Intercourse Discourse

"It seems like everybody has had sex but me," I told John G. We were standing on the second floor of our high school at the intersection of two hallways. Around us our fellow students toiled between classes, animated in their own discussions, solving the problems of our tiny world on the capital island of Alaska.

Like my mother, I have always tended to reveal too much too soon, and the effect on people is either disarming or alarming. John took a consipiratorial survey of our personal space, his eyes darted left, then right. Satisfied, he leaned closer and whispered, "I haven't either."

"No way!" I whispered back. "There is hope then." We both laughed. "I wouldn't dare tell Eric; he would have me for lunch. I'd never hear the end of it."

John grinned, that evil Chesire Cat grin that connects the ears.

"What?" I said, my mouth hung open because I forgot to close it. "You know something don't you?"

John nodded his head, but his eyes kept mine locked.

"Oh come on, don't make me beg!"

"Let's just say, that I've had this very same conversation with Eric last weekend."

"And he's a virgin?!"

John held out his hand and made a peace sign. "The big V."

"Oh man, this is unbelievable," I said too loudly, but we both had forgotten the world around us. Eric was a football star, and was in the top eschelon of guys in our school. The girls that John and I wouldn't dream of approaching were friends of Erics, so naturally we looked up to him. This development was nothing short of a miracle.

John had told me this for a reason. While it is true that we looked up to Eric, we were jealous too. Add to this that Eric was incredibly confident, arrogant even, and seemingly never made a mistake. To make it worse, Eric was intolerant of the mistakes of others, and because of his competitive nature, was always exploiting his chances to smear it in your face. Thus, when the rare opportunity presented itself for payback, it had to be cherished like a rare and expensive wine. John and I were smelling the cork.

"Ok, this is good. This is real good." I rubbed my hands together; he saw the wheels turning in my head and waited patiently. "Ok, I'll handle this. Don't tell him that I know."

John watched me skip away, probably feeling a warm glow, like a boy scout that just earned a merit badge.

My dad in those days was a house builder. Eric and I would always buy a "half-rack" of Miller and drive to whatever house dad was in the process of building, get suitably buzzed, then continue to wherever the action was happening that night. And yes, we were driving drunk, and yes, it was very irresponsible, and yes, we could have killed somone, and no, we didn't. The cops were different back then. They just expected you were driving drunk on friday and saturday night, because as Sam Kinison once said, there was no other way to get your car back to the bleeping house. Ironically, Sam was killed by a drunk driver -- but I digress.

Tonight we drank our beers in a rough framed house; the roof was shingled and the outside walls were covered in plywood; the windows, as yet uninstalled, leaned against their empty openings, allowing the night free reign. We sat on the second story floor that was lightly peppered with sawdust, which danced in tiny whorls from the cool night breeze that carried the sweet smell of new lumber.

"Eric, we never really talk about all the girls that we have been with, do we?"

He looked instantly uncomfortable. Steee-rrrike one! "Uhh, yeah."

"Well, do tell! You must have stories, and you are not one to miss an opportunity to brag."

He reminded me of Rodney Dangerfield, who always pulls on his collar like it is suddenly too tight. I had Eric on the ropes.

"Why don't you start," he dodged. "Who have you ever been with?"

"Heather," I said simply.

"When!?" Slap! "I didn't know about that, you never said."

"I'm not a bragging man Eric, I leave that to you. Actually, it was more than once; she couldn't get enough. Once she got a taste, well, you know what I mean."

He was squirming. "So, how about you then?"

"Just once." He was such a bad liar.

"Reeeeeealllly? With whom may I ask?"

"Just some girl I met last summer, you wouldn't know her."

"Juneau is a small town Eric, and I know a lot of people. " His head was starting to lilt. "Why don't you indulge me on this one, hmmm?"

"Oh, all right. I lied."

"What was that, I couldn't hear you?"

"I lied, I've never been with a girl before."

Strike two!

"I can't believe that you could just sit there and fill me with your lies Eric. I thought you were my friend!"

He shook his head helplessly, "I.. uhhh.."

I know that most people would let it end with that, maybe rub it in for a while, relish the victory for as long as possible. But to Eric, losing to a friend, losing to anybody, was the most unsavory morsel to chew. Like a comic bad guy, I wanted Super Eric to know that I got him.

"That's ok Eric, I lied about Heather."

"What the..." His shock was total. "You lied to me, I can't..."

Strike three, and you're out!