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Social Entropy++: AWESOME POST in "It doesn't get better.", by Darth Waiter

mensch-o-maticmensch-o-matic Registered User regular
edited December 2010 in [2008-2012] Awesome Posts?
mensch-o-matic has reported a post.

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No matter how shitty you think your sex-ed was, you at least didn't get this
Post: It doesn't get better.
Forum: Social Entropy++
Assigned Moderators: WhipstitchZombie, Larlar, Bogey, Knob, potatoe, Orikaeshigitae

Posted by: Darth Waiter
Original Content:
Many moons ago, when I was just a little Sith Lord, I asked my mother a decidedly awkward question:

"Mom, what's a virgin? Am I one?"

You see, I had just watched a movie where the term had been used and I had no frame of reference for the word in question. I believe her response was something along the lines of, "I don't know." This is not the fairly obvious answer that most overprotective mothers would have used with their eight-year-old sons, especially since I was an only child.

Let's take a brief moment to provide you fine folks with a frame of reference: I knew what sex was for I had grown up in Texas around several ranching and farming communities. Procreation was not a mystery to me nor was the fluid-filled majesty of the birthing process; at this point in my life, I had actually assisted in the castration of several bulls, had the necessity explained to me and watched a ranch hand take a bull's scrotum and turn it, over the process of several weeks, into a cured piece of leather he later used as a wallet.

But, this isn't what my mother was thinking about. She was thinking that I had somehow contracted Space-AIDS through the television. Let's flash forward, shall we?

At the tender age of eleven years, I was in sixth grade and enjoying the prospect of turning twelve over the Christmas break. I had already seen a "health and education" slideshow about the awkwardness of puberty, how my voice would change, how I would grow new hair and muscles. All of this seemed to be a fine prospect to me as getting bigger and stronger meant that I could actually start doing some damage on the horrible shitheads who dominated the football field.

This is when my mother chose to unveil her Master Plan to render me psychologically castrated.

She brought my uncle in to give me "THE TALK."

For three days during the holiday break, my mother was at work and I sat with this man while he explained, in graphic and unyielding detail, the abundance of his sexual experience and prowess. Every question I had was forcibly derailed into yet another tale of coital swashbucklery where his throbbing uncircumcised member was the weapon of choice, feared by men, desired by women and unlawfully sanctioned by the Warsaw Pact.

And I am absolutely serious about this, every fucking question about fucking got turned into a story about how awesome his dick was and how much women loved it inside them. I remember asking about the actual scientific term for the parts inside the scrotum and the response was, "Well, you have a cock and you have balls and that's pretty much it. Don't worry though; yours will probably get bigger."

Did I forget to mention he was naked the whole time? Yeah, that happened.

Oh, there was also the time he asked if I wanted him to masturbate to (I shit you not, he actually said this) "show me how it's done." I made a reply that was completely impossible to misconstrue as anything BUT negative.

He went for it anyway; I just sat there and thought about Super Mario Brothers and The Legend of Zelda, praying for ... done already? Ok.

Thankfully, somewhere between birth and the graduation from high school, someone in the family had the fine sense to buy me a set of Encyclopedia Britannica complete with transparencies for the anatomy of the human body. There was a whole section on the process of procreation, including the male and female reproductive process. I wasn't a doctor or anything, but I had a pretty good grasp on sex. During the entire three day process, not once did this self-absorbed lunatic mention the use of a condom; I think he might have been offended if I asked him to cover his genitalia in any way, shape or form and I didn't have the heart to ask ... or maybe it was my soul that was gone for a walk. Who knows?

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