by N. D. Guerre

Created on: May 31, 2008   Last Updated: February 01, 2012

The mind is a dirty thing and so I clean mine every spring, in sock feet, trash bags in hand and knowing that I have room for only so much "stuff", i make some kind of brave attempt to rid myself of what many would call (spooky music here)...

Baggage

So, in just such an attempt, and often forgetting what is even something I put there myself, I get easily distracted by some odd item here or there, take a seat on a dusty crate, and pull out some old, stale memory or thought to look ever. Usually, a minute or two in, I do recall it (thankfully as I would hate to think I am now providing storage for other people's messed up life experiences).

So, coming upon a curious file, and being sick of wading through aborted dates and childhood birthday parties (I've no idea why I don't part with THOSE, doing me NO good as an adult) and from deep within a folder labeled "first times", and somewhere between "the rejection of panties at 9" and "Uh oh, the little stick turned blue", there lies a dusty sub-folder, suspiciously entitled "The Ill Behaved Penis".

It is, of course, a young girl's (presumably mine) thoughts upon her first encounter with that mystical, magical, insanely unpredictable, oh so valued male possession...

(more music, but in a triumphant tone)

THE PENIS

...and to give you only the most basic background...

She was almost 14 (young I know, and I should include a warning to girls of this age, but hey, I'm nobody's mother here) and yes, she had seen her brother, her father, but only via the occasional accident, a bathroom door left ajar, a failed streak from the bathroom to the bedroom when a robe was forgotten and a towel failed to remain in place, and then only for a fraction of a second. She hardly time to really study this totally unfamiliar, and until now, uninteresting piece of male equipment.

After dating a very tender, dear, 17 year old boy who did care for her, a boy she was sure would one day marry her and make her the beautiful wife and mother she was meant to be, she set into motion plans to present him with that most delicate, fragile and precious gift. It was that once and only once, overrated and undervalued, intrinsic and symbolic, widely sought and too often easily won, disposable and dispensable item... the celebrated treasure of story and song, her status as a "maiden".

So, her first look upon this dear boy's... uh... (I don't believe she ever called it anything but "that", with the somewhat blind pointing of a dainty finger) was still somewhat

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