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EXCERPT FROM THE BOOK:
MOST PEOPLE TALK BULLSHIT
- One Primate's Search For Intelligent Life
The Catwalks At School,
That’s Where The Sex Was
Very often, after normal school hours, I would be up in the
catwalks above the auditorium having sex with a senior that
looked much like Honey West portrayed by the actress Anne
Frances, (I am showing my age). Honey was very sexy and
passionate, and it was always a mystery as to why she played
around with me. She had a fiancé’ that was a much better looking
and older than I was. Her fiancé’ was after all nineteen or
twenty. I had just turned fifteen. (She had shown me his
picture). She thought that her fiancé’ and I were both handsome
and looked much alike. After studying the picture, I thought he
looked like an older version of me. This observation still did
not shed light as to why she would cheat on him to be with me.
The closest I could figure was that he was going to college
somewhere in Florida, only coming home for the holidays. Her
sexual itches needed to be attended to, and since I looked like
a simile of her boyfriend, she did not have to feel so guilty.
Many times in the catwalks above the auditorium, Honey and I
would be rockin and a-rollen, bon’en and a moaning, making the
catwalks groan, and sway, threatening to dislodge from its
moorings; and each time afterwards I pondered the mystery of her
infidelity, “Hey who am I to argue.” “I just can’t get any
luckier than this.” Actually, the fucking on the catwalks didn’t
last long; I finally managed to break into the projector room
where I had piled lots of extra theater curtains on the floor
for makeshift bedding.
Our
new accommodations was much more comfortable now that I had
firmer footing to dig in.
Honey was three years older than me and it was said that she was
sexually experienced well beyond her years. She was a sexually
insatiable girl; what the local old country Italian men called
stracciamanici. Honey simply loved sex! A lot! She showed
me that sex could be mystical and addictive. I didn’t know it at
the time, but with Honey, I became a sex addict and I enjoyed my
dependency!
Honey also gave my sexual education a quantum leap, and also
she set me ahead of most of my friends.
Most
of my friends could spout thousands of factoids and data
concerning football, baseball, or basketball. Most boys my age
were into talking about cars and 411 Dana rears, Hemi engines,
and dual quad carburetors and spoilers.
But they did not know shit from Shinola when it came to
understanding the clitoris or the mythical G-spot. I don’t
remember talking to any guy in school who even knew that the
clitoris existed, much less the elusive G-spot.
I guess that was because sex education we got in the classroom
just talked about procreation instead of recreation.
Unlike the other boys at school I didn’t know squat about cars,
engines or sports statistics. Instead I was doing everything in
my power to learn from Honey and Lucy, about not only the
clitoris and the highly valued G-spot but also every aspect of
lovemaking skill that my new mentors of sensual delight took
great pains for my instruction. I learned that literally the
clitoris and the G-spot was often the keys to the kingdom of
carnal pleasure.
Honey was very vocal about what she and other women liked. Honey
was the first girl to introduce me to oral sex – both receiving
and giving. The first time she went down on me, my circuits lit
up, my synapses sang and nearly overloaded! The first time she
eagerly coaxed me to lick and suck her pussy I took to it like a
baby takes to mother’s milk. The taste and muskiness of her
pussy was sooo fine! It was sweet and it was clean. To me
it was like nectar from the gods and as tasty as her name.
Imagine my surprise when Honey told me that most guys did not
eat pussy… and if they did, it was with stingy regret.
I
often mused the poor bastards did not know what they were
missing. “Oh well, I thought, just more for
me!” Many an hour we would lay on the matting in the
projector room at Upper Merion, licking and sucking each other,
both of us content to do this as much as we liked to fuck. It
was during these times that I reflected how funny that a few
years prior with Carlita; I had thought that just touching this
area of a woman’s body; her dirty sinful pee-pee hole. Now I
knew this area as the wondrous pussy and it had become the
center of my pleasure universe; a tasty intoxicating delight to
suck and lick lovingly for hours. At least until I got lockjaw!
Yes indeed, Honey was pleased that I was an eager and apt pupil.
Just like with Carlita, making love with Honey was mystical,
magical. It was often during those interludes that my orgasms
would be like rockets red glare; it was during those times that
my orgasms seemed endless and unquenchable while energy zinged
up my spine continuously increasing in force until the familiar
white light would explode and burn within the interior of my
head, blinding both my external and internal sight.
It was during those times that the world around me would shred
and what was essentially ME - would disappear into
a blue-black oblivion. It was then that I hoped this is what I
would fell at the moment of death.
Sex with Honey was both base and spiritual exaltation; and the
best mix of both. It was if our nervous systems and our minds
would merge and our synapses would sing harmoniously as one with
the entirety of creation… with God!
Eden couldn’t last forever.
Despite her engagement to another guy, she started to get
increasingly possessive with me. Initially she did not mind my
promiscuity, but that started to change, especially the more I
messed around with Lucy.
I think that is why Honey left a huge hickey on my neck during
one of our many catwalk trysts. I think she wanted to mark her
territory. I did not realize the gift that she had given me
until I got home. During dinner, I kept a high collar shirt on
and kept my chin down. My mother thought I had strained my neck
the way I was holding it.
I ate and left the table as quickly as possible. I had gone to
my room I was getting ready to change, my cousin Sammy had
barged in and she saw the huge hickey.
She ran downstairs yelling, “Lazarus has a hickey!” “Lazarus has
a hickey!”
I ran
to the bathroom, and locked the door, and I could hear the
entire herd of my family stampeding up the stairs.
My mother was banging on the door, yelling, “Let me in now!”
I
tried to put her off, but eventually I had to let her in. I was
trying to hide the hickey with a towel.
My mother is just smiling and saying, “Come on, let’s see it.”
I thought, “She’s not so upset, what the hell”.
Who’s The Whore Norman, --
I Mean Lazarus
When I let my mother into the bathroom she saw the hickey and
went nuts.
She slapped me vigorously a few times before I managed to block
and avoid her hands that continued striking me.
In shrill demanding tones she shrieked, “Who’s the whore?” “Tell
me who the whore is or you will be grounded forever!”
In my mind’s eye I could hear Norman Bates mother in the
Hitchcock movie ‘Psycho’ screaming at me
“Who’s
the whore Lazarus!”
My poor mother was trying to keep my virginity intact. Of course
I didn’t have the heart or the courage to tell her that it was
too late.
With angry emphasis she said, “Tell me her name!”
I said, “Come on mom, you know I can’t tell you.”
I was referring to the code of ethics that I had been taught,
meaning that real men do not give out the names of the women
they have been with. I saw no sense in getting Honey in trouble.
She may have been a senior and she may be engaged to another
guy, but she still lived at home with her parents and she did
not need the trouble with her fiancé.” Besides, the realistic
side of me realized my new addiction and I knew that if I turned
over my source of pleasure to my mother my relationship with
Honey would have diminished. I may be grounded, but I still had
those daytime catwalk interludes with Honey and Lucy.
After two weeks, I was off home probation. I continued to enjoy
the company of some of the seniors, which made me more popular
with some of the other girls in the school.
I found out by accident it was best to keep tight-lipped
regarding any of the girls that I had sex with. It put me in
good standing. Initially, I refused to gossip, because I was
raised that men did not gossip and give names.
Even though I had a strong desire to be seen as a cool stud by
my peers, I was taught that men did what they could to protect
the reputation of the women they engaged themselves to. When I
was asked by many of the guys I hung out with, how this girl was
or that girl was, or what we did, or did she, my basic assertion
was we just talked and nothing happened. I learned a few lessons
from this and benefited in ways I had not initially expected but
exploited once I understood the politics of dating and sexual
relations.
First off, it was yet another example that I was to learned that
people will believe what they want to believe regardless of what
you tell them or the evidence you may provide contrary to their
beliefs. My peers just knew I was getting laid and laid a lot.
I thought how funny, if I simply told them the truth without
embellishment, my ‘scoring’ with this girl or that girl, my
peers would have doubted what I told them, as they often doubted
each other. What I also thought interesting was that even though
people may doubt the veracity of a peer’s story, this does not
keep them from gossiping about their friend’s claims, which of
course often causes negative backlashes.
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