The Bumpy Road To Carnal Knowledge

I remember my very first date for all the wrong reasons. At the time what happened was nothing less than a temporary attack of stupidity that was acutely embarrassing for a gawky teenager. Now I look back upon what happened with a good deal of humor.

At school, I had always been ridiculed and laughed at by the girls due to my gawkiness and spindly build. As a result, I tended to associate girls with public humiliation and emotional pain. And it was for this reason, I steered well clear of girls. That was all to change, eventually. For now, I was just beginning to venture forth toward the gentler sex without actually making any sort of physically intimate contact.

One day, sitting on the low wall that fronted our council house, I saw a pretty girl saunter past, and she saw me admiring her and gave me a smile. So I strolled over and started to walk alongside her. She was friendly and asked me my name. I told her it was Peter. She said that she was going to babysit somewhere and asked if would I like to go with her for the evening. I accepted and started to walk with a bounce in my step.

I got a few hundred yards up the road when suddenly some lunatic woman started to loudly holler my name for all to hear. I tried to ignore it, but it was no use.

"Oh!" said the girl, "Is that your mum? You better go home." and off she strode ahead of me. Defeated, before I even had the chance to get properly started, I turned and trudged back to my mother.

"What do you want, Mum?" I frustratedly intoned.

"Who's that girl? Where were you going with her?"

"Well nowhere now, thanks to you, Mum. Who told you?

"Your sister Kath." Fkin mouth almighty sister had helped to delay me losing my virginity by several years. It took a long time for me to forgive her for that indiscretion. And it was only one of many.

Another time I saved a little money every single week to buy myself a brand new, pink Ben Sherman shirt to go out in. On the day in question, after a long day at work, I raced home to get ready to go out. I got out of the shower and went to get my new shirt out of the wardrobe, only to discover that the shirt had disappeared. I asked my mother and she said she knew nothing about it. In the end, I went out with a plain white shirt none the wiser.

At the end of the evening, lying in my bed after rueing yet another failed night to pull a pretty girl, Kath suddenly arrived home and went straight to my bedroom. She was wearing my new Ben Sherman and had makeup all over the collar which had rubbed off her over-foundationed neck. I was furious.

"Who the hell said you could just take that bloody shirt you bitch?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, was it important lad?"

"Just get the hell out of my room and don't speak to me ever again. I saved what little of my wages I could every bloody week for a month to buy that."

Sadly, for this and a dozen other thefts from me, I did eventually cut all contact with Kath. A sad matter of fact was, she stole from everybody and ended up totally isolated from the whole family, and many years later she passed away, very much alone.

My next attempts at getting a girl were just as big a failure as the first. I once got invited to a house party and managed to pull a girl immediately. Then some guy about the same age as me came over to me and whispered in my ear that the girl had the pox. Being a gullible teen, I believed him and distanced myself from the girl. Ten minutes later I came across him and her sat cuddling on the stairs. What a lying swine.

One night at a disco in the city I was dancing on the dancefloor with some woman when in the middle of the song we were jiving to she suddenly stopped dancing and thrust her hand into my crotch and rudely grabbed my manhood and said in a harsh voice "Oh, sorry, your c@ck isn't big enough." And with that, she strode off to be with some local thug. If only some of you women knew what we men have to go through to get a girl.

Sometimes I was my own worst enemy. At a friend's wedding reception, I met an attractive girl with a pretty face and ample chest, always a winning combination for an impressionable young virgin like myself. Her name was Emma and she allowed me the privilege of walking her home when the wedding reception finished.

When we arrived at her house she invited me in for an hour. We sat chatting on a sofa in the dining room, getting to know each other a little. Soon it was time for me to go home. I asked her for a date the next day, a Sunday. Emma said yes and suggested that we meet up at her house at five o'clock the next day. "....or is five o'clock too early?" She asked.

"No, that's fine," I replied pleased at the prospect. Then I set off on the long walk home. It was too late to catch a bus and I didn't have any money for a taxi. So I had to trudge across some muddy fields for an hour to get home.

Now, it was at this point, I suffered some sort of mental disconnect. I thought, well, she couldn't possibly mean five in the afternoon as that struck me as perfectly normal. So, why ask me if it was too early? Maybe it was the drink, but I decided she asked that question because she meant five in the morning. That being the case, I would only be able to get two hours of shuteye at home before I had to set off again across those muddy fields.

I made it back to Emma's house at five a.m. precisely and knocked hard on the door. Nobody came to the door. I stepped back a little and looked up to the bedroom windows, just in time to see Emma's disgruntled father twitching the curtain to see what sort of lunatic was knocking on his door at that ungodly hour. Suddenly it dawned on me that I had screwed up, totally. And off I trudged once again across those muddy bleeding fields.

I spent most of the day in bed sleeping my own youthful stupidity off. Eventually, I got up, had a shower and a bite to eat, and again, set off across the muddy fields.

At five o'clock I knocked at Emma's door. Within two minutes she came and opened the door and invited me in. She quickly told me to go to the back room as quietly as I could, due to the fact that her father was in a foul mood and had been all day. Turns out some lunatic was banging on her door at five in the morning, and Dad was not amused.

I must be honest, I never did have the courage to tell her that the lunatic was me. It was crushing enough what I had done without owning up to it.

In the end, the contact with Emma only lasted one more date and that was it. I had yet again managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. I finally lost my virginity at the ripe old age of twenty-one, and in reality, I was none the worse for it. I like to tell people that I was saving myself for that somebody special. The truth of the matter was, I could not get laid for love or money. Such is the way to a life of carnal knowledge, and a whole new world of abject misery when it all went base over apex. But that is another story.