Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Boners and Jugs

I haven’t had this many ups and downs since I was in Mrs. Kramer’s class in junior high. Damn, she was hot. She had long, dark hair with big brown eyes and she wore heels and knee length skirts paired with snug little shirts that screamed sensuality. Many a time I sat at my desk and tried to casually rub out nature’s response to perky nipplage and spherical globes. My emotions would run the gamut from blissfully unaware, to suddenly painfully attentive, and then frantically horrified. “Go down, go down.” Sometimes rubbing it out had the opposite effect and once it ended in an embarrassing whimper and subtle shudder. I was mortified. I don’t think anyone knew, but I was mortified just the same.

I’m not sure which was more awkward for me, taming the shrew in junior high, or standing amidst a half dozen pregnant women talking about lactating appendages and mucus plugs while waiting for the cashier at Mimi Maternity to ring up the gift certificate I picked up for Jazz.

Mucus plug?

I don’t fucking want to know.