So some dude here in Shangri-La challenged those of his readers who are also bloggers to write something with an "uplifting" quality to it. So I figure I either write a bra commercial (uplifting - get it? Wokka wokka wokka!) or search the ol' noodle for something uplifting that I can share with you.
For something genuinely uplifting, something that will give you confidence in the generation coming up after us, click here for my best day at Fenway Park ever.
But for those of you who appreciate the multiple and nuanced meanings of the word "uplifting," I thought I'd tell the tale of the day I lost my virginity. Buckle in, kids!
It was October 23, 1983. I was 15 years, one month and four days old. She was 17, but her birthday has long since been forgotten by me, if indeed I ever knew it.
Let's call her M. M was a girl of limited physical beauty, which she made up for by having a giant set of tits and a somewhat cavalier attitude towards who she would show them to. Bizarrely she had dated my oldest brother a few times but had long since moved on - the phrase "long since," of course, being relative to the fact that all parties in this story weren't yet 18.
She came up to me at lunch the first week of school and before she could dig in to her scrambled hamburger, she suggested I tell my brother to go fuck himself. Not being a fan of him at the time, I told her it would be an easy message to deliver.
Well we got to talking, became friends, snuck a few kisses on her, threw up spectacularly all over her, and before too long went by she was only my second girlfriend, but the first one I suspected would give it up if I asked her just right.
And friends, how right I was. I call no woman who likes sex a whore; a female shouldn't be criticized or ostracized for liking sex as much as men do. So it's just a statement of fact: she knew just what it felt like and liked it - and didn't mind getting a little dirty in the bargain.
But being teenagers, and not imbued with an excess of money, we did what we could to garner some privacy in a public world. We would go to a movie and neck throughout the whole thing; I'd have her half-undressed and moaning - literally moaning - in a movie theatre, to the amusement and/or bemusement of the theatre-going public. To this day, even though I paid good money to see "Firestarter," I have no idea what it's about except that there was a lot of fire, and when there's fire on the screen the seats are lit up rather embarrassingly well.
We finally got our chance when M got a job babysitting about a mile or two from my house, so I could hop on my bike and go see her. By this time the prospect of getting it wet was heavy in the air; in either naive optimism or the intelligent pragmatism for which Jews are rightly famous, I had already purchased a box of condoms. Mind you, this was before AIDS made buying rubbers an everyday event; there was still a large element of cloak-and-dagger to buying a box of safes back then. Anyway, one fine afternoon I get a call from M: she's "up the hill," would I care to come over?
Hmmm... let me thinkYES. I grabbed a condom from my secret hiding place and put it in my wallet, along with a prayer. I pedaled as fast as my fat little legs could carry me.
Soon enough, the kid was being completely ignored and we were fooling around in the family room. With a come-hither stare, M guides me into the bedroom. This was happening.
We get on the bed and pretty soon things are serious. After using various of her garments as hats, it was time. I retrieved the condom from my pants pocket, now on the floor, and put it on. And before I could even pause to consider my luck in this situation, I was actually losing my virginity, performing some 15-year-old version of coitus, of which the most charitable thing that could be said was that it was rhythmic, to a point.
Well, I guess my punishment for not considering my luck was that right in the middle of things, and I mean RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE OF THINGS, the phone rings! I thought that my afternoon of fun was over, and would I be able to legitimately lay claim to having lost my virginity when there was no, er, completion?
But at the last minute, the god of 15-year-old boys, Deflowerus, decided to take pity on me. It was the neighbor across the street; did the little kneebiter M was watching want to go across the street and do some damn thing or other?
Hmmm... let me thinkYES.
So it was maybe five minutes for M to get dressed, get the kid's coat on, walk him across the street, and come back to bed - during which time...
During which time...
Look, you have to remember: This was the first time for me. It was a VERY BIG DEAL. Also that I had only one condom with me. So for the time my coitus was interruptus, I had to keep the rubber on, making my unit none too comfortable - and kinda itchy too. However it's amazing how much gets forgotten when the pussy is imminent. She jumps back into bed, purrs "where were we" at me, and we were neck-deep in it within seconds.
And let me tell you, that was the most glorious 80 seconds of my life to that point. A propos of nothing, for those of you who have yet to experience it, can I recommend it? Sex is AWESOME!
Anyway, so there it is. Lots of firsts THAT day, I can tell you. And I can honestly state that for me, that day was uplifting on many, many levels.
Grrouchie: does that qualify as uplifting?