Two of my favorite bloggers inspired me to write this week:

Just in case you missed it, AAG held a contest the other day. You’ll need to read through the comments to see my entry. I don’t know how she picked the winner; she has some very devoted fans.

My other motivator was Chelsea Girl. How can anyone not love this woman? She’s beautiful, intelligent; she’s an amazing writer and I think she’s probably a really nice person.

Well it turns out I have something in common with the Goddess of Bloggers, a sexual something, maybe even a weird kind of cosmic connection. On Dec31 1979, the eve of a new decade, Chelsea Girl and I both had our first girl. Is that amazing or what?

I was two weeks past my sixteenth birthday, I was on a beach in Mazatlan Mexico, the surf was crashing in, the New Years Eve fireworks were exploding and… I came in my pants.

But the point is I was with a real live girl and I did manage to penetrate her a few minutes later. I didn’t last as long as I did when it was still in my pants, but…see now you’re laughing at me. You need to understand, at that point in my life I was convinced I would either need to start playing for the other team or I would die a virgin. A real live non-related-to girl (a cousin had let me dry hump her leg around this time); this was a BIG deal.

OK now here’s the thing, the rub, the confession, the truth I have not admitted to anyone in 26 years. The girl I had sex with was NOT actually the girl I told everybody I had sex with. I was skinny and shy and I managed to meet people by setting up my Backgammon board on the beach and taking on all challengers. As my notoriety and wad of pesos grew (I really am a good player) so did my confidence and I met a group of kids staying at the same hotel. One of these kids was a fifteen-year-old girl named Simone. She was tanned and toned and her big boobies were still teenybopper firm and strained against her tiny red bikini. Her eyes were bright and she had an easy laugh. She was the sort of girl I wouldn’t have had the courage to even talk to back home. But on holidays it was possible to reinvent myself and we became quite good friends.

She only lived about four hours away from me and for a couple of years after that we kept in touch with letters (remember those?) I even saw her a couple of times when I went to the coast. So it was a plausible story, right? I got letters from her and school pictures as well as the holiday pics. No one could deny I knew this beautiful girl. It wasn’t such a stretch to think I’d really had sex with her, was it?

Earlier in the evening (new years, remember?) I was in the hotel lounge and this guy I had beat at backgammon was trying his luck with a woman having dinner with her daughter. He invited me over to the table to keep the daughter company. The mother was drunker and more obnoxious then he expected and so he abandoned me there. She wanted to get away from her mother so we went down to the beach and did the nasty. I don’t remember her name, but I think I’d remember her perfume if it passed my nose again. She was older, maybe 18 or 19. I think her mother had brought her for a Mexican holiday to get away from a boyfriend. She was skinny and pale and she smoked and I really didn’t like her very much. I remember being horrified when she and her mother moved into our hotel a couple of days later.

The move probably had nothing to do with me, but in my little mind it was all about me so I spent the rest of my last week there trying to avoid…Tina! That’s what her name was, Tina.

Cheers,

sss

ps; the best meal i had in mexico was at an italian restaurant, run by a yugoslavian ex pat from toronto, canada. go figure.