More Oral Sex Than You Can
Stick Your Tongue Out At

My grandmother was never fond of talking about sex that much, but the rest of our family is sick and twisted, so it eventually came up as a topic of dicussion one thanksgiving.

Somehow, I had said something about sex, then tried to cover it up by pretending to be chaiste. My aunt pointed out that she didn't believe me. I just replied that I didn't want to talk about how much I did or didn't like oral sex in front of my relatives at a dinner table while eating mashed potatoes and gravy.

My sister Angie, spoke up. "Oh god yes, oral sex is great."

Grandma made a face like she had passed a painful load of gas and shook her head in disgust. "I'm not disagreeing with you there, sis. Oral sex is great. Don't you think so, grandma?" I replied.

"That's digusting!" she shouted at me, continuing to contort her face into new wrinkly positions I had never seen before. Ang and I kept on prodding grandma to make more faces, letting us know that were most possibly not her offspring.

Even if my sister Angie and I are grandmother's offspring (which I've been assured we are), it wasn't because of foreplay. In her day, there didn't have foreplay. Theye didn't need it. In her day, men seldom saw women naked, and sex wasn't something gross and perverted. It was something to be cherished and preserved. In her day, they walked barefooted uphill to and from all sex acts in four feet of snow.

Aunt Joyce looked at us and started laughing uncontrollably. A big heap of mashed potatoes came shooting out her nose as she cupped her mouth with her hand. Right then and there, I think grandma realized that talking about oral sex at thanksgiving isn't as gross as having a relative spew a mashed potato-snot mix all over the holiday dinner table.

We had ham sandwiches for dinner that year.

Sticky Keys

The internet is a sick an twisted place, which illustrates the world is a sick and twisted place itself.

My nephew has explored the internet and all of it's wily ways. How do I know this? Well, actually, me and his mom (my goofy sister) were cleaning the cookies file out of her internet folder when she was giving her old computer to our mother.

There was a list of about fifty or sixty different pornographic websites with "jacob@sextracker.com" or "jacobp@hornycollegegirls.com" His mom didn't think Jacob's grandmother (our mom) needed to run into that one day. I mean, we all know that everyone is pretty perverted, but to get a confirmation on it isn't exactly the most pleasant thing in the world.

I decided to do some research for this story, so I went to several porno sites. The scariest was "bestiality.com" where they put the doggy in doggy style. And elephant style, and horsey style and...well you get the point.

These are the pictures that dispell all of the urban legends. The woman with her dog and the peanut butter? Oh, it happened. The farmer in the dell? Oh, it happened.

I guess it could be worse. My niece could have an online screenname like, "loves69alot." Actually she does, and the topper is that she is only fifteen years old. She doesn't act the type. Just like Vaughn Lombardo and my big brother aren't chronic masturbators.

Still, I worry that many males will be more likely to page "loves69alot" rather than a name like "younggirlwhoabstainsalot" with requests for phone numbers and naked pictures. I am just glad she told me her name before I did something that caused both of us to become regular visitors to the therapist.

On another note, the allure of internet porn has always been lost on me. I mean, I don't cringe away in fear. It's more like I drive by a porn link slowly, as if there were fifteen ambulances parked alongside the virtual highway. Usually Britney Spears or Jennifer Lopez or Pamela Anderson pages me and says: "Hey cutie! Cum see me naked on my webpage at: ." I fall for it only about half the time now.

But, with all this said, the internet does have its plusses. I don't think my grandma has ever had imaginary sex with someone from the pacific islands. I, on the other hand, might have.

More Masturbation Stories

Maybe it is a little known fact, but girls give handjobs like monkeys bowl, which is not very good at all. Guys are well aware of this. It's hard to tell if it is a conspiracy to work less by women. This also falls under the "things guys hate that girls do" list that was written by some classmates in tenth grade health class. Chris Ettrich wrote down "Girls who rake." All the guys laughed, whether we had gotten blow jobs in our lives or not.

After we were finished making our lists, Mr. Anderson collected our list and read it out loud and stumbled over "girls who rake" And then he got it. He acted like he was perturbed, but he flashed that Roger Anderson grin that said "jesus guys, use some couth."

GIrls are also under the impression that they all give good oral sex. This is usually related to the fact that their boyfriends usually don't complain about raking at any time, for fear that a monkey bowling is better than no monkey at all.

These girls start "bowling like monkeys," doing this, that, and the other thing. All of which are NOT THE CORRECT thing. I'm not telling women to stop. I'm telling women to be a little more careful down there.

Even though guys rip their manpart around like they want to jerk it off, trust me ladies. They do not. Men give their penises pet names. Women don't do this. And if they do, that's just because they have been taught it by a sad, sad society.

All I am asking is that women understand the penis.

It has one goal in life, and women, you are that goal. If the penis was a general, we'd all have one flag in this world. We'd have a world anthem, and we'd have 45,000 first ladies.

Anyway, I have also found that the safe limit for masturbation falls somewhere between 17 and 18 times a day, and no more than 116 times in a one week span. Even that is pushing it. (or pulling it rather) and the red rashes and rub-marks are sure signs that you need to pace yourself. The average man lives about 80 years. That could be as many as 525,600 "events." Does that sound safe for any activity, let alone self-molestation?

This is all well and good, but sometimes this much masturbation can be disturbing. Case in point: Billy Noddingham. He was a greasy little kid in one of my sixth grade classes. We all called him Rotting Ham and the real mess in all of this is the fact that during another field trip, he was the object of personal disgrace.

During our sixth grade year, we went to Camp Willson in Bellefontaine, Ohio. The boys slept in Pettigrew Hall, which was a big amptheatre building with adjacent rooms and bunk beds. There was one bathroom in Pettigrew Hall and whenever someone had to go to the restroom, they had to stumble in the dark or turn on the lights in one of the rooms.

Sometime during the night, Steve Rose got up to take a pee and he turned on the overhead lights in our room in Pettigrew Hall. Rotting Ham was laying on top of his bunk, jackhammering away at his manpart, for all to see. It was the big story the next day at breakfast. By noon, Rotting Ham was gone from camp. Within a few weeks, he was gone from our lives for good, but his legacy lives on.

The Other Way
Of Stopping

Greg Blaine was the first of my friends that I can remember truly having a girlfriend. I am sure he doesn't want me to bring this up, but her name was Diane Schulberg and these were different times anyway. We all have changed, and we are glad for it.

Diane Schottenstein was a little Jewish girl with a big nose who had a locker between me and Scott Schmid in eighth grade. I don't remember her much beyond that. She and Greg dated for a while and both of them seemed happy, walking hand-in-hand, but we were young and dumb then. Love was fun. There were less sperm and less babies and less periods.

To be honest, this story has nothing to do with Greg Blaine or Diane Schulberg. It's about a lot other people, actually. I will start with the Collins sisters and Jenny Cranes. They lived near me growing up and sometimes I hung out at their houses, talking about all sorts of stuff. I was friends with a different crowd then. A kid named Ryan Vance lived there about two blocks down Bartlett, next to Jenny Cranes and just over the fence from Mary and Marie Collins.

Jenny had gotten her period a few years earlier and we as boys didn't know what periods were. We knew girls got them and we didn't and now that we know what periods are, we are glad it took a long time for anyone to tell us about them.

We didn't make much of the whole puberty thing until it really hit. Jenny and Mary and Marie and Ryan and I played a game of spin the bottle. Ryan spun the bottle first and kissed Marie. Marie spun and then kissed Ryan. Ryan spun the bottle and got to kiss Mary. So far, this game really sucked.

Mary spun the bottle and it pointed toward me. She stretched over the bottle and kissed me. She had just been smoking and her kiss had this awful taste like grandma's cigarettes. I ignored it and kissed her back. We spun for a little while longer until finally, Mary came up with the idea of the spinners going off into the living room to kiss.

Mary spun the bottle and it landed in front of me. She got up again and we went into the living room and began making out. She was only about fourteen, but puberty was really generous to her. I put my hand on her blouse, this nylon number that felt itchy. Her bra was also one of those cantilevered industrial dealies, with the dark white cotton panel keeping everything in it's place. I went for the gusto and she pushed me away. We kissed a bit more, then returned to the extra room.

Mary spun the bottle and it landed in front of me. She got up again and we went into the living room and began making out. She was only about fourteen, but puberty was really generous to her. I put my hand on her blouse, this nylon number that felt itchy. Her bra was also one of those cantilevered industrial dealies, with the dark white cotton panel keeping everything in it's place. I went for the gusto and she pushed me away. We kissed a bit more, then returned to the extra room.

Mary spun the bottle, and it pointed to Jenny Cranes. We all laughed and then argued about how to solve this matter. Finally, the girls decided that Mary got to spin again. She spun and got Ryan. They made out for awhile, then came back into the living room. Ryan was smiling from ear to ear. "I get to spin again!" he said, then spun the bottle. It pointed to Jenny. They got up and went into the living room for several minutes. They came back and her shirt was untucked and unbuttoned down to the third button. She fixed herself up and spun again. It pointed to me.

We went into the living room and it was pretty much the same as before with Mary, with Jenny pushing me away. I whispered to her and then unbuttoned the top button and jammed my hand awkwardly down her pants. I found my way under the underwear and started fiddling around. I started fingering the crease between her thigh and her groin. For me, it was amazing, For Jenny, I can only assume it was anything but. She reached down and put my hand in the right place, then after a few seconds, rethought the whole proposition and pushed me away. We kissed some more and then returned to the living room.

I spun the bottle again and it pointed to Marie. She and I went into the living room and I began to kiss her. She pushed me away and we sat there for a few moments, not saying anything at all to each other. Finally, she motioned for me to get up and we returned to the living room.

We played for a few more rounds, then I was paired up with Mary again. Mary took me to the living room and as we began kissing, I attempted to push her onto her back. She resisted. Instead, she unbuttoned my pants and put her hand down there. I was "positioned" poorly in my pants and as she fiddled around, things sort of got jammed.

Mary tugged on my pants and tried again. Soon, her cupped hand was surrounding me. I kissed her as she held her hand on top of me. She moved it a bit and I felt a sharp pain. She pulled her hand up and made the worst face I have ever seen in my life. It was as if she had stuck her hand into a corpse and was forced to pull out the entrails.

Actually, it was just me, in all my glory, doing what boys do at fourteen years old. It seemed over very quickly. Over as quickly as it started. Mary wiped her hand off on the couch and immediately got up and went into the other room. I dressed myself and quickly followed.

I looked over to Ryan and Marie looked over to Mary and the party quickly just fizzled out. Ryan and I soon went back to his house and played Atari. He made me sniff his finger and we laughed about all sorts of things. We compared their kisses and their breasts and how easy they were or were not and how we wanted to do that again. And soon.

I think that time making out with Marry was the first time I had an orgasm. It was odd, because I hardly enjoyed it. I even said something to her. She just laughed at me, like she didn't know what I was talking about. To this day, I think girls play dumb to see how much we will believe them. It's not so clear who is dumb and who is dumber.

A few years later our Junior High went on a field trip to Washington D.C. One guy told everyone how he came while dancing with a girl on the dance floor. I remembered thinking how everyone laughed and how weird it was that boys just did it at that age with very little prompting. Now I am older, it isn't as easy.

An Asian Girl
In Suburban Ohio

Being somewhat of an aficionado of Asian girls, I thought I knew what I was talking about. The "what" in question was Joyce Choi. She lived next door to Mike Klein, just over a six foot tall fencerow bush, and she is, as far as I can remember, the first Asian girl I can remember. She was in my fourth grade reading class. In fact, she was in my third grade reading class, too, but I don't remember her from there.

Joyce is a slender Asian girl with all the typical Asian girl traits: long black hair, sorta slanted eyes, yellowish-beige skin, and very petite. Oh yeah, she was also really smart, so she fit the stereotypes quite well.

She played in band, too. She played the french horn. I played the trumpet. I sat next to Mike Smith, who also played trumpet. I hardly ever talked to Joyce. She had a crush on another of my friends, Mark Carpenter.

So fifth grade came and went. And then in sixth grade, there was another school and another teaching system: team teachers. Joyce was in the Bodi-Simonette-Adams group. I was in the Palmer-Whitlatch-Lumbley group. These two teams did meet up for gym class, however.

Jeff Merritt was in the Bodi group, so we hung out while we waited for Mr. Welsh to make up his mind about what to do with us next. Gina Lemon and Joyce Choi were also in the class. Gina was in Mrs. Palmer's homeroom like I was, and we had bonded casually as I borrowed pencils and paper from her. And sometimes even school books when I couldn't find mine.

Gina still had a crush on Jeff from fifth grade, while I still had a crush on Joyce. Neither of us really did anything about it until the last day of sixth grade. Gina passed me a note, telling me to send it on to Jeff. He read it and reacted pretty much in the Jeff Merritt way: "Girls are crazy. I have to do somehting else. Thanks for thinking of me, though. Goodbye."

In return, Gina took a white t-shirt into the girl's locker room for Joyce to sign. She left a cute little note about how cute or how swell, or how much I didn't talk to her on the t-shirt. Eventually, Scott Herd wrote THE HERD over her signature.

At that time, I didn't know Scott Herd, he just hung out with people I knew. I thought his name was Herb until late in my ninth grade year. He never corrected me. I don't know if he realized I didn't even know his name, anyway.

So Joyce signed my shirt and that was about it. I had opportunities to talk to her, but never said anything. I barely saw her through the rest of Middle School and Junior High. In High School, our paths were so disparate that we only saw each other fleetingly during first period when she was in the bookstore and I was in the halls during Journalism class, making my way to the bookstore to get a morning doughnut.

In college, she went to pre-med at Ohio State. She lived down the street from another friend, Scott Davis. During one of his parties, Mike Butler and I strolled down to a place she was sharing with a few of her high school friends, Emily Damron and Jody Hedrick. She looked amazing that night, too. She was busy hitting on some guy who I had never met and was fawning over him. Mike had a crush on a girl back at Scott's party, so we returned there and that is the last time I saw her.