Humanity Critic

The Nappy Diatribe

One man's throat-chopping reportage.

Subscribe to the The Nappy Diatribe RSS Feed

First things First

Posted 04/07/2008 at 3:14 PM | Comment?

The details surrounding the loss of my virginity is confusing to say the least, there are so many miscellaneous sexual events that I was privy to in my formidable years that it severely clouds my ability to pinpoint the exact moment in which I became a man - it might seem like a truly semantic argument to many, but like most things concerning your favorite bloggers favorite blogger, this particular matter is hardly a black and white issue. I'm aware that your garden variety normal person would consider simple insertion as the precise moment a young man loses his virginity, but because I'm not your average person, a career douche-bag with more pubescent incidents than I care to name where low self-esteem having dalliances momentarily let me "stick the tip in" - I not only refuse to add those to the notches already on my enormous Chewbacca-sized gun belt, but to highlight one of those fleeting moments as me crossing the "man threshold" is akin to Hillary Clinton adding Michigan to her win column even though Obama's name wasn't even on the fucking ballot. Sometimes when I accidentally stumble upon the Maury Povich show, watching some Midwestern trailer trash teen who has proceeded to fellate 90% of the men in her small town without ever being vaginally penetrated - sometimes I openly question the standards in which we historically measure a person losing their respective virginity. That being said, because I took it upon myself on numerous occasions to give unsanctioned mustache rides, along with other perverse acts an unlicensed GYN might perform before intercourse ever became an option for me - that unseemly reality also throws a monkey wrench into my "virginity time-line" so to speak. So I finally decided to count the first time I participated in intercourse that lead to a standard "conclusion" as the time I legitimately lost my virginity - I had just turned 15 years old, and the young lady who cleared my path to manhood was one of my classmates named Joanne.

Over the last 17 years Joanne had only crossed my mind a dozen or so times, but I always figured that if we both found ourselves on the business end of an impromptu meeting it would consist of nothing but witty banter, pitch perfect reflection and introspection - kind of like an urban version of one of those Ethan Hawke "Before Sunset" movies, both of us walking through a beautiful park while discussing how a two minute sexual encounter has shaped our lives. Unfortunately, real life encounters are far less exciting or intriguing as their fictitious counterparts - as I gazed at a familiar looking woman between a set of Barnes & Nobles book shelves, I finally gathered up enough courage and clumsily approached her while uttering the regrettable: "Hey, aren't you the first chick I underachieved on? Take a bow Ma'am, you are like the Marco Polo of my pre-ejaculation!" Unexpectedly, she grabbed my arm and rushed me to the nearest unoccupied area of the store as if I was a fighting student being disciplined by a school marm, angrily mumbling under her breath - "What in the fuck is wrong with you asshole? My husband will be back in the store any moment!" I apologized, but quickly answered her anger with "Come on, how often does a guy get an opportunity to speak to the only woman he genuinely tried to please?" Her frown slowly turned into a semi-smile as she said, "..but you were so adorable though!" - before I could object to the mere utterance of an adjective that any red blooded American male wouldn't want associated with their erect penis, a word usually reserved for pictures of sleeping puppies of your child's first bowel movement - she hit me with following rapid-fire questions: "Do you remember how you kept putting the condoms on backwards? How unbelievably quick it was? How you kept insisting that we have sex to Biz Markie's ""Biz is going Off"? Based on the fact that I still nervously fumble with condoms like Barney Fife on Ritalin, and consistently play Public Enemy's "Welcome to the Terrordome" before making love with the sole intent of finishing before Chuck D reaches the respective hook - I had to openly admit to Joanne that not much has changed since the last time she was clumsily penetrated on a set of Superfriends bedsheets. It was obvious to me that Joanne wanted to laugh, but as soon as she noticed the seriousness in my baby brown eyes she then proceeded to give me an extremely warm "you pitiful bastard" embrace - walking away she suddenly stopped, slowly turn to me and asked: "There has to be some satisfying firsts in your life?" Hence this post, but don't worry - all these have to do with music.

First Record I ever purchased: The Sugar Hill Gang: "Rappers Delight": I'm fully aware that when a person admits that "Rappers Delight" was my their first musical purchase it comes across as utterly cliche like someone saying that the Bible is their favorite book, or that "Me Myself and I" is their favorite De La Soul song - but like the sobering reality of God deciding to make me the anatomical exception and not the rule in terms of black males, sometimes you just have to come to grips with the truth. Even when you factor in the nature of how The Sugar Hill Gang was put together like a boy band, or the blatant theft of Big Bank Hank's verse - I'm still proud of that purchase because it was indicative of how I feel that Hip Hop personally chose me. I mean, being from Virginia I didn't have the luxury of any "..and then the DJ plugged his turntables into the light pole" stories to tell people - so like so many kids outside of the mecca of Hip Hop, I had to create my own Hip Hop reality.

First Album I ran into the ground: Hall & Oates "Private Eyes": One of the things that worries me about the prospect of marriage, outside of my future wife leaving me because of my alcoholism and penchant for occasionally coming home smelling like stale sweat with stripper glitter all over my clothes - is the thought of her giving me the proverbial pink slip because I tend to run my favorite musical choices into the ground. A habit that started as a kid, for an entire school year I would play Hall and Oates' "Private Eyes" while waiting for my school bus - a daily routine that absolutely infuriated my mother. Historically abused animals flinch when you try to pet them, veterans of wars come home with Post Traumatic Stress Disorders - because of the many times I played that classic album from the Philadelphia based duo, my mother has profanity laced tourettes outbursts as soon as she hears any song from that "Private Eyes" album.

First song I dedicated to a school crush: George Michael "Careless Whisper": For a guy who went to private schools for 9 years straight, more often than not finding myself being the only black kid in a sea of white faces - I wouldn't hold it against you if you assumed that my dating history was littered with melanin challenged women who thought that police officers only pull over black folks for legitimate reasons. Even though I've only sexually disappointed black and Latina women thus far, my first crush was on a white girl named Kirsten - an overdeveloped 5th grader who barely spoke 4 words to me the entire school year. Even as a person like myself who is comfortable in his own sexuality, it is a bit unsettling to now realize that George Michael probably wrote "Careless Whisper" about another man - but that was the song I dedicated to Kirsten on a local radio station. I even recall singing the words while staring at her picture, how embarrassing - its like a bad urban coming to age comedy, if Tyler Perry and John Hughes directed a movie together.

First song I punched someone to while attending a random High School dance: Beastie Boys - "Paul Revere": Back in High School, when I was 85 pounds lighter and could actually catch a clear view of my entire penis - your boy HumanityCritic, world renown for the time honored "throat-chop", had a bully. Kind of. Because running track was the most important thing in my life at the time, I resisted fighting this asshat named Reggie - who would constantly disrespect me by trying to hug on my girlfriend at the time, telling people that I was "bitch-made"(if I can borrow a west coast term for a moment) for not forcefully putting him in his place. This went on all year, its like I was stuck in my own "Groundhog Day" - until I decided to do something about it at one of our High School dances that I knew he'd be attending. There I was in a packed gymnasium, with cheap flashing lights occasionally highlighting my angry scowl from bright tints of yellow to subdued red hues - I walked towards Reggie, wading through my fellow classmates, holding a 2X4 like I was Hacksaw Jim Duggan or some shit.(How's that for a wrestling reference?) When I got to him there was no tough guy banter, no "..this is for all the times you disrespected me", none of that - just me treating his head like a negro pinata, with this time the only treats that came out of it was his two front teeth. You haven't lived until you've beaten someone to "Paul Revere"