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Sex is a challenging subject to summarize into a lesson, and I felt it was necessary to spread it out into three different parts.Part 1: “Pews of Desire”, I examine my earliest physiological experiences with puberty.Part 2: “The Pelvic Compass”, focused on the social dynamics of courtship and seduction. Those two lessons were essential stepping stones for the pen-ultimate experience of my sexuality… love.

Part 2 left off with this sentiment:
I needed to find a genuine identity that would be worth dating

That is precisely what I did going into High-School. I stopped chasing tail and focused on my own personality. The little socializing I did was conducted without ulterior motives, and was centered around my passion for heavy metal music and video-games. Freshman year quickly passed by and to my knowledge not a single woman knew I had a penis. Until the beginning of my sophomore year when a complete stranger slipped a note on my desk.

“My friend thinks your cute, if you ask her out she will say yes”.

A few weeks later I was in her friends basement and I reached my curious hands up her shirt and fondled her breasts. I liked this, and I hoped it was making her just as happy; but when I touched her vagina I realized: happiness shouldn’t feel that dry. Later that evening she brought out photo-albums and shared stories about her fondest childhood memories. I wondered what part of her body I could touch next, and as my erection subsided I actually started listening to her stories. I eventually figured out that she wanted a partner, not an enthusiastic diddle buddy.

Two lonely years later fortune struck again when I intercepted an online chat message on my friends computer. He assured me he had no interest in her and encouraged me to pursue at-will. Her screen-name was something like “Metalica chick”, so all I knew about her was her age, an interest in heavy metal, and a cute smile based on a black & white yearbook photo. Since I was in a heavy metal band I figured it was already meant to be. We started dating soon after that first chat and this time I did it right from the beginning. I listened to her stories, smiled warmly when she looked into my eyes and I kept my pervy hands to myself. After our official first date we spent the evening in a little park where I successfully escalated my way into her heart. We laid on a grassy hill looking at the stars and she took my hand into hers, placed her head against my shoulder, and she smiled at me in a way that seemed like she had been with me for an eternity. We shared our first kiss in that very moment and I knew immediately something I had never known before. This is love.

I couldn’t fully understand or rationalize this new feeling, but I was aware that something different was happening to me. We went on a spring picnic date near the lake in a spot where we couldn’t be seen and spent hours in our private garden of hormones. I felt how happy I had made her vagina and I told her that I was in love with her. She happily agreed to be my first ever date for a school dance. 

I had finally made my first note-worthy public statement in the social-dating world as I pinned a flower to her dress, took expensive photos in front of a cheesy school backdrop and held my date closely in my arms as we danced the night away. Everything was perfect accept a moment during the last dance she seemed a little sad about something. I knew it was my job to hold her close and make her feel safe. I did not sexualize her that night because I knew she needed a supportive partner to make her feel safe. The next date she was back to her horny-self, and gave me my first ever hand-job; this first was memorably concluded when she said, “Ewe! It’s everywhere”.

Our young love had also spilled out into the school hallways as we passed our special binder of love-notes back and forth five days a week. In those notes were three passages that I will never forget. The first referenced one of the greatest mistakes I have ever made. 

She wrote,
 “I wanted to sneak in the bathroom and give your first blowjob, but you locked the door and I didn’t want anyone to hear me go in”.
I wrote back,
“SHIT!!! I will never lock a bathroom door ever again!”

She wrote back with the second unforgettable passage,
“My parents will be out of town tonight come over and be my first, I’m ready bring condoms”

I was delirious with excitement and ditched school to go condom shopping. I spent the rest of the day in my room trying on condoms and watching the clock count-down towards the end of my childhood. I got a phone-call from a whispering girlfriend telling me to come over and wait silently in her backyard. After one hour, then two, and finally nearly three hours later her backdoor opened. She stands in a dark laundry room with wet hair and drops her bathrobe to reveal a sexy outfit. Before I could express how much this was moment is worth every trial & tribulation I had ever endured, she tells me the bad news. Her little-brother was still awake and in his room right next to hers with his door open. She devised a plan that I would wear her bathrobe and calmly walk into her room as if I’m her. Then fifteen minutes later she would walk in her room and hope that her brother would think she got dressed and was walking around the house. We looked nothing alike, and I feared the worst.

I followed her direction exactly and it worked. I lit a bunch of candles and we lost our virginity. I was loving, passionate and gentle as I climaxed quickly. I held her in my arms until she fell asleep and I snuck out leaving her a love note on the nightstand. It was the greatest night of my entire high-school career, and I was too happy to even sleep that night.

On the following date I was excited for round two sex. She came over to my house wearing the ugliest green velvet blouse I had ever seen; but its oddness turned me on and I looked forward to unbuttoning it. Sadly she was in a bad mood and I spent an hour relentlessly kissing a half-interested partner. I took out the condom hoping sex might cheer her up and she ignored the gesture but proceeded to give me my first ever blowjob instead. At the time I thought it was amazing, and looking back it was really just patch-over.

The next day, I got the the third unforgettable notebook passage when she wrote,
“Lets take a break”

I wrote her a long letter to declare my supportive intentions to endure this break and start over where we left off when she is ready. I figured we are in love how can a little break possibly threaten what we share. I went to our meeting spot and she was not there. We eventually crossed paths and as I approached her she was visibly holding back tears and kept walking. I discovered that she was back with an ex-boyfriend, and even worse that he is actually the guy she really lost her virginity with before she met me. 

The next day I approached her with a large envelope filled with our professional school dance ripped to pieces along with our binder of love letters with my autograph on the cover. 

Below my autograph I added this note:
“You can sell this when I’m a rich and famous rock-star”

I learned who her ex was and I instantly remembered them exchanging a long look at one another during that school dance. He was the reason she was sad that night, and I imagine him looking at a woman he loved dancing with someone-else and I know he felt the same sadness. 

Over-time I began connecting all these dots and red flags that had I intentionally overlooked. I slowly began to understand and accept that she was never in love with me. That is what makes this difficult, because everyone is the prince and princess of their romantic fairy-tale. We must accept the harsh reality that these fictions are only worth creating because we never know how it will end and who it will end with. But through all the mistakes, failures and dark days of loneliness we keep writing this story because you never know when you can finally write: “Happily ever-after”. Until then always write, 

“to be continued……”

Does anyone have a “Sixth Sense” story of their own? If so please share 🙂


Avery, I wrote a lesson called, “The Pews of Desire”. This lesson was about the conversion from youthful innocence into the nefarious challenges of puberty. That story was merely the part-one of three for the story of my sexual maturity that I’m officially dubbing as “The Horny Trinity”.

The Pelvic Compass:

My first attempts to court a partner is a cliche riddled montage of “Will you go out with me”, followed by awkward verbiages of, “Lets just be friends”. I would spread-fire this strategy at any suitable targets in my path and once spent an entire Saturday crossing off girls from a list of phone numbers. I was looking for love like a telemarketer would look for a commission. I failed thoroughly and decided to focus my rigorous efforts towards a single target. When she finally said yes, it was a moment of pure bliss. Avery, I need to take this moment to apologize to my first girlfriend:

“I’m sorry I emotionally and publicly terrorized you into dating me; and I don’t blame you for having a complete stranger call and dump me over the phone.”

I needed a rebound from this failure and decided to take a new approach to seduction. Since I had made all those phone-calls and attained a long list of “friends”, I figured why not be “just friends”. I spent all my free-time hanging out with these girls and I waited patiently in the weeds of desperation hoping for that perfect moment where pity mixes with availability and creates love. After establishing these friendships I presented my availability at the local “Sock-Hop”. I would walk into these special dance parties with my entourage of platonic gal-pals ready to work some magic. Every-time a slow song is played I would guilt a friend into my arms for an awkward slow dance where my hands would slowly inch down from their waste to their ass. I thought this was a subtle message, a cute wink 😉 that would build towards a perfect moment of discovered love. A moment that would never come.

This “friend” era ends with a memorable moment between myself and the queen-bee of my female posse. She had a powerful attitude that exuded sexual confidence and was the one girl I would never cross or put a move on. I respected and treated her like I would a male friend. Over time she responded to my harmless friendship by openly and aggressive flirting with me. My gut told me this was a game of manipulation not attraction, but I enjoyed the attention as fake as I knew it to be. One day we ended up alone in her bedroom after she had been fighting with her boyfriend on the phone. I was my usual sensitive shoulder-to-cry-on self, but she had different intentions. She pulled a chair into the middle of her room facing a large open bay-window with a view into the innocent suburbs. She directed me to sit down and keep my hands behind my back as she seductively danced for me. It was torture, like a eunuch being mocked by his own castrator she turned my own insincere seduction methods against me. I wasn’t her target of affection, I was just available to be used for a personal agenda. I had thought I was just a boy looking for a girl to love, and in that moment she taught me that these girls had already become women. I wanted to figure out ways to get something I wanted, I failed to consider the possibility that I was already getting what I deserved.

After Junior High ended I decided to burn all of those bridges and move on. Looking back at group photos where everyone had a date to the dance but me, it makes sense that I eventually vanished from that circle. I was the forgettable member of the group and I decided to just be forgotten. I carried no ill feelings towards them, I just needed to find my own genuine identity that could be worth dating and also be groped by while slow-dancing in the dark 😉

To be Continued:
The final chapter of the “Horny Trinity” shall conclude live at:
The Nerdologues Your Stories – Sunday April 15th at the Upstairs Gallery 7pm
(and the text version will be posted that following Thursday)

I have bad news for you Avery, some day your joyful innocence will be poisoned with the hormones of puberty. My intention is not to take away your struggles, but instead to make sure you don’t feel alone in your suffering. I can only share my own stories and hope you can find comfort in the company of my pubescent nightmares.

Unfortunately the time-line of my memories are fogged and will be far from accurate. An accurate account would be a great help for you, but my memory has it’s reasons. Lets just assume all of these stories range between the ages of 10-12 years old.

My first feeling of arousal happened in church. It was during the moment where the adults embrace each other and exchanged their “Peace be with you’s”. I had summoned the courage to participate in the ritual because I had a crush on a young woman behind me. I wanted to know what her skin would feel like touching my own. I also admired the way this woman dressed and felt conflicted by my fascination in her garb. She turned at the waist and twisted to shake the hand of a person on the other side. As her hand reached over, an opening between the buttons of her blouse was formed. This secret window framed her soft bare flesh and the bottom edge of a white lacy bra perfectly. Her body shifted towards me and her hands reached out to clasp my own. She gave my small single hand a sensual two handed clasp. I felt the warmth of her flesh travel throughout my entire body with a direct destination to my groin. I heard her voice but none the words she used (a theme that would continue to haunt my love conquests for years to come). I excused myself to use the washroom, and I sat on the toilet alone waiting for the protrusion to pass. I told my family I was constipated, they gave me laxatives and I spent the day alone with diarrhea and erections. Every Sunday at church, I would find the same body with a different face and repeat the behavior. Still to this day, church gives me an erection.

Not long after this, I had my first nocturnal emission. My Mother promptly washed my sheets and said “Don’t worry about it, it happens”. I didn’t have the courage to ask, “what is it?”. I never had a repeat occurrence cause I accidentally stumbled upon masturbation soon after. I was taking my bath with my action figure toys. I liked taking baths, cause it felt very private and selfish, like I was in a secret lair. I would always bring toys, and my body would become the playing field for their adventures. I loved the notion that they could breath under water, an ability I envied greatly. I had one female G.I. Joe, that I named after my school yard crush Ashley.  The typical scenario would be, the male G.I. Joe’s captured her, and the Ninja Turtles would aquatically sneak attack them to save the day. This occasion, I decided that each Hero would be awarded a kiss from their damsel in distress. I closed my eyes and pictured the women in pretty clothes at church kissing me; my hands new what to do next. I never brought toys to the bathtub again, they had been replaced.

The first entry into my jerk bank.

I had only confided in one person about my new discoveries. Well actually he confided in me first, since he was a year or two older, and just as confused as I. It was a huge relief to learn that his penis was able to do similar things. He would sleep over and we would masturbate late at night in the same room. It was comforting more than it was sexual. I started to look forward to our little jerk-off (pun-intended) sessions. Until one fateful evening changed the course of my puberty permanently. It was at Mike Ramel’s house, and a half dozen of us were having a sleep over to celebrate his birthday. Everyone was taking turns telling a secret and it was mostly frivolous gossip about who kissed who at the dance last week. I thought I would be the coolest kid on the block and I told them everything that my buddy (who wasn’t present) and I had been doing. They all stared at me in silence, it was the longest silence of my life. At the moment, I felt judged and ashamed. Looking back, I bet they felt on the spot to discuss their own explorations. As a group, their silence banded them together and they took the path of least resistance. In their blank stare they unknowingly fast tracked my insecurities. I hated myself for masturbating, and I decided to hate my jerk-off friend as well. I forced myself to feel like a victim of his curiosity and naively dismissed him as a predator of my innocence. From there on out, I never discussed my sexuality with anyone until it was much too late. Confusion and fear compounded exponentially with each ejaculation. I began masturbating non stop, I would even sneakily jerk in the back of the family van while driving to distant destinations. The more shame I felt, the more drastic and unhealthy my sexual actions became. I don’t understand why nobody caught me, looking back I think I intended to be caught.

For the most part I survived, but I still act out with progressively outlandish desires, and often times, I still feel like the weird freak at the sleep over.

Good luck Avery. I can promise you will suffer, but I beg you to accept, that you will not suffer alone.


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