One boy survived my father’s inquisition when I was in the 9th grade and I was allowed to go on a date to a high school dance. Somewhere between the first and second dance, Bachelor # 1 confessed that he only asked me out so he could get close to my best friend. I dragged him over to where she was holding court and left him there to bask in her beauty until it was time for his parents to pick us up and return me to the bosom of my family.
When I was a junior, my mother set me up with a young man who worked with her and I was his date to a Christmas banquet. We double dated with another couple and I was sequestered with Bachelor # 2 in the back seat to and from the steak house. After the banquet the other couple wanted to go make out but I was not about to swap spit with someone who smelled of medium rare and baked potato. He had sweaty hands, leered at my chest and mini-dress, and his right leg shook like Thumper’s hind leg in Bambi. I demanded to be taken home and when the driver didn’t make a u-turn immediately, I said it several more times loudly.
Mom was a slow learner.
When I was a senior she found me a date for my prom, but one week before the big affair, we had a death in the family and we cancelled everything. Bachelor # 3 was not out any money since my mother had paid for everything but later that summer, he felt obliged to make up for the spending money he had kept and asked me out to go bowling.
On the way home, he attacked me in the front seat. When I pushed him off and threatened to jump out of the car, he told me I should take whatever was offered to me since “my mother had to pay guys to take me out.” When he continued to point out my failings, I stopped him and told him I would rather go to my death a virgin than have sex with someone who had smelly feet and yellow teeth.
When and if I ever “did it,” it was going to be with someone who knew my name, with someone to whom I was attracted, and with someone who respected me for who I was.