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So there I am at the check-in desk at the Econo Lodge Motel on Southwest Thirteenth Street in Gainesville, Florida.
    Standing to my right is Andrea. She likes the punk rock. I can tell from the Devo and Undertones buttons she's wearing on her black jean vest. That and I guess the dyed green bangs on her head.
    The clerk behind the desk looks at us funny over his wire-rimmed reading glasses.
    "What was that name again?" he asks.
    "Ramone," I say. "Dee Dee Ramone."
    "Is that spelled capital D, and capital D?" he asks.
    "D-E-E space D-E-E," I tell him.
    "Ramone?" he asks. "Is that one of them there Hispanic names? We don't want no trouble."

    I tell him there won't be any.
    "And her?" he asks looking directly at Andrea, who is busy trying to get free gum out of the Elk's Lodge gum ball machine.
    "She's my wife," I say.
    "That would be Mrs. Ramone?" he asks.
    I tell him he's pinned the tail on the donkey.
    "Does she have a first name?" he asks.
    "Sheena," I say, "S-H-double-E-N-A."
    The clerk writes the names down on his registry sheet and gives us the key to the room.
    "You are in room number thirty-one," he explains in his silly work jacket that says "Earl" in scripty letters next to the motel's logo.
    "Uh huh," I say.
    "That's downstairs and to your left when you walk out of this here office," he explains, "and I don't want no funny business in my motel, Mr. Ramone!"
    Again, I assure him that there won't be.
    "Good," sighs Earl. "And I sure as hell hope you two is married, because if you weren't, well you'd be sinning. And God don't like sinners."
    I assure him that we are in fact married and we just need a good night's sleep.
    He tells us he's glad, then goes back into his back room where we hear him turn up Hee-Haw on his television.
    I look over at Andrea, who is still busy with her finger up the inside of the gumball machine.
    "We've got the room," I tell her.
    She smiles.
    That kind of sexy smile.
    Then she says, "Great, let's go, but first help me get my finger out of this fucking machine."


As we both approach room number thirty-one, my heart starts to beat really quickly. And my stomach starts to hurt. Plus, I'm sweating.
    And the one hundred plus temperature outside doesn't help things.
    "You have done this before?" Andrea asks me for like the fifth time that day.
    I tell her of course I have.
    "Okay," she says. "You just look kinda nervous."
    I tell her it's just the heat, what with me wearing my black leather jacket and all.
    She just smiles at me.
    We reach room number thirty-one of the Econo Lodge Motel, and I try putting the key in the keyhole, but it won't fit.
    Andrea, smoothly, takes the key from my sweaty hands and slides it in.
    "Are you sure you have done this before?" Andrea asks for the sixth time that day.
    I ask her to please quit asking me that question, and that of course I have.
    "I'm twenty-two," I lie. "How many twenty-two year old virgins do you know?"
    She smiles as she opens the door and we feel the cool breeze of the air conditioner sweep against our skin.
    "Well," she says, "let's get to it!"
    Just like that.
    She walks over to the bed, sits down and begins to remove her black leather boots. As she does, I just stand there and

stare at her.
    My brain is racing faster than my heart.
    What was I supposed to do now?
    Here I was, the end of my first quarter at college, at the Econo Lodge Motel on Southwest Thirteenth Street, about to hopefully lose my stupid virginity once and for all.
    And I think I never felt such fear before in my life.


I guess it's fair to say I was a late bloomer.
    Late, hell, more like I missed the fucking train.
    Totally.
    While others were on board, living it up and drinking it down in the bar car, I was the guy who was sitting alone at the snow-covered train station, wondering where the hell everyone went.
    I'm not sure why, but I think it's because I never really understood sex.
    Like, how it was done.


I remember as a kid, my stepmother Cybill, bringing home this Time Life pop-up book about reproduction. In those colorfully printed pages were what looked like cut-out figures of dogs, cats, chickens, and eventually, human beings. The book explained in blurry detail how the "male" of a species planted a "seed" inside of the "female." That "seed" would eventually grow and grow, and finally a puppy, kitty, chicklet, or baby would be born. The book went on to explain while the make of the species had a penis, which it could insert into a female's vagina, it mentioned something about that not happening with fish.
    So it left me confused, to say the least.
    Actually, as a child, I figured all the kids were born with penises. I just figured that girls were reckless and broke them off early on.
    I suppose that explains why when my sisters and brothers played doctor, I'd never let the girls anywhere near my private parts.
    If they couldn't take care of their own, hell if they were going to touch mine.
    The book also explained what a vagina was, and showed a cartoon picture of one.
    It looked like a sideways version of my grandmother Rosie's mouth. Missing the teeth and everything.