Avoiding Amy Jackson by N. A. Alcorn Page B

loquacious as you are when it comes to storytelling. And I gotta say, it will take several cold showers for me to get your Vagina Monologue out of my head.” The corners of his mouth crest into a grin and that one perfect dimple is front and center. I have the urge to lick that stupid dimple.
    I laugh loudly and work towards steering the conversation to something less sexual and more on par with being friendly. We continue to converse about our lives, giving our friendship and this whole getting-to-know-each-other thing a real shot. I tell James about my parents in Louisville. My dad is a recently retired police officer and my mother used to be a kindergarten teacher. She retired a few years ago, after I graduated from nursing school. I have a strong feeling she’s praying I give her grandkids soon, seeing as she and my father have a lot of free time on their hands these days. I just hope she realizes that, in order for me to provide her with grandkids, I’m going to have to do a complete one-eighty in terms of how I feel regarding the whole idea of marriage and family.
    I have James damn near roaring in laughter when I reveal a few stories of what it was like growing up with a father who was a cop. He frequently made a point of cleaning his guns in front of my dates, and he wasn’t afraid to threaten to track them down and beat them to within an inch of their lives if they didn’t have me home by curfew. To say I didn’t date that much in high school would be an accurate statement. I did, however, enjoy sneaking boys into my bedroom for a little extracurricular dry humping session when my dad was working the night shift.
    Was I ever caught in the act? Yes, and that night ended with my five-foot-ten dad dragging my six-foot-two flavor of the week out of my house by his shirt. I found out that night that, although dry humping and tonsil hockey are enjoyable, sometimes the risk of getting caught by my Italian father, who has a temper that resembles a raging lunatic, wasn’t always worth the sub-par orgasmic reward. Because, let’s face it, it’s pretty rare in high school to find a boy who actually has the skills to bring out your O-face. And honestly, most of my dry humping sessions ended with me all by my lonesome, lying spread eagle on my comforter and shucking my clam to dirty thoughts of Brody Lancaster. Yes, good ol’ Brody Lancaster was a staple in my spank bank up until I went to college.
    And speaking of inept sex skills of teenage boys, any girl who tells you she had an orgasm her first time having sex is a fucking liar. Getting your meat curtains penetrated by a teenage boy whose only sex skills mirror a god damn jackhammer is not a recipe for taking you to the Promised Land. It’s a disaster. A bloody, terrifying, scream-inducing disaster.
    We’ve all been there. The sacred moment when you allow someone to plunge inside of you for the first time and one quick thrust has you panicking at the discomfort. You naïvely agreed to play ‘just the tip’ and next thing you know your teenage boyfriend is shoving his tube steak all up in your delicate flower. Shoving and shoving and trying his hardest to break your little virginity barrier, and once that precious spot gives, you feel like someone just stabbed your cooter with a speculum. Ouch.
    Screw giving teenagers talks of abstinence! Send my ass around to some high schools and I’ll have fifteen-year-old girls imagining their boyfriends’ little peckers as the main attraction in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They’ll guard their virtues like a young nun at a frat party. And for teenage boys, I think a little encouragement to keep some lube on hand, as well as dissuasion of using machine-gun-like thrusts, could really go a long way for our future generations. I think I just found my calling in life.
    As you can see, I wasn’t exactly a role model in terms of being the perfect teenage girl. I was a pain in the ass. I cussed like sailor, smoked Marlboro Reds,