It was a dark and stormy night, literally. It was also my freshman year of college. I know, I’m a late-bloomer.
Dad if you’re reading this, you should probably stop.
I was “seeing” this guy for a few weeks, which consisted of going to the Quad and the cafeteria together and sharing some giggles and maybe an awkward hug after class. Let’s just say that things were moving a little slow and teenager-ey. One night we were watching a movie in my dorm room twin bed while my roommate agreed to “get lost” for the night. I was of course, a little nervous because I had never really done things with boys before.
So it gets super late and it starts to rain really hard and we end up deciding that he should just stay the night because it would be ridiculous for him to walk three buildings over back to his dorm room right? Also, I’m an adult. Right? So we start to kiss and I had to tell him that I didn’t want to have sex because we didn’t really know each other that well, and he was very cool about that. Great! So I thought that we would just go to sleep.
Nope.
Of course he wanted the next best thing, or sixth best thing: a handy.
Dad, if you’ve gotten this far, it’s going to feel really awkward next time we see each other.
I could readily feel that his you-know-what was ready for some you-know-what, but I didn’t really know-what, so I pretended to be asleep. Next thing I know, he’s basically “Weekend at Bernie’s-ing” me on his hot rocket and my first handjob was underway. Like a dead body at a party, I was more of an observer than a participant. As I pretended to be half asleep and let my hand be taken over, I felt very strange inside; kind of like when you hear dissonant chords in an ’80s song, or like a cat getting a bath or what I imagine a father feels like when reading this far into his daughter’s hand job article.
Then finally the awkward, silent and very amateur hand job was over. There I was, frozen like a dead guy propped up with sunglasses staring at my Beatles poster. He probably remembers the story a little differently, and is currently writing an article titled “Ferris Bueller’s Jerked Off.” Like any ’80s cult classic, sexual exploration is full of angst and epic adventures.
The guy was nice, but unlike “Weekend at Bernie’s”, I decided against a sequel. (“Weekend at Bernie’s 2”, SLAM!)
