We have all seen the movie where for some reason the parents are gone for the night or weekend and the trustworthy teenager decides to throw a wild party only to have them return unexpectedly and catch him in the act. Well, as far as the parties I attended at Ron’s house that never happened. Of course, the definition of wild may be in question for even though I believe we attempted to get girls to come to at least one of these parties that never happened either. In fact, in looking back with an analytical eye it appears to me now that these were the first stag parties I ever attended. Even though these parties occurred around the same time I discovered my father had a worthy collection of eight-millimeter films definitely designed to be kept out of the hands of hormone enraged teenage boys we never watched them or any other films at these parties. We did however raid the equally worthy collection of fine literature Ron’s father kept on shelves in closets, in certain dresser drawers, and under his bed. Besides Playboy, which everyone noted had an artist who shared my surname, there were other noteworthy publications with titles like Swank, Gent, and Juggs. Taking one of these away from their appointed place required the reader handle the document with special care and return it to the precise location from which it had been retrieved. While we were in the bedroom Ron invaded the nightstand next to the bed and pulled out a number of small circular copper tins that he opened. Inside were funny looking pieces of rubber that he started to unroll to form what appeared to be some kind of wrinkly white balloon. Ron explained these were prophylactics or what was commonly known as rubbers. The term condom was not one I would become familiar with until a number of years later. I am not sure any of us knew how it was supposed to work, but we had fun blowing one or two of them up into balloons. Once we had our fill of blowing up rubbers and reading glossy pictures, our attention turned to the main course of the evening, snacking, smoking, drinking and playing cards. Snacks were the usual popcorn, pretzels and potato chips. Cigarettes were courtesy of the many cartons of Winston and Old Gold his parents kept stacked in the hallway by the back door. Drinks were limited to vodka, gin or peppermint schnapps. The first two were easy to cover up by simply adding water to replace the clear liquor taken from the bottle. The third, the most popular choice because of its sweetness, was accommodated by the discovery of green food dye in one of the cabinets. As we sat around the dining room table munching snacks, sipping drinks, filling ash trays, and playing cards, Ron started to tell us about his experience with Linda L. It surprised me that Ron would have any interest in Linda L. for a number of reasons. First, Ron was considered by most girls to be one of the cutest boys, and Linda L. was nicknamed Khrushchev because like the Soviet leader she had a hefty body and scowling face. Second, while her sister Sandy was one of the brightest people in the school, Linda exhibited no sign of mental agility. And third, she was loud, the antithesis of Ron. Yet, here he was telling us about his escapade with her on the playground of Emerson Elementary. He said he backed her into a secluded corner of the building while kissing her, and running his hands under her blouse. Getting her bra undone took great dexterity he claimed because he could only get one arm around behind her and it had three clasps. Finally, he said he put his hand down between her legs and said she was very wet. While others seemed to like this part of the story it served to confuse me. Why, I wondered, would a girl who let a boy touch her there, wet herself? As I lay in bed that night thinking through Ron’s story I didn’t know whether to be excited or disgusted.
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