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Fat Kid: A Tale of lost Virginity Part 2

So there I was, being all fat and virginish. Still consumed with the idea of sex unlocking the flood gates of my potential. So I employed what I had always done in years past when faced with a dilemma:

 I pretended I was in a movie, and employed the life lessons that only Vince Vaughn from Swingers could recommend. 

I decided that my primary issue was my location and proximity to those who knew why I shouldn’t be slept with. Meaning that I needed to get away from people who knew me, and if I was going to be embarrassingly bad at sex, I’d like to have done it in a different zip code.

So I came up with a simple game plan, and I put it in motion in the best way I possibly could. Firstly I would need a checklist of items, and the money needed to buy them. So I stocked up my hours at the Pawn Shop(yes, fitting 2nd job for me, I know), and I started putting together this checklist.

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1. Las Vegas – I figured what better place than Vegas. I mean,  If what happens there stays there, then I could leave both my shame and jizzm in one nice neat package that I would hopefully never have to address again.

2. Fake ID – I’m half Iranian, so I have basically have had a beard since I was 12, but if I was gonna do this right, I wouldn’t fuck around and get caught being “too young” or incapable(of anything age wise).

3. Money – I figured 2 grand, and a room paid for, would be enough to leave my mark on both Vegas and some unlucky lady.

4. An Alibi – I was 19 at the time, so I couldn’t say I was going to Vegas, and I also have family there, so whatever I did, needed to be unseen.

5. Condoms – I had enough with me for 30 people and everyone they had ever met ever.

To be fair, I already had a fake ID(and more condoms than anyone would ever need…), and it was to this day the best $150 that has ever theoretically been spent by myself(as I’m not sure what the actual statute of limitations is, this is all for a story).

Next was the money, booking, and alibi. I told my job I needed the extra hours for some video equipment and a trip to LA, told my parents I was visiting friends at UCLA, and booked a single room at the Venetian for 3 nights by myself. Now it was just about biding my time until that weekend.

After 2 long months of waiting, I had the ID, the money, the alibi, and the reservations all lined up. Now I just needed the game, and the execution of said plans.

I went to Vegas and threw down as hard as hard as I could have ever imagined for 72 straight hours. I was a big, sweaty, mess of inexperience. And after a few days of attempting to execute what I thought was a perfect plan, I found myself rushing to an airport with pockets full of money, and entirely still a virgin. By the way, not once did I get asked for my ID outside of checking in for the room. Just tell the dealers you don’t have a gaming card before they ask, and say you don’t want one either, and watch as you go unchecked and have 1 patron and pineapple delivered after the other. FOR FREE.

Three of the blurriest days of my life later, and my virginity was still unfortunately in tact, and I boarded the plane distraught, bewildered, and bit heart broken at the idea of forever remaining a virgin. There was also this thing of not knowing how I had won all of this money. There was a bunch of it. And I can’t say exactly how much I won, or how I won it, but I can say that it wasn’t quite enough to buy a car, but it was enough to put down a decent deposit on a good one.

Anyways, on the flight back I was bewildered and still spinning. And like the big idiot that I was, I went the whole flight entirely neglecting who I was sitting around. Which was a group of 21 year old women from France who were visiting California as part of their college experience, and they had just happened to detour in Vegas for the weekend. I sat, I listened sheepishly, and by the time we landed and collected our bags, I had gotten the number of one of those girls. And not because I asked or had game, but because she didn’t speak English and had shitty sexual radar.

I took her out to dinner the next night, and then the State Fair. Luckily for me, she had a BIG ASS KNIFE in her purse, so we couldn’t get in……  Which sucked for a few reasons, mainly because that was the extent of my planning, and now there was a ticking time bomb in the back of my head that was “if you fuck up, Crocodile Dundee over here is gonna gut you”. Oh, and did I mention, I USED TO be very fond of exaggerating/fibbing/making lies of opulence. And mainly just little things though, like, “Oh yeah, I own my own big ass house in Arden Park”, and “Yeah, I don’t just work at a pawn shop, I own a pawn shop”, and “NO! I’m not a virgin and will be very good at what I hope comes next”.

Long story short, I took her to “MY house”. She barely even spoke English, which in hindsight is why I think I was able to convince her of everything. I sneaked her in whilst refusing a tour of the house and maintaining a preference to whisper. I even remember the movie that was watched because she wanted to see what “Americannnnnn foootballs” is all about. It was that shitty Wahlberg one. And then BAM, it happened. One shitty, ultra-boring-movie later and she was left with no choice but to boredom-fuck-me.

AHHHHHHHHH IT FINALLY HAPPENED!!! POTENTIAL HERE I CUMMMMMMMMM!

And approximately 1 minute into me wondering WTF was happening, if I was breathing, and why things were so wet, my dad busted in the room…. He shattered my elaborate cover, and responded to her hysteria by speaking french to her mid coitus and in one fail swoop destroying my chances of dunking forever…..

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The moral of the story, is that NOTHING, and I REPEAT, NOTHING, should become so mentally consuming that it becomes an obstacle you obsess. When you guilt yourself, or create the unreasonable burden of doubt in your worth, by way of accomplishments, or lack there of, then you are simply setting yourself up for failure before you even embark on that journey.

Realize that everything in life is obtainable, and worth only what you make of it. If I had just waited, and focused on myself and worked on being a better less-manipulative-fuck who wasn’t embarrassed by his own shadow, I wouldn’t have subjected myself to all of this for the nonsensical idea of “needing to lose my virginity”. If I had waited, and not obsessed over it, losing my virginity would have just happened, as life saw fit. Or at the very least, after I stopped being such a fat fuck. Love you all.

– Jehan

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