The bases are loaded and it’s the bottom of the ninth. The fans are cheering and the fate of the World Series is resting on your shoulders.
You may be wondering why I’m referring to a baseball game when this is supposed to be about sex and relationships, right?
Well, remember the good old days of high school – make that middle school, really – when we discussed our sex lives as if we were playing baseball.
Everyone wanted to know if you got to second or third base in homeroom on Monday morning. You either declined to answer or lied. Either way, your friends would know the truth and give you shit for whatever you told them.
I’ve always wondered why we did this. Haven’t you? How do you get from the dugout to home plate? Is there some kind of special pep talk the coach gives? Or do you just sit and wait on the bench until you’re called up to bat? That last part could take a while.
Let’s pretend the dugout is the land of pleasing yourself and home plate is, well, going all the way.
The first step is getting from the bench to the batter’s box. So you gather up the courage to ask the girl from your math class to a movie. Lucky for you, she says yes. One thing leads to another and you get to first base: the kiss.
Okay, so now what? By logical standards, second base would be next.
A few weeks go by. The girl from your math class drops her books right in front of your desk. She does this on purpose, of course. She bends down to pick them up and – bam – her full size C boobs are in your face.
That weekend you not only make it to second base, touching and feeling, but you also make it to third. Good old third base, with licking and sucking.
So you made it to third base. Good for you. You went to all the practices and you’re ready for the big leagues. Well, are you? To make it home, you have to be confident and make sure he or she is the one. Don’t just settle to gain the title.
By using baseball as a metaphor for sex, middle schoolers don’t have to live with the embarrassment of saying what they actually did in the movie theater. All they have to say is “I made it to second base” and everyone will know what it means.
For me, baseball games have always been about cotton candy, peanuts, hot dogs and chocolate malts. (Can you tell I love food?) I never really paid attention to the games, just the guy yelling “Peanuts, get your peanuts!”
Don’t get me wrong, I love America’s pastime – whether it’s played on a baseball diamond or in the bedroom. But when the bases are loaded and you’re ready to make it to home plate, make sure you know what you’re doing. Your team doesn’t want you striking out.
It’s tough waiting on the bench. Don’t worry, though. Everyone sits there once in their life. You watch as all your teammates go up to bat, making it to first, second, third – some even make it home.
If you’ve made it home, I hope it was worth it. And if you’re still sitting on the bench, your time to bat will come soon enough.
ERICA BETNUN is still wondering why this baseball idea came to her. If you have any ideas for the future, let her know at email@example.com.