. Standing there, feeling Stacy in her bikini, feeling her kiss him, Damone felt some of his reservations slip away.

“You’re a really good kisser,” she said.

“So are you.”

“Are you shaking?”

“No,” said Damone. “Are you crazy?” But he was. The last time Mr. Attitude had gone this far on the make-out scale with a girl had been with Carol back in Philadelphia. Carol had let him reach into her pants and touch her, but just for a second. That had been enough for back then. That had been enough to make him feel like he and his brother, Art, could really talk about women. But this . . . this was The Big One.

“Why don’t you take your clothes off, Mike?”

“You first.”

“How about both of us at the same time.”

And as if that made it emotionally even, they both stripped at the same time. Stacy unhooked her top and stepped out of her bikini bottom. She went to sit down on the red couch in the changing room.

She watched Damone hopping on one leg, pulling first out of his pants, then his Jockey underwear. Then he caught the underwear on his erection, and it slapped back into his abdomen. He sat down next to Stacy, expressionless.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” said Damone.

She reached over and grabbed his erection. She began pulling on it. The feeling of a penis was still new to her. She wanted to ask him about it. Why did it hurt if you just touched it one place, and not at all at another . . . but later she would ask him that. For now, she just yanked on it. Damone didn’t seem to mind.

“I want you to know,” said Stacy, “that it’s your final decision if we should continue or not.”

“Let’s continue,” said Damone.

As Mike Damone lost his virginity, his first thought was of his brother, Art. Art had said, “You gotta overpower a girl. Make her feel helpless.”

Damone began pumping so hard, so fast—his eyes were shut tight—that he didn’t notice he was banging the sofa, and Stacy’s head, against the wall.

“Hey Mike,” she whispered.

“What? Are you all right?”

“I think we’re making a lot of noise.”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He continued, slower.

What a considerate guy, Stacy thought. He was kind of loud and always joking around other people, but when you got him alone . . . he was so nice.

Then Damone stopped. He had a strange look on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I came,” said Damone. “Didn’t you feel it?”

He had taken a minute and a half.

They were unusual feelings, these thoughts pooling in Mike Damone’s head as he lay on the red couch with Stacy. He was a little embarrassed, a little guilty . . . mostly he just wanted to be alone. He wanted to get the hell out of there.

“I’ve got to go home,” said Damone. “I’ve really got to go.”

Stacy called Linda as soon as he left.

“Where did it happen?” Linda answered her phone.

“On the couch. In the changing room.”

“Bizarre.”

“I left it up to him, Linda. I could have made the final decision, but I left it up to him. I said, ‘It’s you, you make the final decision.’ And he said, ‘Why not?’ ”

“Did you talk afterwards?”

“A little. He said he was relieved.”

“So are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend now?”

“I don’t know,” said Stacy in a singsong.

“How do you feel?”

“Guilty.” She laughed.

“Did he call you yet?”

“Lin-da. He just left.”

“You know, Stacy, that when someone asks him on his deathbed who he lost his virginity to, he’ll have to say you. He’ll remember you forever!”