3B
Wednesday, December 6, 2017 // The Statement
Soundtracking: Sex
I
know what you’re thinking. What does
a column-writing, grandma-sweater-
wearing kid who looks like the offspring
of Woody Allen in “Annie Hall” and a cold bowl
of clam chowder know about sex?
Long answer: Not very much, but I have drive
and charisma and maybe an OK personality so
that should make up for something.
Short answer: jack shit.
But what I do know is the road to sexual
discovery (as if I’ve reached it yet) is paved
with the most awkward experiences known
to humankind. If I had to guess, I’d say the
neanderthals would have appreciated the
condom-on-the-banana lesson as much as I did
if it was offered to them.
Very few big-budget blockbusters paint sex as
I experienced it the first go-arounds. In movies,
sex is passionate. It’s intense. It’s got “Take my
Breath Away” by Berlin in the background like
in “Top Gun.” Sex never includes your inner
monologue of “Should this be doing that?
Why am I hungry all of a sudden? Did I leave
the kitchen sink running after washing dishes
today?” in movies.
But we’re here to explore that side of the
beautiful and painstaking experience that is
learning about and living through losing your
virginity. If I have to recount every moment
leading up to that climax (or lack thereof), so be
it. That is a sacrifice I am willing to make. I did
this for you. Please don’t make me regret this.
“Let’s Talk About Sex” — Salt-N-Pepa
Just to be clear, I am not recommending you
get down and dirty to the early-’90s drum beats
of Salt-N-Pepa (unless that’s your thing — don’t
knock it till you’ve tried it, I guess).
Where to start? In the very poignant and
calculated words of Julie Andrews in “The
Sound of Music,” “Let’s start at the very
beginning, a very good place to start.”
The year is 2010. I’m in seventh grade and
I think I know more about thermonuclear
dynamics than I do about sex. I had just started
dating my middle school girlfriend, whom I had
asked out by sending her a green carnation for
St. Patrick’s Day through a school fundraiser.
On the note attached to the carnation written in
my second-grader-esque handwriting: “I’d be
so LUCKY if you went out with me.”
Yeah, I was a hopeless romantic. How the
hell did I not know what sex was? I should
have been the Wilt Chamberlain of my school
district.
Well, in the classiest fashion, I took my
new girlfriend to a middle school dance called
Teen Night. It was held the first Friday of
every month in the auditorium of the local
community education center. There was a DJ,
disco balls and pizza. Our parents dropped
us off separately and we met at the door. We
walked into the dance floor and I heard a song.
To this day, I still believe it is the most beautiful
song I have ever heard. A ballad of passion and
romance with the lyrics rivaling the greatest
works of Walt Whitman and Shakespeare.
“BedRock” — Young Money
“My room is the G-spot, call me Mr.
Flintstone, I can make your bed rock.”
But what does it mean? I get the Flintstone
thing. I watched a lot of Boomerang as a kid.
But what in the wide, wide world of sports is a
G-spot and why is his bed rocking? Is he having
a nightmare or something? Sorry you aren’t
sleeping well!
That was my thought process.
Flash forward to junior year of high school.
My previous seventh grade flame and I had
since broken up. The end of an era, honestly. A
power couple that rivals rivaled Kimye’s star
status.
By junior year, I had stopped wearing two
different plaid patterns at once, but I wasn’t
(and still am not) a stunner by any means. You
could tell by the way I walked that I hadn’t had
sex yet. In high school, sex is like a participation
trophy. No one ever says the title means
anything or if you actually did anything well.
We just assume it was amazing because you got
a trophy. As messed up as it sounds, high school
is full of the worst gremlins you can imagine.
“You haven’t had sex yet? You’ll get there
someday.”
I looked and felt like a dweebier Ken doll.
Nothing below the belt.
“Like a Virgin” — Madonna
It was time to pull myself up by my
bootstraps. I’ve always been an OK student.
Whatever I need to learn, I study and study
until my confidence rockets through the roof.
Eventually, I come back down to reality once
I realize how screwed I am when the exam
comes but the confidence keeps me going. The
same goes for learning about sex. Movies were
no help. I only had one hope.
I’ll just say it.
There’s a Google search saved somewhere
from my first time searching “porn” on my
computer.
“Wet Dreamz” — J. Cole
Porn was my Mr. Miyagi. Whacks on, whacks
off. (No more, I swear.)
I’ll spare you the long and arduous details
but after emerging from my studies, I was ready
to take on the world. I knew everything. The
secrets of the world were open to me. I looked
like Rocky entering the ring, overconfident and
jumping around like an idiot.
A few months later, I was driving around in
my 2004 Chevy Malibu with a girl I had been
talking to. She goes to a different school, you
wouldn’t know her. I knew she didn’t want to
date but she was still talking to me which was
definitely new so I thought something might
happen. We didn’t have a destination. I didn’t
know what she wanted and wasn’t about to
try and guess. I’d rather drive to Ohio and back
than make a wrong move.
My hands were starting to get clammy.
My foot was tapping incessantly. My months
of training didn’t leave me with a very good
amount of control over my hormones and I was
wearing skinny jeans so I basically wanted to
end my life at that exact moment.
“Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?” — The
Beatles
I wasted about three-quarters of a tank of gas
driving around until I worked up the nerves to
find some abandoned parking lot to stop in. My
phone was at 6 percent from shuffling through
every playlist I had ever created. I turned down
the music a little bit and looked over to her.
Then she leaped forward, grabbed my face
and kissed me.
My entire face turned red. What is going
on? This is new. This isn’t like my first kiss
at the roller rink with that aforementioned
seventh-grade girlfriend. I was incredibly
sweaty.
Not just because I had been waiting for
this since I started my training regiment, but
because the air conditioning in my car was
busted and we turned the engine off so no one
knew we were here. It was basically a sauna.
“Hot in Herre” — Nelly
In movies, when characters are having
sex in a steamy place like a car or shower or
anything of that sorts and one character puts
their hand against the glass, leaving a lustful
handprint, you always assume it’s because
the sex is so amazing, you need to hold on
to something. You never assume it’s because
it’s 120 DEGREES IN THIS HELLHOLE
AND YOU’RE LIKE A DOG TRYING TO
BREAK OUT OF THE BACKSEAT ON A
SCORCHING SUMMER DAY.
I basically looked like I just got out of
the pool in the least sexy way possible. But
nonetheless, I was in no way complaining.
She was leading every step of the way, which
was kind of a dent to the large amounts of
confidence I had built up over the course of
my sexual awakening, but it would do.
I knew exactly what to do and how to sound
and what noises to make from my dialogue
studies. I had all the moves memorized.
Nothing could go wrong.
“You Can Be as Loud as the Hell You Want
(When You’re Makin’ Love)” — Avenue Q Cast
Except everything. Everything can go
wrong.
Avenue Q lied to me. When you’re
almost touching your toes, cramped and
uncomfortable in the backseat of a 2004
Chevy Malibu, you can most definitely cannot
be as loud as the hell you want.
At the same time, nothing felt like I
assumed it would from the hours (yeah
I’m man enough to say hours) of porn I had
watched in preparation. I kept thinking it
should be different and eventually, my mind
started to wander. I kept thinking about
how we say the last word in some acronyms
twice (like how we say PIN number when
the N already stands for number) and how
Jaden Smith in the Karate Kid remake wore
a Detroit Lions shirt in China. This is not
what everyone at school said sex was like. I
was getting a participation trophy but batting
.000 for the season.
“Rock You Like a Hurricane” — Scorpions
It was much more like a thunderstorm
than a hurricane: inconvenient for everyone
involved if you had other plans but not a
complete waste of time if you need something
to do.
I dropped her off back home and eventually
just didn’t talk anymore. It’s not like we had
“The Notebook” level of sexual intimacy and I
am 99 percent confident neither of us would be
writing home about our time together (I know
it’s an expression but please don’t write home
about your sexual encounters; I know I’m kind
of doing it here, but I am far from a role model).
Though I’m not a perfect example, I’d make
a bet that everyone’s first time was not some
magical explosion of hormones and rainbows.
If it was, lucky you — but also, does it really
matter? Everyone figures it out eventually. No
pressure.
BY MATT HARMON, DAILY STAFF REPORTER
ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY KOFFSKY