A Quote by Rodney Dangerfield
Do ya remember the first time you had sex? I do, and boy, was I scared! I was alone!
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You're sad-looking," she said. "My grandson used to be such a happy boy. He used to write me stories. I remember the first story he ever wrote me, 'Once upon a time, there was a boy.' And that became 'Once upon a time there was a boy who wanted to fly.' And they kept getting better and better over time. I never found out if the boy got to fly." I gave her a small smile. If only she knew the boy's wings had been clipped.
I remember the first time I had sex - I kept the receipt.
I remember the first time I had sex. I wore a cape and goggles... because I didn't know.
It was the first time I traveled alone, but I was not scared.
One of the things that defines YA is a really strong narrative. Adults love YA because, at the end of the day, they're good stories and page-turners. The other element is emotion. The teen years are a very emotional and intense time, and I think it's a time we that we can all relate to and remember.
Everyone, young and old, was responding to [Frank] Sinatra. So, the first time that I physically remember, it was as a youth. He always seemed to be there, let me put it that way. I can't remember the exact first time, but I can remember the effect his voice had on me.
I tell ya, sex is getting harder all the time. Me and my wife were trying to have sex for hours last night and I finally gave up. I asked her, "what, you can't think of anybody either?"
I remember I had a fight with my friend when I touched a boy for the first time and I didn't tell her. She got mad with me, not because I didn't tell her but because I'd done it in the first place.
Since i couldn't remember the "real" first time i'd lost my virginity, this would have become my de facto first time. I wanted a better story then: I did it with this boy who i wasn't very into and who had mysterious Gaterade breath; in his room decorated with sports equipment; at least he was nice enough to provide condoms and get his ancient, horny dog to leave us along.
I didn't really know what I was until I came to America and I had sex [for the first time] in San Francisco in 1970. It was with someone of my own sex.
The first time I had sex, I was scared I got the girl pregnant. And that was despite the fact we were safe. Luckily, we were fine. I would never risk not wearing a condom, it’s too much of a risk. If you’re not ready for a child, then don’t risk it.
I mean, you can't have sex until you're married if you're Mormon. The first time I had sex, my parents found out. They were listening in on the phone while I was talking about sex to my girlfriend. They freaked out, man. They both cornered me in my bedroom.
The thing I've noticed about life is that it just keeps coming at you. And it can be a real bummer. What you need to remember is that you're not alone. You've got friends and family. That's how we get by. We talk and share and eat cake and giggle in the dark, even when we're scared - no, especially when we're scared.
My wife and I went to jail in Selma. The difference when I was back there recently? White folks? No. Black folks who were not scared. I was behind the president this time. When I was a little boy and ran around with trifling dudes, I was the only one scared of dogs. And I was bitten 14 times! Dogs smell scared. And that's the same thing with people: 50 years ago they smelled fear. There was no fear this time.
Initially, I wanted to write middle grade. YA scared me: there's a lot of responsibility in being a YA author. It's so important to give that age range the right books that reflect their world and show them themselves.
Who will cry for the little boy, lost and all alone?
Who will cry for the little boy, abandoned without his own?
Who will cry for the little boy? He cried himself to sleep.
Who will cry for the little boy? He never had for keeps.
Who will cry for the little boy? He walked the burning sand.
Who will cry for the little boy? The boy inside the man.
Who will cry for the little boy? Who knows well hurt and pain.
Who will cry for the little boy? He died and died again.
Who will cry for the little boy? A good boy he tried to be.
Who will cry for the little boy, who cries inside of me?
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