When thinking about ones virginity, who does a guy really give credit to for helping him lose it? I have known this one guy my whole life who provides a good example of what I am pondering. Does he give his high school sweetheart Karla credit because she was the first one to actually allow him to lay the pipe? Or should the credit go to Brenda, who at the local drive in, out performed Kiefer Sutherland & The Lost Boys with her version of blood sucking? Can we even stop there? What about his girlfriend Buffy(yes –her real name) who never actually physically did anything to him to facilitate the one eyed yogurt slinger letting loose its payload, but on many occasions she did provide vivid descriptions on the phone of what she was doing with her hand inside those smurfette panties of hers. The descriptions were vivid enough in fact to allow him to take matters into his own hands. Should she be credited with the picking of the cherry? Or what about Miss March from the Playboy he liberated from the big brother of his neighborhood friend, Lord knows her and her exceedingly bushy beaver facilitated quite a few monkey spankings. No I should, errr he should give credit to Katrina, oh yes it was definitely Katrina. She was the big sister of his best & lifelong friend. A friend who's father was nice enough to let him spend an entire summer in 1984 in their home. That 17 year old, 5’6” blonde haired, green eyed goddess rocked the big hair and Van Halen t-shirt like no one else could. Especially, when she would come bounding down the stairs for breakfast with nothing on but her red & white striped panties. Which were covered only by a thin white night shirt adorned with the fore mentioned rocker himself. When the sunlight hit her just right, the shirt seemed to nearly vanish, as did he to the nearest lockable room with napkins in hand. With the image of her chest poking through, practically begging to be caressed, burned into his mind he blasted that glue gun with minimal effort. I can’t imagine breakfasts have ever been quite as enjoyable as that summer….
So there it is, Katrina reigns champion. Far from the last, not nearly the best, but for sure the first girl to stir up his testosterone soup enough to facilitate the firing of the canon! And now that brings me to the reason I have taken this stroll down memory lane. My oldest son, Big T, is inching ever so close to the age of saluting his own little soldier. As saddening as it is to see my boy grow in to manhood, it can’t be denied. Sure he just hit 10 years old, and should still be calling girls yucky cooty covered creatures whose touch will make your skin rot off, but he doesn’t. He, like the rest of this country is seemingly in fast forward, and ahead of schedule. And yesterday was another sign that change is a coming. He was watching his WWE Wrestling, and was just coming out of the fog he usually gets into when the Diva’s are performing in their hoochie wear when a video played of one of the greatest wrestlers of all time. Booming on the screen was The Rock, making a comment about how his girlfriend shut him down at 2nd base in high school. My son asked if I thought she played on the same baseball team as him. Of course to avoid this topic my first thought was to say, “Why yes son, that is it. She must have been the 2nd baseman on the team.” But my fatherly instincts over rode my mouth and I sat him down and did my best to explain what The Rock was cooking up with his comment. I explained how people use the baseball metaphor to explain how far their interaction with their girlfriend had gone. I told him how kissing a girl can be correlated with reaching first base. Then how one might consider 2nd base being achieved if, while kissing that little lady, he gets a hand on one or both of her little baby feeders. From here I tried to be as honest, yet PG rated as I could. He is still 10 years old after all. So I told him third base is achieved when a guy manages to move from kissing, to caressing her breasts, on to lovingly squeezing her butt. After all that is all he needs to think goes on below the waist at this point. And for a home run, I explained, a guy has to have managed to kiss a girl, caress her boobs, squeeze the junk in her trunk, all leading up to the big finish of …drum roll please…. Getting her to make him a milkshake. Yea you read it right. Girls everywhere are going to be wondering why my son brings a cooler on dates. A cooler which contains a hand blender, an empty cup, a bottle of milk, and a pint of vanilla ice-cream rather than a six pack of Bud Light smuggled from his old man’s ice box. I might be setting myself up for future payments to his therapist as he works through his confusion of why when he is ready, straw in hand, for his happy ending, his girl drops her shorts rather than grabs the blender. But fortunately for now, he was content with the explanation. I figure I have 4-5 years to withdraw my explanation and give him the 411 on actually getting a grand slam. Hell, I am not even ready for the little man to be getting up to bat. And by the time he does actually take the plate for real, he hopefully will have been fortunate enough to have a friend’s sister to have fantasized enough about that he will know that Ben & Jerry are not playing in this game. Maria, Big T would like invite you over for breakfast? He’s already setting table….. opening the blinds….. and letting the sunshine in!
As enjoyable as it is to share my stories, I want to be a little more responsible than my parents were and provide you with a link to get answers to you childs sex questions. I am still trying to see if ice cream is mentioned anywhere.
Check it out yourself at: http://www.epigee.org/talking-about-sex-with-kids.html
Here is a video to help aid in educating your boy on the female anatany:
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