A naughty little story...

You know...you can learn a lot about patience when you've spent 24 years thinking about being naughty. See, I've got this weird, euphemistic, flirty, perv-o side that I've carried around for a better part of my life. I couldn't (read: didn't care to) explain it for a while until I discovered my "root". (Get it? : )

Since I wasn't one the kids who loved to play sports, I spent the better part of my childhood pursuing two past times:

(1) The pursuit of all things geeky, including playing make-believe super hero, reading, comics,
and spending an exceptional amount of time in my head.

This is where we come to past time # 2

(2) Imagining what the 1st time I have sex is going to be like.

At age 4, whilst snooping in my folks room one X-mas, my big brother and I happened upon "the stash". And though we both pretended like we weren't interested, you're damn right we snuck right back into find the smut when our folks weren't around. And like a good nerd, I didn't make these quick visits to spanky town...no no no! I would casually sneak them back to my room and read'em. Front to back. And while in the early years I mostly used to enjoy the dirty comics - it was after I turned all of 10 that I started to read stories. Stories by people I had never heard of: Norman Mailer, Truman Capote, Ron Kovic, Buck Henry. I read the 1st transcript short story of "First Blood", I found an article by one of my favorite's Issac Asimov (Time Travel and Dinosaurs! In a nudie mag?) the stories were great! Except, yeah, there were some boobs. And the forum letters.

After reading the self-help sections, the "How-To" articles (Graftenberg? Gesundheit!!!) I grew more and more curious, and anxiously awaited the first time I would get try these wonderful things. (And heck, the couples in the pictures seemed to be having fun.) Mom and Dad must have caught on to my traipsings into the "stash" as they attempted several times to move it around. I ended up receiving the birds and the bee's talk at age 10 while she tested for her RN degree. (All those Anatomy books lying around, it was bound to happen).

And yet, I fumbled. 7th grade rolls around, and I'm still sporting the baby fat. I watched other guys hook up, the "beautiful ones". I left dances and skate parties depressed, while others clicked braces to "Open Arms". Fuck, man, that dude over there is in remedial MATH and HE's getting some. Oh well...at least I had the "stash".

So, I worked my dirty jokes, and being the funny guy. I figured I'd never impress the ladies with my extensive knowledge of Doctor Who...so I managed to work on my charm school (And mom was an old Southern Belle, so flirting was kinda easy. And watching the way my old man listens to every-single-word you say...) I started exercising, figuring since I wasn't the hottest chalk on the block, I might was well be in shape. Practice Practice Practice...but with nary an outlet! Until High School.

Yes! Joy! Rapture! Finally! I get a gurlyfriend, the moment will commence!!! We have stated our intent, we even picked a DAY! I've read about this moment for so many years...Thanks, Secret Stash, and thanks mom for the condoms you got me last X-mas. The bra goes buh-bye with a deft, one handed flick...clothes are lost, Houston- we're cleared and ready annnnnd.... nobody said there would be crying. (Insert sound of slide whistle going doooowwn.) And no one said I would stay with her for the next 3 years. Yeesh. I went from being Ferris, to being Cameron. And she cheated on me 5 times!

I pondered this the other day, when J was in the bath and I walked by asking "do you need me to wash your back???" ("No")..."Oh. Do you want me to wash your front?"

Ah cha cha cha...I've got all new old cheap moves to try on you baby!