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The Bare Facts of Life

by aubie

(originally appeared online in Out of Order)

Most parents tell their kids about the facts of life. Dad sits down on the corner of your bed when you are at your desk, he lets out a deep breath, pats his knee once, leans towards you and says: "Well son, it all starts with an egg." For girls it's a little more useful. Mom sits daughter down at the kitchen table: "Men are stupid. You have to beat them over the head with clues the size of Montana. Repeatedly. And then you have to get them to commit because they always want to run away." Well, I never got the facts of life from my parents. Nope.

Instead I got drug stories. Yes my parents were hippies. Well, my Dad was, Mom is...um, well, Mom is a shrink. Not that I have anything against shrinks, or moreso just because Mom is one, it's just, well...um, Mom is a shrink. Yeah, I got drug stories. "So I decided, I'm having a son, I better stop smoking out. Be a good example. Take care of mah boy." He even gave up smoking his (regular) pipe, and alcohol. I think I would have had more interesting childhood if my parents stayed on drugs, but you never heard that from me. Mom was more surprising. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, she's always had more money. We were sitting down at dinner and she just spouts off on her experimental list. And spouts. And spouts. So I cough up my food after swallowing hard on an oversized mouthful and choking.

Instead of sex ed and the facts of life, I got real-world rational explanation from my parents. I think I was seven when I asked my Dad what he wanted in a woman, and he said all the standard stuff, and at the end he added "nymphomaniac." "What's a nymphomaniac?" "Someone who likes to have lots of sex." "Ewwwww...like kissing and stuff? Ewwwwww!" He just laughed. La female family-type-person stared at him in shock. I think the only reason he got away with it was because I thought it was nasty. Might have learned a little since then, but who knows.

Mom never told me much of anything, just warned me about girls, warned me to be careful and look out for them because they would be interested in me. I'm not sure if that's the problem, it's just that usually they have to hit me over the head with clues the size of Montana to make me realize they are, and I was supposed to be paying attention to them. Not that I really have trouble paying attention to girls, but there's a distinction between "oohhh, nice breasts" and "She likes me! Shit, do I like her? Excuse me, what was your name again?" Ummm... between "I wonder what -her- name is." and "(blinks twice, steps back) Oh (insert close evolving friendship's name here) how long have you felt this way? Oh, c'mere."
Romantic moment ensues.

But nope, all Mom told me was this little ditty from across a shopping cart in Costco. We were walking past the bathroom supply section, walked by the contraceptives. Mom just picked up a big old box of FIFTY CONDOMS and said: "Now Aubie, be sure to wear one, I'm serious." The first thing that comes to my mind is something Mike said: "Everyone should wear two condoms all the time, so when you have sex, take one off and feel like a wild man." I suppose it poses a slight problem for going to the bathroom, and I looked around to make sure no one was watching Mom wave FIFTY CONDOMS around in front of a fifteen year old boy, tried not to blush. I'm like, totally embarrassed, and about to say: "Dammit, put those things down, they're dangerous!" And instead I say: "I will" and prayed she wouldn't put that box in the cart.

The obvious real question about sex is when isthe right time. I don't buy into the "wait until you're older" credo for the younger folk. I wish I had it sooner. Okay, no I don't, I stayed with her for four years. No, yes I do, I stayed with her for four years.No, cuz then I would have stayed with the one I'm thinking of for four years. No, I wouldn't have stayedwith her for the rest of the night. No, I'm glad I had it when I had it, yeah, it really was special. There is so much pressure about having sex, it's easier to be able to say you have, without lying, early. That way instead oflying about actually having sex, you can lie about how overblown it is and how you should have waited, or abouthow great it is, and how sorry everyone who hasn't had it is, or you can be a mushball and just talk about how much you love whomever you felt was right to have your first time with and make everybody sick, but screw them, you're getting laid!

How come when young people talk about sex, everyone says to wait? Don't wait, think. When is the right time to have sex? When you're ready. Think think think. I know it's difficult to think, but dammit, think. Adults sleep with each other for the dumbest reasons:career advancement, revenge, love. Why would anyone want to sleep with someone they love? The horror, the horror. Why risk something so awful on someone you care about? At least teenagers want to bang anything that moves and most things that don't. There's a lot to be said for Wrigley's pure sexual satisfaction. Rub hides with someone and get on to more interesting things, like the blonde in 3rd period math class, stop the worry about virginity and move on with life.

So when is the right time? Well, I'll tell you, when trust, affection, attraction and horniness all reach critical mass, it's time. Okay, actually, when horniness reaches critical mass nothing else matters. Don't tell the kids, cuz it's really just the same, we're just better at hiding it - I've never bought into that maturity myth. But then, I'm a guy, I have trouble distinguishing between actual affection and wanton horniness. Actually, I've been told that I have trouble distinguishing between friendship and wanton horniness, but no one ever really ever said that.

Great, so now all the girls who read my webpage are going to be afraid of me. I DO NOT, SHADDUP YOU! I'm going to throw something at whomever is snickering in the back row unless you stop. Nowthen, what was I saying?

I think everyone should have default sex access, it should be a rule. If you go on a date and it falls through, you get to have sex anyway! Plus, you aren't thinking about: "Fuck all this bullshit, I mean, the food is great, but my hand is surgically attached to her ass and she gives a great footjob under the tablecloth." Ummm...instead of trying to repress all the wanton horniness during the course of the date, instead of worrying about sex too soon, you've got default sex, you'll have sex anyway, so you can just concentrate on liking the other person. Take the sex picture out of the rest of the frame, dates are about people, not horniness, or at least they ought to be.

Of course, the only reason I'm thinking about this is because every woman I'm interested in I don't want to have sex with, and every woman I want to have sex with (won't have anything to do with me) I'm not interested in. There's that, and then there's the fact that I've met more homosexuals who were interested in me than I've met women, period, during the last few weeks. Well, the other reason I'm probably thinking about default sex is because, when one normally comes home from blown romantic interests, they sulk, but me? I just come home and write these stupid things for all of you people who never go out in the first place and spend your time in chatrooms with guys named Norman who masquerade as"Cottonball" at 6969 IRC, but the Web is getting bigger and bigger every day, so I should stop insulting my audience in lame attempts at humor. Okay, I'm done beating myself up now, I can go on.

I guess that's the ideal, anyway, that the person you are interested in as a person, you also want to have sex with. Most people settle for being interested in them, and having sex with them because, well, they are interesting. They learn to be attracted to their 'mates.' Or there is the alternate, those who have sex first and then hope the person isn't a freak.
"Oh my God, wheredid the redhead go?"
"Honey, you were out like a light, mighta had a little bit too much to drink last night."
"Who the hell are you?"
"Well, since you asked so politely, I'm Marie, and the redhead, Janie, left about an hour ago."
"...I rock!"
"Mmmmm...I wouldn't go quite that far."
"Once again, who the hell are you?"
"I think I was centerfield, a little away from the pitcher-catcher combo beneath me."
Speaking of which, I need to be in more threesomes, and no, I don't need to be in any more love triangles. I'm too used to stabbing myself with the sharp end of them. Just remember, you can pick your friends, and you can pick your exes, but you can't pick your friends' exes.

But hell, I don't need more sex. Well, yes, maybe I do. I might, actually, it's been so long, I don't remember what it's like anymore, so I don't know. Well, I can say that I need more friends. Well, actually, I need a friend. No, I need another friend. No, okay, I need more friends. Well shit, if I'm saying all of this, yes, I need both more friends and more sex.

I need a firm strong woman. I need a bitchy corporate babe with attitude. I need someone who grabs me by my collar, says: "You. Me. Now." when she wraps her leg around my torso while standing on one high heel in the middle of a power lunch when everyone is watching. Ineed a redhead/raven/brunette/blonde whatever, I don't care, just make sure she has immediacy. I need someone who slides one hand around my lower back, the other about my shoulder blade, presses her cleavage into a long cats eye across my chest as her deep dark eyes stare "ravish me." I need an artsy creative graceful woman who is in control but mostly out of control. Make her dynamic. Make her have feeling, make her care, make her strong. Let her be able to smile with her eyes, let her soft lips embrace mine, let lovemaking be a tumbling desperate grasping inside the other's soul, being gently passionate, aggressively so, hungry, rhythmic bodily rituals that leave the sheets on the floor afterwards. Champagne by candlelight, beer and wrestling/tickle wars, or a short drive up the hill to see the lights of the city beneath us like so many fires under our hearts, make it forever or only just tonight, let it be real. Just someone tell me I'm still alive, tell me I can be alive again, tell me I'm not alone. Let there be someone out there.

Anyone need a default partner? Maybe I just need a different birdie. Maybe I should just stop thinking about it and go to sleep. Dammit, it's not working, I can't stop thinking about it. Where did I put Marie's number?

© copyright 1998 A.U.B.I.E.

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