Hold on. This wasn't how I envisioned this would be. I mean, in the movies the music is right, the girl is patiently anticipating the love, and the guy is mentally psyching himself up for what is supposed to be the most life-altering, man-producing moment of his life. But that did not happen. Not even close.
The stupid cassette tape was skipping, so Baby Face's "I only think of you" came out as "I only tink on you." Really romantic song, eh? I only fart on you on two occasions... just great.
This magic moment wasn't magical at all. Fine, she was in her element as an older seasoned woman who was body-aware and confident and in control. Me, not so much. I had laboured breathing, sweaty palms, and a severe case of hebetude thwarted my cool "mojo," as it were. My first time was a flop of epic proportions.
Oh well, there's a reason it's called the first, not that I was already looking forward to my second, but I knew there was at least a mulligan to come, and it could only get better from here, right?

MICHAEL MORGAN works an office job downtown, is a member of a social committee, and loves to cook. An ordinary man trying to live an extraordinary life, this is his first book.