Many, many years ago, a friend told me a story of when we were both in high school (small town name, as well as actual people names, will be avoided/changed a la Dragnet to protect the embarrassed).

There was this drop-dead gorgeous girl in our school (let’s call her “Aphrodisia”). She had a huge rack and could’ve been a model. She dated a guy about five years older than the kids in our class, so she was rather off-limits. Not to mention completely out of everyone’s league.

Our school lockers were right next to each other, and the only interaction we’d have was between classes. She was always cheery and talkative, and after a brief locker chat, I’d always have to hold a book over my crotch and shuffle my way to class.

Anyway, this is the story: my friend (let’s call him “Dumbass”) was at home alone one weekend. His parents and brother were away somewhere for a few days.

Dumbass liked his beer, so he’d obtained a case for the weekend. He was busy that Saturday doing the weekend yard chores: mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, etc. He’d been drinking steadily since that morning.

Late in the afternoon, lo and behold, Aphrodisia knocked on his door. I guess the boyfriend wasn’t a factor right then.

Dumbass was at least a half a case in and quite excited to see her, so she easily charmed her way in. They chatted for a bit. She was holding a small bag, and said, “mind if I go to the bathroom and change into something more comfortable?”

A few minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom wearing a see-through negligee.

You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to see where this is going. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.

But, and I’m paraphrasing Shakespeare, alcohol “enhances desire but diminishes performance.” You guessed it: Dumbass, shall we say, wasn’t up to the task, and Aphrodisia left confused and unfulfilled.

I’ve brought this story up to him a couple of times, in jest, and he just gets defensive and bitter about it. Wonder why.