(Not Stevie)<\/p>\n
As a change of pace,\u00a0a memoir which\u00a0<\/strong>shows how morality has changed in 50 short years.<\/strong><\/p>\n In those days, a woman’s virginity\u00a0meant something<\/em>.\u00a0\u00a0I was an earnest young man; I didn’t want to be her “first.” I wasn’t in love with her.\u00a0I wasn’t ready for marriage. \u00a0I didn’t want to be “the one.”\u00a0I didn’t explain.\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n She stayed after class <\/strong>to listen to my conversation with the professor. The course was Eighteenth-Century English Literature.<\/p>\n The year was 1971. I was 21, working as a reporter on the night shift at the Ottawa Journal, <\/em>finishing my BA at Carleton University.<\/p>\n She was a kindergarten teacher in Collingwood, a resort town north of Toronto, the pretty daughter of an Anglican minister.<\/p>\n Her father obviously had wanted a son.\u00a0Her name was “Stevie.”<\/p>\n We left the building together and ended up in her room in residence. I don’t remember if this was the first day or later. In any case, we engaged in what in those days was called “necking.”<\/p>\n After, she asked me if she was pregnant. I assured her that she wasn’t. We had not had intercourse. She had not removed her panties.<\/p>\n <\/p>\nupdated from June 14, 2017<\/em><\/h2>\n
by Henry Makow Ph.D.<\/strong><\/h2>\n
You\u2019ve Got Snail Mail<\/strong><\/h2>\n