How I Lost My Virgin Butthole On 4th of July

I looked down between my shoes. I could see a candy wrapper and an empty firecracker casing floating in the dirty puddle between them. I reached down and picked them up, tossing them into an empty bag with the few kernels of kettle corn that I hadn’t finished.
It had been raining regularly, but it hadn’t cooled anything down. Instead, each shower had been followed by wet searing heat, and a sullen yellow sun. I pitied the high school kids in their stiff red and black uniforms, their sweaty cheeks puffed with the effort of belting out a lusterless Sousa march.
The parade was outside my house, and I had watched the entire thing. The last group, a girl scout troop throwing out bubblegum, was already a block ahead. The listless spectators were getting up. Folding lawn-chairs and gathering up bags and picking up trash and corralling squalling kids.
I sighed and looked back down to the puddle. I wiped my hair out of my eyes, and rubbed my cheek. I needed to shave. All I could grow was dark fuzz that didn’t match my lighter hair.
“Jamie? Hey, Jamie Moss, is that you?”
I was startled. I didn’t have any friends back home, who here would know my name? I whirled around and felt my stomach sink very slightly when I saw Tricia Stevenson bouncing towards me.
“How have you been? I haven’t seen you in forever!” For good reason. The faint rosy smell of her shampoo brought back unpleasant memories. It wasn’t her fault though, I guess.
“Pretty good Trish, what’s up with you?”
It felt strange to sit here and just talk with somebody. I hadn’t done much since I got home. I worked forty hours a week or more at my shitty job at Burger King. I went and saw movies on my own....