When No Never Means No - The Sexual Education Of A Handsome Young Man

Bobby Perkins had been a very obedient child, always did what he was told, kept his elbows off the table, closed his mouth when he ate, kept his napkin in his lap, and always said, 'Yes, ma'am' and 'No, sir'. 

He had been an altar boy, an Honor Camper, and a good all-around member of the young New Brighton community, a boy any parent would want to have.  He was a Cub Scout, a Boy Scout, an Explorer Scout, and a hall monitor. 

 

It was probably a foregone conclusion that this complaisance, obedience, and dedication to doing the right thing wouldn't last.  How long could a normal, red-blooded boy keep it up?  How many masses, jamborees, and perfect attendances could there be in him until something clicked or cracked or gave way? 

Not surprisingly it was a girl who turned his head.  Nancy Blythe was a Lolita, a nymphet, a young girl who barely out of seventh grade was a siren, an alluring, irresistible, uncannily sexual woman, and it wasn't long before she and Bobby were in the back of his father's El Dorado, and old-fashioned antique great winged thing with a wide interior and soft leather seats.  

At first he didn't know exactly what to do, but Nancy guided him through the first of their many times together. The back seat was only the first.  There was the 14th hole of the Country Club, the hall closet, and once in his parents' magnificent Mallard canopied bed.  

How she knew about Khajuraho positions and Japanese pornographic acrobatics he never knew; but that was what set Nancy apart. She didn't have to study to learn any of this.  It came as naturally as walking or smelling a rose. She wanted to be touched there, petted, kissed, and entered since before she could remember.  Of course she didn't understand what these feelings were all about, but that was incidental.  She knew something was up and that was enough. 

What changed the reticent, quietly obedient Robert L. Perkins into a sexual adventurer was her willingness.  Anything that Bobby wanted to do, she let him do; and even more importantly she turned him into her sexual toy, a plaything, an action figure with erections; a he-man transformer who held her like Hercules, bent her back like the Rape of Proserpina, entered her like a satyr, then turned over and let her suck and stroke him. 

 

Anything goes was Nancy's meme, and Bobby was lucky to have had her as his first love. After Nancy he had not one timid bone in his body, not one moment of hesitation, not one iota of doubt.  He knew from the very start that women wanted sex as much as men did, and were hard to get only as part of an elaborate animal vetting.  Before rutting, the doe sniffs out the stag.

Nancy taught him how to short circuit the preliminaries, how to approach women the way they wanted to be approached but found hard to admit. So many centuries of demure, eye-lash batting, trussed and wigged comeliness were hard to overcome. Unwanted pregnancy was a death sentence, but the right moves could collar and corral the right man at the right time. 

Nancy jumped the queue. There was no male harness that could hold her, no reins that could force her direction, no bit, no whip that could intimidate her.  Her sexuality, her open, uninhibited desire and wonderful, innate ability to whore up or bed down as the mood suited her was defining. 

Laclos' Marquise de Merteuil was a woman for whom sexual pursuit, conquest, and domination was all there was in a narrowly confined courtly life. She had a Machiavellian will and devious intent - an intellectual prurience and a second-hand interest in sex (she liked to watch) when first-hand had to be deferred.  Nancy's sexuality on the other hand was honest, easily definable, and irresistible. She was simply a woman who was absolutely, impeccably, and insistently sexual. 

 

When Bobby ran up against the MeToo, 'No Means No' ethos of the day, he was perplexed. Not only was the elaborate balletic dance of courtship gone, but a censorious, fearful, legal battleground has been put in its place.  

Nancy Blythe laughed at this dry irritability. She not only knew what men wanted but how make them whatever she wanted - her sexual poupée, consort, or husband accordingly.  

Women, Bobby knew thanks to Nancy, wanted the same uncorralled sex that she had - a wide open Iowa prairie kind of sex.  No fences, no barbed wire, nothing but free range.  'No' was never in Nancy's vocabulary, nor was it in any woman's.  The MeToo movement had spayed women, messed with their minds, and sent them reluctantly to a chaste bed to be awakened by a Prince Charming who did their bidding and treated them like princesses. 

Knowing this, Bobby was a successful as Casanova, Valmont, or Lothario.  Women adored him.  There was no fooling him about their intent, and his was as plain as day.  He was a man who loved women and whose confidence, attention, and unbending sexual desire turned them inevitably his way.  'No' was never uttered, never necessary, never needed, for here was a man who instinctively understood women, who needed nothing but intimacy, respect, and charm to seduce them.

   

Many were like Nancy who needed no seduction, and for whom sex with Bobby was what they wanted; not so much on their terms, for that would be MeToo legalism, but something theirs and their alone.  A woman's desire, after all, defines who she is. 

Bobby lost track of Nancy, but like most older men who turn to their first loves for a second chance at innocence, looked around for her.  She was in Oregon someplace, but had left no paper trail.  Oregon could mean anything, deep woods, Portlandia, hausfrau...If a woman's desire does indeed define who she is, then Bob knew her better than any other woman he had met, so open, distinct, and aggressive had she been about it, and so the search would be worth it. Except for the other undeniable fact - God created men with a lifelong sexual desire, but granted them but a few short decades to realize it.

And so it was that the days of Nancy Blythe-type sexual epiphany were long gone.  Better to leave well enough alone. Given what she had meant to him, it wouldn't pay to see an old lady.  Yet there wasn't a day when the image of young Nancy Blythe didn't pop up in a daydream, that smooth, warm body next to his and her absolute delight with him. 

Much has been made of sexuality these days, but only the alternate kind.  An incredible demission of sexual intimacy.  The individual woman plays second fiddle in a political group. She is a point on a gender spectrum, but only an indistinct, unmeasurable one; a quantum probability. 

Bobby retired well and easily, a happy man. Nancy was not an obsession, he reassured himself, only a young love; but he knew that wasn't true at all.  She was his first love, his only love.