Educating America's Youth, One Family At A Time

I believe that a certain amount of professional pride should come into play when it comes to sex. Sure, it should be fun, but let’s not forget the whole purpose: to make a girl thrash and scream like a demon on exorcism night. I’m sure one of these days I’ll get the girl’s head to spin completely around. Until then, I’ll just have to keep trying harder.

I’m on friendly terms with a lot of my ex-girlfriends, and one of the many topics we end up discussing is sex: how it was when we were together, what we liked, and how it is with anyone they happen to be dating. By the way, I really recommend doing this. Girls who are no longer dating you (and therefore under no pressure to lie) will give you some great feedback and tips for improving your game between the sheets.

So it came to pass that an ex-of mine told me one day, “You are no longer number one on my list. The guy I was with last night completely rocked my world. You’re good, but I’m afraid that you’ve been bumped down to the number two slot.”

And that’s when pride kicked in. I had no emotional desire to date this girl again…but I’d be damned if I was going to stand on the sidelines while my orgasm record was passed. It was time to come out of retirement.

At this point in the story, you have to imagine a Rocky-esque training montage. Queue “Eye of the Tiger” while I do pelvic thrusts up the stairs in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, while a grizzled old man looks on and declares “He’s a wrecking machine! Get in there Rock!”

I got her agree to go on a trip to Cape Cod with me. While I have no doubt she knew I was going to fuck her, I honestly think that she wasn’t really prepared for the amount of sex I was going to dole out, not for pleasure, but for reputation. She wasn’t going to be seeing New England. The only thing she was going to be looking at was the ceiling of a tent…then the side of the tent…then the hood of my car…then, well, you get the picture.

We arrived at our campgrounds in Cape Cod late, and after a bit of driving around, finally managed to find a spot for our tent. It was pitch black so by flashlight, I set to work getting the place ready for the night. Feel free to insert any number of “pitching a tent” jokes here. I’ll wait.

…

At long last, we settled in and I got down to business. Without getting too graphic, let’s just say that I successfully reclaimed my title. Now, among this girl’s more attractive qualities is the fact that she screams. Loudly. She’s kind of like the Marv Albert of sex:

“The dick goes in! YES! You’re fucking me so good! That’s it!”

You get the idea. Essentially, she was providing commentary for the people watching from home. It’s a good time.

The next day, after an equally satisfying repeat morning performance, I unzipped the tent to go find a bathroom and to dispose of the condoms. I stumbled out, yawned, and tried to work a kink out of my neck that I had gotten when she somehow managed to get both feet up around my shoulders while I—

Not 10 feet away sat a family looking right at me.

When I set up the tent, I’d done a quick sweep of the area with the flashlight looking for any nearby campers we might disturb. Apparently, they had managed to set up directly behind a number of shrubs.

Now, when I say a whole family, allow me to elaborate:

Two daughters: roughly ages 8 and 12. They were blond, and apple cheeked. The kind that appear in postcards and advertisements for winter apparel innocently singing Christmas songs while holding candles.

One son: age 10. He was probably the star of his little league team. He no doubt constantly said things like, “Gee whiz!” “Shucks!” and “When I grow up, I want to be just like you, dad.”

Dad: Middle aged and wholesome. I bet he coached his son’s little league team and married his high school sweetheart.

Mom: Organizes bake sales at the nearby church.

It was like a Norman Rockwell painting had been brought to life ten feet away from the site of a porno shoot.

THEY WERE ALL STARING AT ME. I wondered whether the father had brought a gun. There was no way they couldn’t have heard me defiling the attractive girl emerging from the tent behind me.

“I swear, I think your cock’s gotten even bigger since last time we fucked. Next time, can we try--”

Then she saw the family. I was already outside, so I got a great view of watching the entire table cringe at the words “Cock” and “Fuck.” There was no hiding from this. I’d already made eye contact. So I did the only thing one can do in such cases.

I grabbed the girl by the hips, dipped her and proceeded to tongue kiss her so deeply, I tasted the contents of her stomach. Then I glanced over at the table, looked the father right in the eye and winked. On cue, the whole family looked away.

While deep down, I thought it might be funny to move our tent even closer to their site and go at it again, my companion did not approve of the idea. So we drove several miles down the road and set up in a more secluded spot.

All in all, it was an interesting trip, where I learned, among other things such interesting facts as:

• How far back my passenger’s seat goes.
• Whether my dome light is stain resistant.
• That air mattresses really don’t provide anything close to adequate back-support.

Still, I like to think that as informative and memorable as my trip was, the ones who really got the education were the kids in that family. And that’s what really counts. After all, children are the future.