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I was visiting with a friend and her family. They made jokes that everyone got, but me. The jokes were movie lines from Rocky Horror. I had no idea what they were talking about.. Her daughter, Mer, said, “You’ve never been to Rocky Horror, ever?”

“No,” I said.

In a fit of generosity she said, “I’ll take you. My friends are going next Friday.”

“Are you sure your friends will be cool with me going?”

“Sure.”

So, we made plans, and then my friend’s daughter started doing the math. A couple of days later she called me, concern in her voice. I put her out of her misery, “It was generous of you to offer, Mer, but I understand I’m your mom’s friend, and you’re not sure how your friends will take me coming along.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Mer, your friends are in high school, I’m in my thirties. Thanks for offering to take me, but I don’t want to mess up your deal with your friends.”

She muscled through and finally said, “No, I want you to go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Then she hesitated.

I said, “I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”

“I didn’t mean . . .”

“Mer, it’s okay, I’ll try not to embarrass you.”

“Thanks.”

We hung up, and our fates were sealed. My friend’s eighteen-year-old was taking me to see Rocky, and she was trusting me not to mess up with her friends and acquaintances. The social pressure was on. I researched the phenomena, as I research everything, and talked to my friends that had gone in their teens and twenties. There was one more phone call with Mer, where she was worried what I’d wear, I promised her I knew how to dress. The night of, I put an extra shirt in the backseat in case Mer wanted me to change.

I rang the bell and Mer opened the door as if she’d been standing right there, I think she was worried what I’d be wearing. She looked me head to foot and said, “You win.”

“So the outfit is all right?” I asked.

She nodded wordlessly and ushered me in the house. The outfit I was wearing; black short-shorts short enough to show the tops of my fishnet thigh highs, my shirt, a royal purple vest only, in velvet and edged with black satin and Doc Martin hiking boots. I’d let my hair do it’s out of control curly best, and done the heavy Goth make-up. Mer was very happy with my outfit. In fact, it made a spate of her trying on new clothes. I ended up offering her the extra shirt I’d brought. Let me add that all these clothes had been in my closet. I didn’t have to buy a thing. Just because I’d never been to Rocky Horror didn’t mean I’d never been somewhere with the same kind of dress requirements.

Mer was a little nervous now that I was about to meet her friends. We all met in the parking lot of a Denny’s and there were over twenty of us. I stayed vaguely near Mer, and kept my mouth shut. She introduced me only as, “Laurell.” One of the good things is this was years ago so no one knew who I was, though they didn’t know exactly what to do with me either. I’m short enough, but I just didn’t give off that I’m in high school vibe. I was neither friendly, nor unfriendly, I just worked at not embarrassing my friend with her friends. Keeping my mouth shut seemed a safe bet. I’d sucked at being a teenager when I was one, I doubted the years had improved my abilities. I’m a good grownup, but was never good at kid-flavor human being.

Finally, everyone was here and we caravaned over to the theater. Mer’s younger brother was also going for his first Rocky visit. He was sixteen, so half my age, but we were both Rocky Horror virgins. I was about to learn that phrase had a very special meaning. Mer got us both into our seats and told us, “If someone asks if you’re a virgin just say, no.” I gave her a look. “I’ll explain later,” she said, “just trust me.” So, her brother and I trusted her. Then another friend came up, B, is one of the few women that is substantially shorter than me, it makes her look years younger than her early twenties. She left Mer’s brother alone, but insisted on outing me as a “virgin”. She was making so much noise that Mer told me I might as well let B drag me off to get “marked”.

Now, I had done some research on the fact that there are traditions about first timers at Rocky getting up on stage and having some sort of hazing ritual, that’s really what it is, so I wasn’t completely surprised. I was surprised at what the ritual in St. Louis was, at that time. But first, B took me to the man who was putting lipstick ‘v’s on the virgin’s foreheads. B pulled me up to him and excitedly said, “Virgin!”

He tried to mark her forehead. “No, not me, her.” He turned to look at me. He, like Mer, went from the hair, Goth makeup, fishnet, down to the Doc Martins and then back to my face. “You’ve never been to Rocky Horror before?” He sounded doubtful. I admitted it was my first time. He shrugged and marked my forehead. B then took me to a growing line of other people with lipstick ‘v’s on their foreheads. Most were men that night, but not all. I was near the end of the line except for one young girl, and I say girl on purpose. She seemed nervous, very nervous. She was also tiny, petite didn’t cover it. We stood there and realized what was expected.

Men dropped pants to show underwear usually boxers, and usually did something silly, and then there was a virgin auction where people would offer things like gum wrappers, or dryer lint, for the virgin. Much laughter was had, but the women raised their tops and flashed breasts. I soooo wasn’t doing it. The young girl beside me was beside herself with anxiety. As the line grew shorter and we approached the stage she began to tremble visibly. I finally asked, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to do this.”

“Then don’t.”

“My friends say I have to.”

I had a bad idea. “How old are you?”

“Fourteen,” she said.

So not happening. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“They say I have to.”

“I’ll walk you back to your friends and explain that you don’t have to do this. I promise you don’t have to.” In my head, I was planning on telling them about child sexual exploitation since fourteen is below age of consent here, and barring that I would talk to the people in charge. I know that no one at the theater wanted a fourteen-year-old girl traumatized. This was supposed to be fun, she was not having fun.

“I don’t have to do this?” she asked.

“Go back and sit down. If your friends give you trouble I’ll explain it to them,” I told her. Maybe it was the order, but she fled to her seat. I’d done my Goth knight duty for the night, and suddenly it was my turn on stage. I’d had plenty of time to decide what I was going to do, and what I wasn’t going to do. I admit that maybe the fourteen-year-old’s mood had soured mine a little, but . . . You were suppose to play coy and let the audience talk you out of your clothes, or something like that. I strode onto stage, took up the center spot where the announcer had me stand and proceeded to unbutton my vest, flashing the very nice black and lacy bra. I unbuckled my shorts and proved that they matched the bra. Then I said, “That’s it, that’s as far as I’m going.” Then I glared at the audience. It didn’t help, or maybe it did, that I had a seven-inch folding knife tucked into the shorts and it fell out onto the stage with a resounding clang as I did what undressing I was doing. Everyone blinked at me. You could hear the proverbial crickets. No one bid. No one heckled. No one argued with me. No one did anything. Finally the announcer came and said something, and I was free get dressed, tuck the knife back into hiding, and go back to my seat. My only concern was had I done something that would make Mer’s life hard. It turns out, no. In fact Mer had enjoyed my stage time. I was declared cool, or too scary to mess with, either way, the night went well. Mer’s brother whispered the actual movie dialog to me as Mer told us both what to say when the audience yelled, threw things at the screen, and basically made the movie so much more fun by audience participation to a level I’d never seen.

I had a great time, and so did Mer, and her brother. He and I both enjoyed losing our Rocky Horror virginity. I was recognized by one person and he enjoyed my time on stage a great deal. Apparently, I’d met expectations. I did not ask what he meant by that. I just took it as a compliment and left it alone. Mer was happy she took me and I was happy I went. I still think it was both brave and generous of her to risk taking her mom’s friend to see Rocky Horror. But I’m a goth, we know how to dress for Rocky. Now, take me to the Young Republicans convention and I wouldn’t have a thing to wear.