Love Diaries

Bob Love Diaries
The Romantic Confessions of a Virgin Prude

Part 1
The First Action

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Part 1,
The First Action
Part 2, Paradise Missed
Part 3, Poetic Justice
Part 4, Thumbs Up 7Up!
Part 5,
I <3 NY
Part 6, Junior Prom
Part 7,
The Most Important Girl
Part 8, Julie
Part 9, Yesterday Sucked
Part 10, Between Friends
Part 11, Questions Answered
Part 12,
Art School Confidential
Part 13, Virginity Lost

It all began one fateful day with one singular action. It isn't marked on any calendar and the time of day has long since been forgotten.

I was in the basement/activities room of my parent's house, my parents weren't home, and something was happening in my pants. I'd seen people pantomime the hand gesture, but other than that I was never given any formal direction of how this was going to happen.

Standing in the middle of the room with nothing other than the pictures in my head (which included but were not limited to Madonna's exposed belly, that car wash scene from "Cool Hand Luke", and high school senior Nikki Burchett), I did what every boy eventually tries his hand at.

Halloween day 1985, Nikki Burchett (senior) sat on my freshman lap dressed as a Playboy Bunny. She bounced up and down while all of her flunky friends laughed at me. That was the greatest day of my freshman year.

It didn't take very long for that very special feeling to find its way to Mr. Happy and then "it" happened. The most frightening bodily function that caught me completely by surprise. Any enjoyment of the event was drowned out by panic and confusion. I thought I'd broke something. I'd sprung a leak and there was no one around to fix me. Pants still at my ankles I clumsily shuffled off to the bathroom and tried to clean myself up without looking. I thought sure there'd be blood involved somehow.

I pulled up my pants and quickly cleaned up the crime scene in a total panic. Then I sat down in a chair and started to worry. What did this mean? Should I see a doctor? What did God see of that? How do I keep this a secret from the rest of the world? How do I get my hands on some cleavage and put aside enough time in my life to do this every single day until I die?

This is when all of my problems started.

And so my hopeless bout with lameness began. What followed were a slew of catastrophic (or so it seemed) girl-encountering-bloopers that built the man you see before you today... whatever your opinion may be.

In high school, Art was always my shining subject. I loved the class and it loved me. This is what I attribute to the next girl having her momentary attraction to me.

Kristy Timmons was a hot-n-sassy Heavy Metal chick in my art class who on occasion would acknowledge my existence in a friendly manner (believe me those occurrences were few and far between in high school). Five minutes before class would end everyone would stand and mill about anticipating the bell.

Let me remind you that there was no thought in my head to the effect of me being attractive. On my best day, squinting in the mirror steamed over with 50% visibility I could fool myself into "a-face-with-character".


So I'm standing at my drawing table and I feel a slight pressure on the backside of my Sears Plain Pocket Denim Dungarees. In about a ten second time frame it turned from a small feel into a full and complete squeeze. I leaped, chirped a girlish "OOP!" and turned about. There stood Kristy smiling with her hands where my butt once was.

"What are you doing?!" I yelped.
"What?" She smiled coyly.
"How would you like it if I did that to you?!" I proclaimed (insert Peter Brady-esque cracking here).
"Fine! Go ahead" she laughed. Then she turned, invitation on the table. My smart-aleckness was quickly cornered. The spectacular notion of actually touching a girl's butt stood zero chance against my terminal case of lameness.
"I'll do it!" I babbled , hoping I'd somehow be let off the hook. "You're crazy! I'm not going to do that here in front of everyone..." and a string of wickedly unimpressive excuses exited from my mouth, thus concluding this encounter. The bell had rung and she was walking away, bedazzled I'm sure.


Is it hot in here or is it just me?
A Normal Bob Smith hot tub moment.

I believe that I stood there by myself a good minute and a half searching aloud for that perfect comeback to fix the situation. None was to be found.

I didn't realize until I was in the hall that I'd actually "messed" my tighty-whities as a result of her initial advance (and I'm not talkin' #1 or #2). I think that was the only time I'd ever done that without any actual physical stimuli. Christ, I was such a cherry.

You can believe that I was all ready if she were to ever try that again, but of course she never did... and I wouldn't have been anyway.

 

 

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All opinions, writings, illustrations & designs are that of Normal Bob Smith (C) 2000 - 2009
NORMAL BOB SMITH DESIGN NEW YORK

 

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