is it me or are kids2day better re girl-boy stuff than we ever were? if i was born july 7th, 1977, give or take twenty years either direction, well, let's just say i had my first taste of champagne the night they drove old nixon down, that ought to place my age sufficiently well supposing you're sussing sixties slash seventies events au courant gifted child me, if in fact i did be gifted, and, okay, objectively i was not, but still, tell that to that drunk couple from sanibel island, flaw, how i did take their green money off the duplicate bridge table, the table i did run like grant taking richmond, gable leigh, fawn hall: that night i was hot like a porsche run second gear straight north i91 all the way to montreal, nary a drop in the crankcase: hot.
if i was gifted well then what happened? and what of these men who say are said to be well endowed, like, what, they're phillips exeter academy? brenda sweet brenda, she the queen of the sexually inappropriate remark, at least i knew her insults authentic as i did know her, biblically; she said, it's a good thing you're not as big as my husband, we can do so many more positions. she said, it's like you use your whole body, the way you fuck: you should be a porn star. she said, don't you dare come. i mean it. don't you dare. she said, a hard on! i love hard-ons! and so she did, such was her charm, such we had in common.
a porn star! now i can die a happy man. it's like looking in the mirror and seeing a bowling star. it's like looking in the mirror and seeing a police car. a porn star.
i used to befriend girls, this or that one, respectively, believing sooner or later i'd wear her down, catch a guard down. the best-selling art of war advises: if your opponent holds an impenetrable fortress, retreat to lure her out. me, i dig in, a la stalingrad: i will demoralize you. sooner or later you will have to undress.
i was misinformed. the van ride home from the deerfield debates the captain read the score sheets; out of a hundred some-odd kids, i'd finished dead last. one teacher took particular care to urge me to never ever debate ever again. she was begging me. if i was a freshman and a winter-starred sky was above us, i was still mighty mike, the first freshman to ever overall win a varsity race, as far as anyone knew, and actually i had won a bunch, i was still this well-washed image in the mist, although, yes, my first off-season taught me that i was nothing and nobody if i hadn't won lately. we were in the van, i was sitting next to mary-anne, one of the few people i'd lately realized was smarter than i, kicking my ass in calculus she was, count this as one of many rude awakenings that first winter.
i cried and cried, and then, sensing an opening, i put my face in her lap. she wasn't particularly pretty but she exuded mad mad sex, she dressed this way, like a much older girl, like a grown-up, wool skirts so tight you could trace her picot stitched pantyline. the van was dark, i was whimpering, someone was furtively opening a beer in the last row... she caressed my cheek like a mom.
this did not get me sex. the strategy was flawed.
kids2day, they get on as if real, as if friendship pervades the air. could this be the promised age, doctor spock walking upon this good green earth as the ancients did prophesy, this good thing slouching now to bethlehem, connecticut, hold your breath, stop your heart, listen, do you hear it even now?
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david mason writes:
such knotty problems! check your lists!
how come the universe exists?
how does consciousness, free will,
match up with brain cells? harder still
explaining what we use for peeing,
to penetrate another's being,
and in her complementary hole
surrendering one's self, one's soul.
yes, the eternal paradox
of hearts and minds and cunts and cocks.
that solved, it will be time enough
to tackle all the cosmic stuff.
