I was a Catholic-school boy, and we never spoke of sex, not at school, not at home.

I had five sisters and never even saw a box of pads or tampons. Oh sure, I used words like fuck, pussy, cock and hard-on, but I never knew what they meant.

I had a paper route, and strange as it may sound, it became such a part of my routine — and maybe also because of my relationship with the people I delivered to — that I kept it up through high school. After I turned 18, my parents agreed that I should give it up.

The whole time I had my route, every Friday I collected from my customers, and there was one I especially enjoyed seeing, a knock-out who usually answered the door in a mini-bikini. I was always wild to see Colleen, then left with a hard-on I had to take care of in my bedroom — where my... Read More