Damian, yes, that Damian.

He, Damian, yes, that Damian, the school sporting hero to the boys, the school hunk to us girls. And right up close he is certainly a hunk. That Damian is slowly unbuttoning my blouse (is that what it’s called?). My dad would call it a shirt.

I’ll admit it’s my mum’s blouse, and she has no idea what is happening to it right now.

His eyes look up at me and gives me that smile. I don’t know how to describe it. I do wonder if it is for me, or if he has just seen the bra I am wearing.

“Wow” he says. He has seen my bra. Well, he has just seen my mum’s bra. It’s my mum’s black lacy number.

I smile back, but I really hope I am wearing it right. How do you know? No one talks about it, there’s no elective I could take at school. And importantly, I don’t get the impression Damian cares.

He has arrived at the last button and looks up at me. Dreamy Damian. His hand squeezes my left breast, and the action makes the bra pinch into my skin.  The lacy bra. Ouch. I really don’t know what all the fuss is about.

Damian moves in closer; I can feel his breath on my forehead. He reaches around back to unhook mum’s bra. I can imagine my dad going through this move with this very same bra.

“Oh, …. Ooooh, … Ooohhhh” Damian whispers with his voice rising higher and higher with every “Oh”. My dad wouldn’t be saying that. Or would he? Ewwhhh.

Damian’s left hand reaches around for the hook, while his right hand continues squeezing and rubbing like he was shining his school shoes.

It’s then that I remember. “Hang on, Damian” I say gently, smiling shyly like I am in some Jane Austen novel. I gently push him away and point to the front of the bra. “It’s here. The hook. It’s at the front.” He looks over “Do you see it?” I unlatch and he looks relieved. 

Did my father go through this discovery?

Did Mr. Darcy and his Elizabeth go through this? Did they even have bras in Jane Austen’s time? There’s so much you don’t learn in Literature class. Are we just playing adults for kids. I used to have a little kitchen as a kid, is Damian my replacement?

The music downstairs is playing a Beyonce song, Queen B as I call her. It’s slow and sexy. Damian continues sighing like I imagine my dad would. What would my mum be doing now? She’d be quiet, silent, nibbling on dad’s ear.  

I try it. Tastes awful.

I quietly go back and concentrate on Damian who is now massaging my left nipple. That feels nice. Damian is watching his work coming to life.

Oh, that is so nice.

Damian starts whispering softly in my ear.

Words. Random words.

“Butterflies …. multi-coloured butterflies … wings fluttering gently in the breeze …. they are small … pretty …. and they are free … just like you Cassie.”

What? Did he get this off some YouTube sex video?

Oh, God, not butterflies. My parents took me to the zoo, when I was little and, of course we had t go into the butterfly enclosure. I don’t remember lions or tigers, just those bloody butterflies. There were millions of them.

They were huge. One of them landed on my shoulder. And I lashed out. I … ah …  I squashed it. I was 8 years old. What did my parents expect?

They were distraught. They grabbed my hand, and we raced out of the enclosure.

“Not Butterflies, Damian. Anything but Butterflies.” I say it gently into his ear, so we don’t lose the mood. Is this a mood?

He looks up from nibbling on my breast. “Why?” he asks.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, okay.”

Downstairs, the party’s chatter and Queen B’s music had melded together into one solid beat. Damian goes back to nibbling. It’s not so bad.

Actually, it’s nice. Really nice. So nice.

“A pony” says Damian.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re like a pony, your skin is soft … like a pony … it’s long flowing, dark mane … just like yours.”

Horses now? Mum once got bitten by a pony. Dirty, stinky animals she always said. She would even refuse to take a horse in a Melbourne Cup pool.

“You okay?” said Damian.

“Of course,” do I add the stinger. What the hell. “Everything is good …” then after a beat and with emphasis, I add “… darling”.

Darling. Yes, I admit, I said darling. I had only heard my mother say it to my dad. What did it mean? He always smiled knowingly for some reason. I could never figure it out. I didn’t want to figure it out.

“Oh, Cassie,” was Damian’s glowing response. He got closer and I could feel his penis through his pants against my thigh. He continued nibbling on my neck and kneading my breasts as if he were making bread.

“Imagine” I whispered taking over with the imagery stuff that Damian seemed to like.

“Imagine a warm day … We’re on a tropical beach.”

“Oh, yes,” his penis now seriously mashing my leg.

 “I undress you”, I continue. “ … you undress me.” I would obviously have to help him remove my mother’s bra.

“Yes, oh yes, Cassie.”

“Naked, Damian. Just me and you.”

“Ooohh, Cassie”, mashing continuing.

“And we’d run to the water, which is warm. And we’d swim amongst the beautiful, colourful fish.” It was starting to feel really nice again. Like a YouTube video I once saw dad watching.

“Fish everywhere. So beautiful. Oh, Dami …..” His hand reached up and he placed it gently, but securely against my mouth.

“Fish?” he said horrified. “In the sea? Naked?” The mashing has stopped.

“We’d be naked, Damian…” And, for effect I added, again, with emphasis “… darling.”

He had stopped completely and had moved away. Mum’s bra hung limp across my shoulders. The music below had stopped.

“Are you okay, Damian? Darling, are you okay?” The look on his face made me re-hook mum’s bra.

“I am so sorry Cassie. It’s just that I have this thing about fish and being naked.”

“What do you mean, … darling?” It wasn’t working for me anymore, or for Damian, but I wasn’t going to give it up.

“I … I …”  He could barely speak. “I remember my parents took me snorkelling once in Port Douglas. It was just near the shore. I put on the goggles and dropped under the waves. And, … and there they were.”

“They? Who are they …. Damian?”

“Who?” he looked up at me in anguish. “Who?” There were lots of fish. Just swimming about looking for food. Mouths full of teeth.” He looked questioningly, “fish have teeth, don’t they?”

“I think so,” I replied. “Sharks do.”

“Ahhhhh” he screamed in horror. “If I had been naked. Naked. Completely naked. With no clothes on.”

“I know what naked is, Damian.”

“Yes, I know you know. If I was naked, in the sea, any one of those fish could have eaten my penis. Chomped it right off… Oh, it makes me cringe”

“Oh, dear Damian.”

Damian, the toughest footballer at the school. The boy every girl would pay decent money to exchange places with me. And every one of them would jump into a sea of penis-eating fish to rescue him.

He started crying quietly, “I can’t stand fish Cassie, they make me feel weird. Their funny little squashed faces, and all those teeth. I hope you can understand, Cassie.”

Downstairs “Kiss” by Prince came on. I started dancing. I couldn’t help myself.

A couple of days later, I saw my mum wearing the same blouse and I think I even spied the same bra beneath it. Mum and dad were going out. “There’s some party down by the beach. Don’t wait up for us Cassie”.

“I won’t. Make sure you don’t go skinny dipping,” I said.

I noticed my father’s face whiten as he looked back at me. “There are fish out there, Dad” I whispered to him as he stepped out the door “with big mouths and teeth. And they are very, very hungry.”