The first embarrassing sexual experience any young boy has
is always the same: the public hard-on. And so it was for me too. Mrs. Draper called me to the front of class to give my book
report on "John F. Kennedy: A Boy's Life."
Why would I remember what book I read for one of the most
embarrassing moments of my life? Read on, you'll see for yourself.
What I do remember is this: halfway through the report,
something terrible happened to me. I got an erection.
To top it off, no amount of clever hand gestures or
repositioning of my notebook papers in front of my waist distracted the group
of ten-year-old children from what was going on behind the report. None. What
does work? Listen up and you'll find out.
What started it all was Mrs. Draper’s white dress. I had
been thinking (daydreaming, actually) about that white dress for the last
several minutes. It reminded me of one of the pictures in “Swedish Roll” (one
of the magazines Billy Barrett found in the bushes at Huber Park).
As I stood in front of class, I was still distracted by
these thoughts. I talked about John F. Keneddy playing tackle football on his
family’s estate up on the cape, but all I could think about was Mrs. Draper in
her nurse’s outfit – stuck between the pages of Swedish Roll. Just like those
girls, she was a blonde and it was her first year as a teacher. She was the
prime age for a young boy’s wildest fantasies.
Well, come to think of it, I also ended up thinking about Jenny
Chang, Denise Kratt, Briana Cherry, and Amanda Higgs, who all conveniently sat
in the front row of class.
My hand swept back and forth as I continued reading my
report. I was a lone signalman trying to get everyone to look up to the clock
above my head, the chalkboard behind me, out the window, or anywhere else but
my waist.
It was no use. Jenny Chang was the first to notice, giggling
and whispering something over to Denise. Denise whispered to Amanda and Amanda
whispered to someone else. The wave of anxious hormones slowly made its way
across the front row and throughout the entire class.
I am not sure where my mind went from there. I do remember
that to make things worse was this bad habit I had picked up from Charlie Hough
the year before.
For those of you uneducated in Los Angeles Dodgers pitching
staff of the late 70s, Charlie Hough was a left-handed pitcher who was one of
my favorite pitchers. Like all pitchers, he had a penchant for adjusting
himself in front of the nation. For the lack of any better alibis, I will blame
him.
I had rubbed a light blue spot on the left side of my zipper
where I had constantly pushed Bullwinkle from one side of the zipper to the
other. This little cornflower blue patch of denim was a runway for disaster in
front of my classmates.
I began to give my speech on J.F.K., but I was obviously
distracted. As I thought about J.F.K. and horny nurses, I began to think of
Marilyn Monroe dressed as a nurse singing "Happy Birthday Mr.
President" to J.F.K. Joyce was giggling. Denise was giggling. In fact, by
this time, the enitre class was laughing so loud I could no longer be heard.
While I continued reading, I moved Bullwinkle to the left. I
moved him to the right. After two attempts, I left him alone altogether (watch
while I try to pull this rabbit out of my hat!)
This obviously made things worse. I had no idea what to do.
Mrs. Draper asked me a question, trying in vain to divert the classroom's
attention. Finally, I did what I should have done in the first place. As tears
began to well up, I faked choking. My face turned beet red and Monica turned to
Mrs. Draper and said, "Mrs. Dray, I think he’s choking." Suddenly,
the class quieted down as Mrs. Draper escorted me to the water fountain.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
I nodded to her, but continued to force the choking
reaction, and I wasn't even sure what she thought about my charade. I didn't
care at the point. I was just glad to get out of that situation unscathed.
"You can just stay out here until you feel
better."
She walked back into the room and the reports continued
until I reentered the room. I eased into my seat as everyone watched. I smiled
to Monica, who didn't know how much she helped me.
Nothing more was said about the "bent Bullwinkle
incident." All guys go through this at one point or another. And at one
point or another, the girls in class giggle at a boy in the dangerous position
of reaching puberty. Or guys giggle at a girl in the dangerous position of
reaching puberty.
Everything happens once to everyone.
As my journalism teacher always used to say, "Only the names and the faces change."
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