Sex Stupefication

You guys sick of hearing, reading, and talking about the pandemic? Me too! Let's talk about SEX!!!

Hell, yeah! Let's make sex great again, 2020!

I was a late bloomer in many ways. Hell, my voice didn't even change until the later years of high school. To me, "pubes" were pubescent children, 'cause I certainly didn't have any. No wonder I hated showering in gym class. (Speaking of which, what was up with the creepy gym teacher who hung out--literally--on the shower wall, arms draped over it, practically leering at us showering. I think one of 'em became a priest. Yow! Sorry, sorry, sorry...).

My "sex education" was sorely lacking, something I often think about. Good Gawd, for the longest time I thought I was an oddity, the only boy capable of a magic erection. I'm certainly glad I didn't show off my new-found trick in the showers.

Anyway, my first (attempted) education came from the principal of my junior high school. The boys were rounded up into one group while the girls went to Disneyland or something equally as great, mysterious, and a whole lot cooler than what we got. The principal was clearly uncomfortable with the lecture as he kept dancing around the topic and spinning plates as fast as he could. Some of the older, knowing, experienced, voice-already-changed, held back kids lobbed some grenades at him like, "how does the seed get into the woman?" Titters ensued. Of course I joined in (even though I was still living in a wondrous world of baby-dropping storks). Hey, I'd been bullied enough without my inexperience being blasted over the intercom.

The principal hemmed, hawed, did it again, turned 30 shades of grey, before mumbling "the man implants the seed into the egg." Still not very helpful.

In the gym class locker room, the older boys told stories about their sexual conquests. I had no choice but to nod knowingly, grinning in agreement over our mutual sexual conquests. Although, I'm fairly sure I didn't fool anyone. Then again, these older "kids" had been held back several years.

Not too many years ago, my brother and I were cleaning out my mom's basement to downsize her into an apartment. We stumbled across a book entitled How To Tell Your Children About Sex. My brother says, "huh, too bad you never read this, Mom."

She says, "What are you talking about? We were always open to you boys about sex."

Yeah, right. About as open as a Blockbuster Video store. 

Selective memory is a funny thing. The closest my parents ever came clean about sex was when my dad chastised me to never call someone "queer" because--and I quote his exact words--"it's when two boys rub their wee-wees against each other and hard stuff comes out. YUCK!" Again...not very helpful. (Yet it didn't escape my attention that Dad added the editorial "YUCK!" because he didn't want me running off and acting all queer and stuff.)

So. With my parents, school, locker room, lack of physical growth, experience, and naively childish imagination failing me, I turned to the next best thing: I found a mom 'n pop bookstore where the woman who owned the place didn't mind selling me used Penthouse magazines. The ridiculous forum/letters were clearly made up by guys like me (although better educated), but eye-opening and enlightening. And, soon enough, I was--ahem--spending an awful lot of time in the bathroom.

My brother says I taught him about sex. I don't remember it, but I'm sure it happened. No one else was helping us. Yet, still, I lacked personal (NOT hands-on, if you get my drift) experience.

In high school, my cretinous friends used to threaten me by going downtown, cruising for hookers, and chip in to buy me one. No thanks. I was still kinda, you know, holding onto the old-fashioned notion of love being involved.

Anyway, it was a rocky road traveled. Even my kissing skills lacked in the early years (I mean how do you learn THAT? God knows I didn't want my parents teaching me! My best teacher was George Peppard in movies because he'd grab women and just smash his face all over them. Not the best method, I later learned.). So, hey--and I know for a fact there are a couple of my early kissing victims out there who read my blog--to the women who I kissed horribly in my early years, I would like to publicly apologize.

I blame it all on Trump. Yeah.

You've been a great audience, ladies and gentlemen! I'll be here all weekend and don't forget to tip your poor, not-so-starving author!

Well, while we're on the topic of sex, pity poor Shawn, the protagonist of my novel, Corporate Wolf. Sure, he's got two very attractive women interested in him at the same time. It's a shame he has a very nasty hirsute problem and voracious appetite as a werewolf. Corporate Wolf, where horror, suspense, mystery, satire, forbidden love, and dark comedy bleed together.