I’m not sure what purpose going through adolescence serves other than providing bad experiences, setting you up for things you’ll hate as an adult.
For instance, as a result of one bad experience, I tend to avoid going to weddings these days. Not that I would ever repeat the mistake of getting a little too drunk and dry humping a certain bride’s leg when it was my turn to dance with her, because I won’t.
I also know that statistically speaking, the probability of my getting beat-up by an angry groom and his henchmen is pretty low, nonetheless, I pretty much avoid weddings at all costs.
Another thing I’ve had a tendency to avoid as an adult is nudity. I don’t care much for it.
Well, not unless I’m about to get laid or something, then it’s ok. But as a general rule, I think it sucks.
I know this goes against human nature and all, but the experience that forged my contempt for nudity was a particularly nasty one. One that left me scarred for life. Literally.
It was at a nudist resort, where me and a friend, desperate to lose our virginity before heading off to college, decided to go there to meet chicks. Naked chicks.
Concerned that our being around all that female nudity might activate the launch sequence, we thought it best to take some medication, mainly to keep our business under control.
I think that’s where we might have fucked-up.
When we got to Shangri La Ranch, after downing a six-pack of beer and a couple of quaaludes along the way, everything was fine. At least at first.
Things changed shortly after that.
As we’d planned, our bodies were slowly getting numb, making the possibility of a wayward boner completely out of the question.
But as we’d soon learn, buzzing and numbing sensations were one thing.
Paralysis was another.
After a few minutes, both of us had lost all basic motor skills, even our ability to speak one syllable words.
We hadn’t planned on this.
We had planned on making our way over to the swimming area where no swimsuits were allowed, scoping the pool for some babes, ordering up some more beers, and making a nice day of it as our ‘date tackle’ did all the talking.
We never made it to the pool area.
On our way, my friend stumbled into an elderly couple, landing him on a chaise lounge, where he stayed for the remainder of the afternoon.
And while I was attempting to coerce him into getting his naked ass off the chair and moseying over to the pool area, that’s when I blacked out.
Rudely awakened from our midday slumbers by one of the attendants, presumably from the way we were lazily strewn across the lounge chairs, we were asked to leave.
Neither of us knew where the fuck we were or how long we’d been asleep. But we did know there was a small group on naked onlookers pointing and laughing, reminding us how we were naked, at a nudist resort, and now sunburned. Everywhere.
I was horrified.
Where once was a pasty-white dick, having never seen the light of day, was now some sort of unrecognizable protruberance the color of freshly boiled lobster, the hot Arizona sun showing no mercy on the little fella.
Which is why as an adult, after a week of laying around nude, with burn ointment on my business, I tend to shy away from any scenario involving nudity, quaaludes, sunlight and beer, pretty much in that order.
As I said, I see no reason for adolescence gifting us with experiences we won’t repeat as adults. It would be nice to frequent a nudist resort every now and again.
Humping my buddy’s wife’s leg during the dollar dance, not so much.