A while ago, when Lo and I first met up with the protégés, Zach and I had a nice little chat about our sexual proclivities. My theory was and is that the things we obsess about as adults have their origins in our formative sexual experiences. While talking with Zach, I was reminiscing about the girl who stole my virginity and then proceeded to crush my loving heart. (“Stole my virginity” is hardly an apt phrase. I was eager to get rid of it!) It had not occurred to me at the time that there may be other, more subtle seeds that were sown in my libido that blossomed into an infatuation with nymphomanical women drawn to living the lifestyle of a hotwife.
But then Lo took pity on our friend, Professor Smith. One night, when I was making passionate love to Lo and she was whispering in my ear about helping dear Dr. Smith to find release from his long sexual frustration, an image and snippet of conversation buried deep in the recesses of my memory was triggered.
It was the same year I had lost my virginity. There I was, fifteen, and out with my two buddies — Ryan and Peter. They were both seniors and I was a sophomore. I looked up to Ryan with unquestioning admiration. Ever since I was a freshman, my first day of high school, he kindly took me under his wing and showed me the ropes. He taught me how to cut class, the shortcut to the convenience store to grab a sandwich and smokes, he let me drive his car in the parking lot, instructing me in the basics. When it snowed, he would take us out into the same parking lot and we’d do donuts for hours on the slippery surface, fishtailing and skidding around like kids in their big, motorized toboggan.
To this day, I have no idea why he was so kind to me. He had a generous nature and there was no one in the school who had a bad thing to say about him. His best friend since childhood was Peter — also a senior. Peter was, in many respects, the opposite of Ryan. Whereas Ryan was good looking and “cool” — whatever that meant to us back in high school — Peter was quite unattractive and a “nerd.” Peter had some terrible acne, he was about forty pounds overweight. He dressed slovenly, showed no personal attention to grooming, and, to complete the picture, he played the tuba. He didn’t just play the tuba. The tuba was his life. He was an award winning tuba player. Such accolades, however, didn’t…
