Alone With A Girl
At some point I told my parents that I wanted to move out of the house and get an apartment of my own.1 I was I guess like 21, and my mother said “Why?” I said well, I want to be alone with a girl. And she said “Well, dad and I will be glad to step into the other room.” And I said no, no, I mean real alone.2 And she probably walked out of the room, took a shower, came back and said “Any girl who does that, is a tramp.” I mean that’s the way people felt then, before the sexual revolution, before there was a kind of liberation of the culture in the 60s. So, I understood that, and I was — at the time I was doing freelance articles for MAD magazine. And Bill Gaines, the publisher would give me a key to his office, where there was a convertible sofa, that could be used as a bed. And so, that’s where I lost my virginity, on the floor of MAD magazine, on the carpet, of his office, and that was because to open up a convertible sofa seemed like an interruption of spontaneity.3 And that whole evening, the same portrait of Alfred E. Neuman, the king of saying “What, me worry?” was sort of overlooking my first encounter, as so he had watched over the entire culture of kids and teenagers and pre-teens and after teens.