Eleven Years Old And Can't Spell "prophylactic"

                                                      "  prophylactic "

When I was eleven years old my pre-teen social group came to know a "world sophisticate" named Chester.  Chester was one of the really "bad guys" in sixth grade.  He was already staining his lungs with cigarettes in the bathroom and, at 13, knew so much more about the opposite sex than we did.

I know I personally was taking my first tentative steps in my exploration of sex.  "Sex", god, it even sounded naughty!  I used to comb through a medical dictionary and seek out the medical terms for the woman's "equipment".  The page with the entry for "vagina" was well worn as I surreptitiously turned to that page many times.  Because this was a medical dictionary it actually showed an illustration of this wondrous body part.  Pornography!  This medical dictionary also had a chapter on sexual intercourse.  (My face flushed with excitement at this term!)  The dictionary had illustrations of the woman on top, the sideways position, and the ever popular "missionary position".  Though I had a rudimentary idea of how sex was supposed to work I really had little comprehension of how one sexual position was superior to any other.

Other than seeing dogs copulating I had no other exposure to the concept of raw sex.  Oh sure, my mother kept old issues of True Confessions and Modern Romance around the house.  Once in a while I would read one of these stories.  I must admit that these stories got my heart racing a bit as I read passages about deep kisses and heavy breathing, and the like.  However, in those moral times, women in these stories, who allowed passion to go beyond the kissing stage, inevitably ended up "preggers" and waiting for their white knight to come fleeing back into the their lives to save them from society's condemnation.  I guess I learned my first moral sex lessons from these stories;  you just NEVER want to get a girl "preggers!"

Then ole Chester came along.  Bad guy.  Man of the World.  Knew all about sex...and was actually having sex!  Just down "C" street, perhaps a block away, and across the street from the little neighborhood grocery, lived "Wild Wanda".  Yes, that is her real first name.  I remember her last name too but will be discreet here, lest Wanda is still living in the realms of old Selma.

Now, we had known Wanda far longer than Chester, the bad guy.  We knew that Wanda was somewhat of a tomboy, that she cussed like a sailor, and that she displayed a great set of gams when wearing those jean cut-offs.  But, never would we have dreamed that little Wanda would prove to be the first girl we knew that "did it!".

Indeed, it was Wanda with whom Chester was "doing it!".  I don't remember the details of where they "did it" but one day Wanda and Chester had apparently lost their place to diddle.  My friend, Corky who lived two doors down from us, and who had a working mom, had the solution.  He offered Chester and Wanda the use of a nylon lawn chair and his empty garage but only  if he was allowed to stand outside the door and "listen".  Wanda and Chester agreed to this and an after school rendezvous was set up for the next day.

Corky, basking in the glow of affording "lovers" with their nest, then proceeded to let us know of the "grand event".  Upon hearing of this luridness, we begged Corky for the opportunity to join him outside the garage door!  As I remember, to become a member of this aural audience, we had to surrender our nickel milk money that morning.

We couldn't wait for the big event and that afternoon we ran the half mile from Roosevelt Junior High school so that we would not miss a single "ahh" or "ooh".  After Wanda and Chester entered the garage, unknowingly serving as our "sexual gladiators" in our arena of sex, we all gathered at the door to listen.

As I remember, we didn't hear much that would have titillated our sexual emotions.  In fact, more than once old Wanda bitched about the nylon straps cutting into her ass...and asking old Chester if he was done yet.  Even with that, we all thought we got our nickel's worth.

The next day at school old bad Chester bragged about nailing old Wanda once again.  We all crowded around to hear all that he was willing to share.  At the conclusion of Chester's sexual lecture he pulled a chain of condoms out of his pants and gave each of us one.  He cautioned "you never want to get a girl "preggers".

I just knew that the world of sex was opening itself to me and, being a Boy Scout, I was going to "be prepared".  I pulled out my  Roy Rogers wallet, slipped the plastic wrapped condom into the bill section of my wallet and walked proudly back to class.    As I sat down at my desk I could literally feel the small lump of that condom in my wallet as it pressed against my behind.  It felt so naughty down there as I listened to the teacher reciting the importance of Hawthorne in our study of American literature.  Once in a while my eyes would wander to one of the girlies in the class and I would wonder if they "did it"..or if they wanted to "do it".

Flash forward to Sunday night of that same week.  I'm at home.  The whole family is there. My brother and I are sitting on the floor.  Bonanza is on and Pa and Adam and Hoss and Little Joe are having another gunfight with the bad guys who are trying to burn the sawmill on the Ponderosa.  I'm getting pretty worked up as Little Joe takes a bullet in the arm!

Before I know it my wallet has slipped out of my back pocket, flips flat and out pops my newly acquired condom!  Right in the middle of the god damned floor.  Soon I hear my little brother John squeal out "a balloon!"..."where'd you get the balloon?"...."I want that balloon!".    I panic!  My face is flushed red and I'm hyperventilating and am praying that the little bastard will shut up and quit drawing attention to my condom!

Miracle of Miracles, my mom is focused on Pa binding up Little Joe's wounded arm and I am finally able to wrest the condom from the greedy hands of my sexually naive little brother.  I stick it back in my wallet, mumble something about needing to go to the bathroom.  While the Cartwright family are whipping bad guy's ass I'm fleeing out the back door, walking out to the burn barrel and dropping my condom in it.

As I head back to the house I contemplate the degree of my loss.  I've lost round one in the development of the "sexual me".  I no longer feel as assured that I'll be ready when sexual nirvana meets opportunity.  After all, the last thing I want to do is get her "preggers".

Oh well, I retreat, back to the safety of our living room where Pa and Adam and Hoss and Little Joe are basking in the glow of victory....and they seem so happy, though there are no women on the Ponderosa and they have little need for condoms.  I figured I could wait a bit longer before I would need one either.