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"My parents aren't around tonight, if you wanna' come over and fool around." Karla's voice was soft and warm, as her chin dropped seductively. The words had been said with practiced ease, her answer to that game of social interaction so foreign to John. There are many forms of virginity, the carnal ideation just a shallow and simple answer to life's greatest truism, Karla's words burned a slow cancer into his mind, spilling his untasted seed into the soiled tunnels of social promiscuity. "Um, no thanks…" Said the soft spoken pragmatist "…maybe we could go to a movie or something sometime." John finished, swallowing the lump in his throat. He could feel his unathletic heart bounding gallops as if some fatal murmur had taken hold of his future, he hardly saw her playful reply as she turned and walked away, so preoccupied was his mind turning her words over and over in his frontal lobe, pushing its rationality aside.
An optimist might say things were better for john to be without any company that evening, an intrigued optimist may even think Karla would also spend her night alone. But John was no optimist, nor a pessimist, but a realist, and he knew without a doubt Karla would stay with someone else that night. The gift of strong intrapersonality kept him awake long into the night pondering the difference between realism and pessimism in his tiny world full of interpersonal prodigies that knew not the slightest thing about themselves. Karla must have been such a person. So who was she with?-Terry Adams, Brad Mahoney, Chris Phillips, all of them would have said "yes" without a second thought, they were all good looking, much better looking than John. Why did she ask him anyway? Why? Pondering these thoughts John drifted to sleep on his comfortably single mattress, listening faintly to cars speeding down the interstate in the distance. Why?
Before that day John had never thought about Karla sexually, and had certainly never looked at her in class or anything of the sort, plenty of other guys did though, each was probably a small victory for her, like all of her gymnastic and cheer-leading trophies on some mantle somewhere outside his world. She must somehow sense that many guys spend long moments dreaming of impure roles they could play if only she were theirs, somehow feel adolescent recluses face as they touch themselves passionately in the night thinking but of her. A spiritual person might even think she could feel it, or know it somehow. And the desperate man might think that all the wasted time could actually make her notice him, or make her want him. "If you wanna' come over and fool around:" the worlds ran weary circles in John's head as he slowly climbed out of bed the next morning, the sound of speeding automobiles drowned by the incessant buzzing eminating from his stereo receiver the "solar alarm, John called it." "Why?" he mumbled to himself as he stepped into the shower, "why me?"