My Teenage Sexual Retardation.

Like most boys, I was a sexually ignorant teenager. Women hinted that they wanted to have sex with me in subtle ways and I couldn't pick up on it. "Of course you can come in to use my bathroom", I'd tell them, and then I'd tell them goodnight. I probably didn't even know what "subtle" meant at the time.

As a teenager, I knew a girl named Joyce who was always very friendly with me. Back in high school, Joyce's mission in life seemed to be getting straight guys to join the drama club. She only managed to convince one to join. Me. In fact, I was the only straight guy in drama club. I literally ended up getting the role of the romantic male lead in every play the drama club put on, not because I was any good at acting, but because I was the only available male who didn't speak with a lisp.

Joyce eventually became an actress. At first she had a lot of difficulty getting parts. She claimed it was because of the size of her breasts. An agent once told Joyce to consider getting breast reduction surgery because her breasts were so comically massive they were stopping her from getting roles in movies. I suggested that she wasn't trying out for the right kinds of movies. She didn't appreciate that.

One fine high school day, Joyce spotted me walking home from class and she rushed to join me. I was tired, sleepy, and considering how these were my teenage years, probably stoned as well. Joyce suggested we go to a bakery and share a cake together. Usually I'm far too greedy to share and far too gluttonous to only eat half a cake but when you've been smoking weed, cake is not something your body is able to refuse so I was medically forced to go with her.

After we got the cakes, we sat down and started talking. Or at least Joyce got to talking and I stuffed my face with cake and stared at the impressive amount of protrusion that was happening in her sweater region (while mentally cursing myself for choosing the ability to talk to animals as my superpower over the ability to see through cotton).

Note for the slow: I don't actually have superpowers.

Sometime during our conversation, Joyce broke out her mental "build-a-boyfriend" handbook and started asking me questions from it. Questions like: "So what's your favorite class / movie / color / season / Dr. Who episode, etc." It wasn't long before the conversation turned into a session of me doing what I do best, that is, criticizing other people's taste in music and alcohol. Joyce had plenty to criticize in these areas since she enjoyed emo music (exciting songs where rich white boys sing about their nonexistent problems) and she loved the taste of white zin (which is the wine white trash people drink when they're trying to convince themselves they're not white trash).

Beyond her questions and her suggestive under-the-table foot games, Joyce began to make her intentions obvious when she told me she felt "like we're really bonding". And then she got to the point...

Joyce: What are you doing tonight?
Paul: I'm going to meet up with my friends. We're probably going to get drunk, watch a Kung Fu movie, then we'll head out and try to take over the world...
Joyce: The same thing you do ever night then?

She picked up on the Pinky and the Brain reference. That impressed me. She quickly let me know that she was available.

Joyce: So. . . I'm not doing anything tonight.
Paul: Oh. That sucks.

My stoned teenage brain clearly wasn't understanding what she wanted. Still, Joyce kept trying:

Joyce: So why don't I come with you guys?
Paul: Nah. . .
Joyce: Why not?
Paul: My friends are scum, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't enjoy yourself. Besides, shitty 1970's kung fu movies don't seem to be your thing. You wouldn't want to watch that.
Joyce: Well maybe but why don't you and I do something together? We'll get drinks but we don't have to watch kung fu. I'm sure we could think of some other stuff to do...

And I still remember the clueless, misguided shit I told her next:

Paul: Other stuff? Well I'd rather watch a kung fu movie than a romantic comedy you know.

At this, Joyce rolled her eyes, paused and dug into her purse - and much to my surprise; she pulled something out and threw it on the table. Four things to be exact: four condoms.
Not one. Not two. Not three. But four.
Now if this happened to me today, I would have asked her if she thought I was Superman. Four condoms? That's kind of being presumptuous. How about we start with one, okay? If I don't fall asleep immediately afterwards we can move to two. But four? Do I look like I have that much energy? Shit.

But, at the time, my sexually stupidified teenage brain didn't quite manage to connect the dots. And so I said this instead:

Paul: You carry condoms in your purse? Wow! You know only sluts do that, right?
Joyce: (she gave me a complete look of horror).
Paul: And look at them! Each one's a different brand! Wow!

Joyce hastily finished eating and told me she had to go. I guess she mistook my stupidity and obliviousness for rejection. And there I was, all alone. Thankfully, the kung fu movie gave some good kung fu later that night.

I didn't fully grasp what Joyce wanted from me until a few weeks later when she asked me over to her parents' house, took me upstairs to her room and then left me alone for a few minutes. This was right before she walked in naked.

As a teenage numb skull I thought all that flirting she did earlier was just her way of trying to be sociable. It took her walking into a room naked to make me sure of her intentions, everything else she did was too subtle.

A few weeks after we started fornicating, Joyce got a large role in a play. Since I didn't want her to stop having sex with me, I had to attend a performance. Unfortunately, my stupid teenage brain screwed me up here as well.

At a small after-show party, Joyce asked me for an honest assessment of her performance. Sadly, due to my youthful ineptitude, I had not yet discovered that the phrase "honest assessment" basically means "blind praise". Oops.

I criticized a scene where she spoke a lengthy monologue. I said that while her tone of voice and facial expressions were sexy as usual, they were a bit too restrained and subdued to do justice to her speech. Her acting needed to get more intense.

Paul: So the emotion you're trying to capture is basically 'righteous indignation'. I just don't think you've fully got it down yet.
Joyce: What do you think I should change about my performance?
Paul: You do make a very natural 'righteous indignation' face when you're jerking me off and I cum on your face without warning you first. Try to channel some of that energy for your next show.

Joyce gave me a look of utter contempt and swore at me. She immediately left.

Even now I think Joyce's reaction to my hand job comment was a little extreme seeing as how I really wasn't trying to be a jerk when I said that to her: I was just trying to be funny. Oh well, maybe I shouldn't have said it in front of her parents.

I regret nothing (except my birth).