Weren't You Going To, You Know... With the Thing?

This is a very brief story about how I made a friend.

My sophomore year I signed up for a psychology class with the promising name of "Human Sexuality." I remember that the disappointment I felt every day when I came to class, as we discussed menstrual cycles, divorce rates, and the frequency of what I like to call "old-people sex." The professor seemed to have high expectations for her students that included frank classroom discussions and probably something akin to feelings of closeness and goodwill, but yeah... she was probably just as disappointed as the rest of us.

Point being: there was one guy in particular who was clearly no novice to human sexuality, and seemed to view it as a field in which one could never have too much information. He was there to LEARN, and he would not be persuaded into a critical dissection of American family values, at least, not without a fight. He raised his hand more than anyone else in the class combined, and prefaced each question with, "This one book that I read...? It said...?" To which the professor usually replied, "Well, that's interesting, but I've never heard of that." End of discussion.

So one day dude brings a small library of his books, in the effort, apparently, to enlighten this particular professor and convince her to join him on his quest for More Information. She was mortified, I thought, but did her best to smile as she told him she couldn't possibly have time to peruse all of these books, and did he maybe want to pass them around? (Why yes! He did.) And my, those books were so highlighted, complete with notes and totally relevant doodles, that I could NOT HELP but be completely impressed with this person who took sex so seriously. I had the sudden urge to interview, not him, but his conquests, just to see if sex with him was either complete ecstasy or just plain weird, what with all the inexplicable rearrangements and tweaking of body parts.

But he was a happy and persistent camper in the human sexuality class until one dark day the professor made some passing comment about the impossibility of multiple male orgasms. I wasn't particularly caring or paying attention at this point, but boy was sitting in the desk next to mine and I could feel the force of his immediate and intense attention. He scooted closer to the edge of his seat. Hand shoots into the air.

"Im... impossible? There was this book I read? And it said that it's totally possible and if you just... breathe - "

Professor, flustered, interrupts with something about how the trying in itself could prevent the erection and blah-blah people just generally shouldn't try so hard at sex, it's distracting and detracts from the entire experience, and doesn't he know this? And at this point I realize boy is beet-red and silent, and I fear for one brief moment that he may have actually been discouraged. That would be bad, and could possibly deprive hundreds of clueless women of multi-orgasmic bliss. I raise my hand.

"There's a difference between driving yourself to distraction and just trying to create a more pleasurable experience."

Silence.

"That's... all."

And that was all. We moved on, I'm sure, to some more pertinent topic. I wasn't really paying attention. But after class, boy scootches over to me and delivers the most heartfelt thank-you I have ever personally received, and you know what? I was really touched. I felt like my curiosity was somewhat alleviated, because surely anyone who had that much passion for a simple thank-you couldn't possibly be a mechanical, albeit enthusiastic, monster in bed. And I was happy.

The end.