What the Geeky Guy knew about sex

So, here was an attractive woman who was actually interested in having sex with the Geeky Guy. You might think he’d be interested right back. Well, he was; sort of.

There was the small matter of the audience, for they were sitting in the middle of a grandstand, surrounded by hippie-type music lovers, young and old, who had remained to hear a Mongolian throat singer intone melancholy airs, not the Lisping Barista moan. And moan she did, when she began to ride his lap, though thankfully in the same key, a major octave above the throat singer’s bass.

Many may not have noticed at first when she climbed on the Geeky Guy’s lap, but, a good portion of the crowd was not watching the Mongolian’s show by the time she arched her back and offered her breasts to nuzzle. He ambivalently nuzzled where he had never nuzzled before. The boards of the bleachers bowed and the necks of the bystanders bent.

The Geeky Guy was definitely a step or two behind her. There was a risk she might interpret his slow response as a lack of enthusiasm. She seemed capable of picking someone else out of the crowd, anyone, to fill her sudden and very intense need. She might just as well have picked someone else. The Geeky Guy was just at the right place at the right time. There were plenty of other people in the crowd better suited to bone the Barista.

If he had glanced around at their faces, he could’ve seen that they thought so, too.

“Is there someplace where we can go?” asked the Geeky Guy.

Her eyes were as big as saucers. They looked the way you do when you leave the eye doctor’s with dilated pupils. They looked as if she would find a place, whether there was one or not.

The Lisping Barista took the Geeky Guy by the hand and pulled him, practically running, out of the grandstand. There was camping allowed right at the festival for all those who didn’t mind spending the night not sleeping; those who have a preference for listening to the banging of drums, the strumming of guitars and catching a few tunes over their necessary rest. Tents crowded right up to the back of the grandstand, but they were all occupied by people passing their joints, sitting cross legged on the ground. They smiled as the two ran by and shouted encouraging words.

They came to a converted school bus, modified for festival camping. The door was ajar, indicating someone had left. The Lisping Barista called inside, “Hello, ith anyone home?” When no one answered, she flashed her eyes, devilishly smiled, and they entered.

They hadn’t even climbed all the way up before they were all over each other, kissing and rubbing things together. Most of the seats where the school children had sat had been removed and replaced by bunks and a kitchen area. They brushed aside a curtain, nudged a pot to the floor that had been sitting on a camp stove, spied an unmade bed at the end more private than the rest, and took a dive onto its tangled sheets. Bedsheets, pillows, blankets, and comforter were twisted up together, and soon the two people were, too, so that it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.

When she started to touch him in places where she had not touched him before, places where no one had ever touched him, his body began to respond in the way it was programmed to do. Whenever the Lisping Barista would rub something that was his, he’d moan, and she’d moan when hers was rubbed. It only took a few seconds before they did a lot of moaning together, their hands seeking out those parts that brought forth the most response.

Unfortunately, the unexpectedness of her moves and the motivation behind it left him uneasy. It gave him the willies. You know how you’ve heard that sometimes sex is not about love, and all that? Well, sometimes sex is not about sex. Sometimes it has more to do with fear and despair and the fear of despair. Sometimes it’s about using someone to avoid something. Sometimes it has to do with proving a point to someone gone a long time ago. Sometimes it’s about proving something to yourself.

The Geeky Guy had no such advance knowledge of sex, but he had a sense of it. Consequently, he wasn’t into it as much as he could’ve been. Remember, all the Geeky Guy knew about women, he’d read from a single Victorian novel. There were no sex scenes in that novel. There was romance and intrigue, adventure and Scottish politics, there was swashbuckling, but no sex.

The Geeky Guy soon was defeated by her clothing. Buttons were far too small for his fingers, a belt buckle too intricate, a zipper too complex. Those hooks on the back of her bra routed him utterly, so that she had to undo it herself. Her tight jeans required both of them to pull off. She set to work on his garments with a practiced efficiency. A few quick movements undid his pants, revealing that part of anatomy of which a man is the most proud, and the most bashful.

You may be wondering how he knew how to do any of this; what to rub of the things that were hers and what to do with the things that were his. Well, he had impatient instruction from the Lisping Barista; but, besides Kenilworth, there was another book from his parent’s library that he had studied. One that gave him some theoretical understanding of the task at hand.

The book wasn’t from their library, precisely; he had found it in a nightstand beside their bed, on his father’s side, in a drawer, under a flashlight, by some nail clippers, beside a .22 caliber pistol reserved for intruders in the night. The book was The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Sex, a 1950s style textbook, complete with cross-sectioned drawings of organs, lists of diseases, and dire warnings of the evils of masturbation. The Geeky Guy skipped over the warnings, but studied the diagrams. He learned how the sperm originated in the testicles and how it swam up the fallopian tubes to fertilize the egg. He was thoroughly familiar with the phenomena of erection, tumescence of the female genitals, and the vagaries of female organism. However, he could not figure out, for the life of him, because the book never told him, how the sperm got into the female’s body to begin with. None of the diagrams illustrated that part of the operation. It would’ve been helpful to have a demonstration of just how tab A fitted into slot B.

It’s not like the Geeky Guy had any friends who could’ve told him. His parents were both dead, so they couldn’t have had that awkward conversation about sex, and no one ever thinks it’s a sister that should do it. The State of Connecticut, although predominantly blue, had succumbed to the red reticence on the matter and kept sex instruction out of the public schools. He didn’t have any farm animals to show him and all the pets were neutered. As far as he knew, the sperm just magically traveled from the male’s penis to the female’s urethra. No matter how unlikely, unsanitary, and uncouth, there didn’t seem to be any other way.

No thanks to The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Sex, the proper procedure had finally come to him as he was sitting at his workbench one day, innocently screwing a bolt into a hole provided. The discovery made him shout out loud, involuntarily. Eureka! he said, I’ve got it! It made his sister call downstairs to ask if something was wrong. It made him blush and lie when he said nothing.

It could be fairly said that the Geeky Guy invented sex, or at least the penetration portion of the process. Even though it had been going on for thousands of years, known to every monkey, fish, and retile on the planet, none of them had told the Geeky Guy, so he was left to figure it out on his own. Thanks to his native intelligence and imagination, he was able to do so, but it was a shame he couldn’t publish, patent, or profit from the results.

By the time the Lisping Barista’s hand, and then her tongue, caressed his penis, it would appear that the Geeky Guy had set aside his hesitation. His eyes were closed, his knees all but buckled, and his mouth made a groan that would’ve done the Mongolian throat singer proud. His pants were down to his knees and his hands gripped the top bunk to keep from falling. His heart picked up the tempo. But his mind, however; his vagrant, wanton, cheating, polygamous mind, could not stay on topic. There was something he didn’t understand.

You might think he’d focus on the sensations at hand, shut out all thoughts, and concentrate only on pleasure. You might think that, if he had to think, he’d think about how fortunate he was, how beautiful she looked, or the many, very many, terrifying risks he was taking. There were diseases he might catch, all carefully documented in The Illustrated Encyclopedia of Sex. There were crabs he might acquire, and laws he was breaking. He might be getting involved with a nut case, someone who would stalk him, blame him, sue him, ask him to marry her. He could become a father. He could be imperiling his immortal soul. He didn’t think about any of that.

You may not be surprised if I told you that, while having sex with this gorgeous young woman, the Geeky Guy was imagining getting it on with someone else; a model, maybe, some celebrity, a movie actress, perhaps. Freud might even suggest that he was fantasizing about sex with his mother. But, no, that was not the case; it was none of those. Nothing like that even entered his mind.

What was he thinking about, you ask?

You see, since everything he knew about sex be learned from nuts and bolts, he was trying to figure how whether he should rotate on the axis of his penis, whether she should, or whether they should do it together.

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S. Harry Zade

Writing a blog keeps me alive.

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