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patiently. I pulled the Vaseline out from my underpants, handed it to the Maestro and undressed in the darkness.
    Things got gooey. He drowned me in petroleum jelly and coated himself. He mounted me and tried again. He tried and tried and tried to shove it in. It just wouldn’t work. What a marvellous sensation! Being split up the middle!
    â€˜Stop ’angin’ onoo me ’ips.’
    I let go and clutched the bedspread, digging in my fingernails. I waited in agony to pass out.
    He gave up.
    We dressed in silence, dismantled the surfboard security system and it was Tracey and Johnno’s turn.
    I’ve still got that rusty little jar of Vaseline, all these years later, full of eyebrow and pubic hair. A little something to remember my first love.
    Â 
    And that was our Saturday night. It never much varied. It was either a night in the back of the panel van at the drive-in, hanging someone’s place when their parents were out or gate-crashing a party.

7
rugged stuff
    BRRING … BRRRINGG …
    â€˜Susan! Telephone.’
    â€˜Who is it?’ she called up the stairs.
    â€˜It’s Danny.’
    â€˜Okay.’ She raced up the stairs to the lounge.
    â€˜Hi Danny.’
    â€˜Hi.’
    â€˜How are ya?’
    â€˜Not too bad.’
    â€˜Oh … how was school?’
    â€˜Ah, not too bad.’
    â€˜Oh … It was really funny in history today. Debbie and I were just sittin’ there and Mr Nashville walked in, oh God, and he—’
    â€˜Hang on.’ Clunk . Sue could hear the television in the background. It was Thursday night, the BennyHill Show . Danny wouldn’t miss it for the world. Five minutes later he returned to the receiver.
    â€˜Danny, wadaya doin’?’
    Chuckle, chuckle. ‘Oh God, he’s just so funny. Should’ve seen what he just did …’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜ Benny Hill! This chick was just walkin’ across, and her pants fell down ha ha ha, and she fell over, and Benny Hill went up to her and ha ha ha … hang on, the ads are over.’ Clunk .
    Sue clutched the receiver and stared at the ceiling. And it was a five-minute wait till the next break. She heard the music for the Lemon Fab ad, and braced herself. Danny related the last ten minutes of the show. He told her about Benny standing up and Benny sitting down. Benny running. Benny falling over. Susan laughed in all the right places.
    â€˜Danny,’ she interrupted, ‘what are we doin’ tomorrow night?’
    â€˜â€¦ and then he took this chick and …’
    â€˜Danny!’
    â€˜Huh?’
    â€˜What are we doin’ on Fridee night?’
    â€˜I dunno. What do you wanna do?’
    â€˜Well I dunno. Tracey’s parents are goin’ out.’
    â€˜Who told ya?’
    â€˜Vicki.’
    â€˜Who’s goin?’
    â€˜I dunno. Boardie, Johnno, Cheryl and everyone …’
    â€˜Oh … righto, I’ll ring Boardie. He can pick us up. Hang on, the ads are over …’ Clunk .
    Â 
    Everybody was there. Tracey had invited her five best friends and it had ended up with the Greenhills Gang, the Woolooware boys and every surfie between the Bowling Alley and Cronulla Point. The backyard was thick with kids. All in straight-legged Levis and thongs. All swaggering around with bottles of beer and Brandivino. Steven Strachan was there … the Sylvania heavy. He raped chicks regularly under the bowling alley, and bragged about it.
    â€˜What about Frieda Cummins? … ha ha ha …’
    I pricked up my ears for gossip.
    â€˜Small gang-bang ’eh,’ he said sarcastically. Chuckle, chuckle. ‘Nelly come out ’er mowf.’
    â€˜What a slack-arsed moll,’ I whispered to Sue.
    â€˜But do ya reckon she liked it?’ Sue ventured.
    â€˜I dunno!’ Gull laughed, gulping down some more beer. ‘Neva asked ’er.’
    â€˜ She loves it ,’ cried Steve Strachan