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This is a post meant for the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, and is meant to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN). You can visit the page for all the information you need about RAINN and the campaign. More links available at the end of the post. This is a subject near and dear to my heart, and not just because it’s about sex and sexuality. Bound to be an interesting month.

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Sure, you might think that I’m hot and sexy and quite the catch. You might wonder at the marvel of my singlehood, and hey, I’d say you’re right to wonder about that. But I have to tell you - and hopefully this won’t blow your mind too badly - I wasn’t always the hot monkey love machine that I am now. We all start somewhere, baby.

So today I’m going to go back…WAY back…to my first kiss with a girl. It was 35 or 36 years ago. I realize that most of my readers haven’t been around quite that long, but I’m 41, people. My history is now deep into the decades.

When I was five years old, several years before my parents got divorced, we lived in Calverton, New York. That’s on Long Island, if you didn’t know. From kindergarten up on through sixth grade, we lived right there at 8 Kay Road. The place has long since become unrecognizable, but that’s not really the issue here.

It was a much more innocent time in America then. As kids, we ran all over the neighborhood for hours on end. No parents. You just didn’t have to worry about shit like sleazebags kidnapping your kids. You could still go trick-or-treating around the neighborhood - AT NIGHT, EVEN - without Mommy and Daddy coming along. We’d go traipsing off into the woods all day and never worry about a thing, until Mommy did her wolf-whistle thing to signal us for dinner.

One of my neighborhood friends was Sophie. She lived on the same street, just down the little hill in the middle of the street. On occasion her mom would babysit me and my sister (who is four years younger than me), so Sophie and I hung out quite a bit. We’d play all sorts of things: Cowboys & Indians, superheroes, cops & robbers, house…all those typical childhood games that fill your mind with imaginary goodness.

One afternoon, Sophie and I were playing house and she said, “Take off your clothes. We’re going to sleep now.”

What?! Why the hell did we need to take off our clothes to go to sleep? Whatever happened to wearing pajamas? Sure, it was true that I often stripped naked out of my PJ’s in bed (much to my mom’s chagrin). But that was at home in my own bed. I was by myself.

“If we’re going to sleep, shouldn’t we wear pajamas?” I asked.

Sophie shook her head so violently I thought it might pop off. Like a Pez dispenser after I got bored flipping its head open to get at that delicious Pez candy.

“That’s not the way it’s done,” she informed me. “Mommies and Daddies sleep naked.”

“They do?” Wow. Then why the hell were my Mommy and Daddy so dead-set on me wearing clothes all the time?

“Of course they do. Haven’t you ever seen your Mommy and Daddy naked?”

Yes, yes I had. I knew they had some of the same bits and me and my sister, but I also knew they had yucky HAIR down “there.”

“See?” Sophie said. “It’s no big deal.”

“But…but…you’re going to see my winky.” Don’t laugh, that’s what I called it back then. I also occasionally used the word “penis,” but that sounded really funny. This was a serious time, Sophie wanting to see my winky.

“Yes?” she said, as if to say “Big fucking deal. We’re married, dammit. Now show me the love muscle!”

I did the best thing I could think of. I called her bluff. “You go first,” I said, sure she’d back out of this monumental event.

“OK.” And she whipped her pants down right then and there, in the middle of her living room.

Naturally, I bent down and got on my knees to check this thing out. Man, were girls ever different than boys!

“How do you pee out of that thing?” I mean, come on…where’s the hose?

“It’s easy, the pee comes out this hole,” she said, spreading her vaginal lips with her fingers.

Egads! That thing is freaky!

“Wooooooow,” I said, which is pretty much the same thing I say every time a woman strips down in front of me.

“Now you,” Sophie said, pulling her pants back up. So much for going to bed, I thought. She’s just pulling this shit to see my awesome winky.

But a deal is a deal. I slowly undid the top button of my pants, then pulled the zipper down. And in one fell swoop, WHOOSH!, the pants came down and I was swinging in the wind.

She, too, got down close to check it out. In a trance-like state, she said, “Wow, not one single hair.”

“No way! I don’t WANT hair down there.”

She nodded. “Me, either. Can I…touch it?”

Touch it? Well, what the hell. She’s already looking at it. She hasn’t laughed at me.

“OK,” I said. And she did. First she just touched the top of it. Then she grabbed it and lifted it up to see my wee little pea-sized testicles.

“Neat,” she said. “What are THOSE for?” pointing to my balls.

“I don’t know, but don’t squeeze them or they’ll hurt.”

“They don’t hurt when you walk around or sit down?”

“No, only when you squeeze them or get hit in them.”

Then Sophie’s mother came in and saw me with my pants down. “What on EARTH are you DOING?!”

“Nothing!” we both said in stereo, and I pulled up my pants as quickly as I could.

“Why are your pants down?” her mother said.

In the most matter-of-fact tone possible, Sophie said, “We’re playing ‘house.’”

“Well, you leave your clothes ON!”

“Okay,” we both said again.

Dammit. Just when I was about to get laid for the first time. No such luck.

THAT story later on in the month.

Sophie WAS my first kiss, though. Some time after our “house playing,” we went behind a recliner in her living room (always the living room, hmm) and started smooching. It didn’t matter to me that Sophie had this skin condition that made her face and arms molt like a lizard. Even then, I saw past the mere physical and looked at the inside girl. Sure, in Sophie’s case, I had actually SEEN inside her…inside her pee hole, anyway.

We got caught kissing by her mother, too. She was such a buzzkill.

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