by Stephen Surgener

Created on: November 28, 2007

My brother called the other day. Though we're not exactly a family of Ward, June, Wally, and the Beave, we are still brothers, and in that tradition, our conversation came upon the subject of old girlfriends.

It's a common known fact that whenever there is more than one child in a household, sibling rivalries are an ever-present reality of life. For some it is athletics, academics, or whose the prettiest. My brother and I, we have our laundry list of ladies, to serve as a score card. By the way, no females were injured in the making of our egos.

Unfortunately for me, the whole topic brought me back to the loss of my innocence. Or at least my first attempt. I rarely discuss it, and would never admit it to my brother, but the events of that night, were nothing shy of horrific. In fact, I'm sure my name could be found among the always insightful writings, of "How To For Dummies" books. Try checking under "How To Never Procreate".

My first mistake was to think I was in fact, in possession of even a moderate understanding of the female mind. Exactly how vast the depths of my ignorance was, would not begin to be understood until sometime in my mid thirties. In my opinion, boys should not be taught to refrain from sex because of early fatherhood, or STD's that could shrivel up Mr. Winkie. Humiliation is the key. Girls are born with an instinctive mastery of the concept, and feel they have been charged with instructing boys on just how devastating its effects can be.

The approach of my evening for becoming a man, was marked by intense planning, three months worth of savings, and a lot of hair gel. Picking up my buddies van early, I prepped it for a romantic evening of passion. Two beers from the back of the fridge, sleeping bag that only kind of smelled, a tape of Simply Red, and a half dozen emergency candles I found in the garage. I took a final look in the mirror; pure Don Wan Demarco. By the end of the evening; pure Peewee Herman.

We met down the street from her house. Dad had a shotgun, and an unreasonable aversion to boys in vans. After a quick check of my hair, I jumped out to open her door, and sneak a kiss. Since I was a tall guy, and she was a short girl, it was common for me to seek out the assistance of nearby objects, such as leaning on a pole, or stepping down a curb. As I leaned forward to kiss her that night, I stabilized myself by grabbing hold of the door handle; or at least that was the plan. What I didn't realize is how slippery hair gel actually is,

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