Clever Euphemism

The following is Inspired by Jennie and her idea to offer writing prompts every Wednesday for interested bloggers. Here's my response to her call to "Start any story with, 'I wouldn't say it was my best idea,' and go from there."

I wouldn't say it was my best idea, but being 16 and the most "sexually experienced" of my friends, I felt it was my duty to pass along the knowledge I had gained in having my first serious boyfriend. When I say sexually experienced, I mean soared past first and second base, hoovering on third and eyeing home. Because you know, it was very important to help usher my friends into the game. There had been timid chatter around the rally room about bj's and how to give them, how to end them and what do with the stuff after it was all over. Spit? Swallow? Cry?

I had no business sharing what little information I had, but we were honor students, overachievers and despite the fact I wasn't on the school newspaper staff, I felt maybe a phamplet would be the perfect way to discreetly pass on my knowledge to my eager, yet naive, friends. I started laying out the tips I had to share on a tri-fold piece of yellow notebook paper. I was even contemplating a logo . . . it was all perfect. I had no idea how or where I would photocopy the brochure of sophomoric tip-of-sexual-iceburg tips, but then, I hadn't even thought that far ahead.

Whether it is something to be proud or ashamed of, I was definitely the most precocious of my friends and naturally, since I was the first to try everything, I was also the first most of my friends shared their sordid secrets with. To be entrusted with their blushing transgressions was an honor and now being the first to marry, I'll be the one to help usher them all into marriage too. Tear!

But I digress. The phamplet wasn't anything seedy enough to end up on Nerve.com, but it was definitely not something that I would ever want to fall into the wrong hands. Like say . . . a parent's. And it did. My own. Whether my mother was snooping or putting away laundry or snooping while putting away laundry, she did find it in my room. I didn't really attempt to hide it; I didn't think it would be in danger of being found sitting out in plain sight.

My mom, for all the crap and grief I've put her through in my adolescent years, is awesome. She didn't run to my father and pull him into the conversation. She quietly sat me down and discussed what it all meant about my sexuality and why making something like this was a terribly awful idea.

She was right. That same year, my friend Kate had become friends with this girl Dehne and somewhere they came up with a Lil' Kim album. Being the hardcore white girl thugs we were, they would bump up and down the streets of Vancouver, blaring songs talking about guys going "downtown" and other less than appropriate topics. At some point, Kate made me a copy of one of the songs and even I drove around in my Nissan 240X, feeling quite empowered and hot. But when Dehne's mother found the cd, she squealed, blaming the cd purchase on Kate and naturally, her parents were called.

It was something external, it didn't involve any of us girls, except for whoever acutally purchased the cd in the first place. I can only imagine what my handmade with love phamplet would have done to all of our freedom and independence and budding love lives.

I never mentioned the incident to my friends. Actually, this is the first I have pretty much mentioned it to anyone. Butecause it did start out, one day, probably in Algebra, as a good idea.