%\documentstyle[12pt]{article}
%\documentstyle[12pt, wrapfig, comment]{article}
\documentstyle[wrapfig, comment]{article}
%\input ang.tex
\title{Ginnie: \today}
\author{\large \bf Joseph Mack \copyright ~2015}
\date{~}
%\maketitle
\oddsidemargin -0in
\evensidemargin -0in
\textwidth 6.5in
\topmargin -0.0in
\textheight 9.0in
%\textheight 9.5in
%\tableofcontents
%\newpage
\newcommand{\HRule}{\rule{\linewidth}{0.25mm}}
\begin{document}
\parindent 3em
\maketitle


\begin {tabbing}
mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm\= mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm \= \kill
5112 Longwood Dr.				\> Home: (919)-401-2047 \\
Durham, NC, 27713-8010				\> e-mail: jmack@austintek.com \\
\end {tabbing}

\begin{center}
\end{center}


\textbf {
}

\normalsize
%\small
%\footnotesize
%\scriptsize
%\tiny

\large

\begin{comment}
\end{comment}

script consultants: Judy from who I borrowed the line "it's a sign from God".

\HRule \\[-0.2cm]

questions for Anoo before presenting it:

Should I even present this?
I'm worried that presenting this is going to be a horrible mistake.
Once I let the cat out of the bag, it's out.

This is dramatic.
Even though at the time, this event was quite stressful,
with the perspective of time, some bits of it are funny.
Are people going to see the funny bits as being funny
even though the character on stage is in great distress?

questions for Anoo after presenting it:

Would Ginnie be OK with this story being public,
even if she kept her identity private?

Are women going to want to hear this? 

Are women going to say 
"OMG yet another story of some dumb schmuck getting lucky"?

\HRule \\[-0.2cm]

\Large

\begin{comment}
Long intro: too long for No Shame

I grew up in a conservative christian household.
We did everything for God and the Queen.
Rather than going to an academic high school,
which I wanted, my mother sent me to military school,
where I would play rugby, drill with a rifle for hours
and most importantly learn to kill for God and the Queen.
This was so I could prove my valour 
when my generation's war presented itself.

I wanted to become a scientist, to make the world a better place.
This was no simple task in a high school, 
where my peers were thugs with room temperature IQs.
My mother was enraged with my interest in science 
and did everything she could to crush my hobbies.
She knew that this was all non-sense.
All you needed was God and the Queen.
If ever there was any doubt that this was true,
all I had to do was look at my mother, 
to show how silly were my ideas.

Of course you couldn't always count on wars arriving, 
when you most needed them,
in time to test the valour of the next generation of young men.
If the worst came to the worst, 
I would have to patiently sit out the peace for a while.
In that case it would be acceptable to go to university,
but only because I would become a medical doctor.
Doing so I would position myself on the top rung of the social ladder,
confirming the great job my mother had done bringing me up,
and allowing her to boast that I would never have made it without her.

Fortunately my war did arrive in time, 
even before I finished high school.
I wouldn't have to waste any of my life just waiting around.
My mother was ecstatic.
Can you believe how lucky I was.

The north vietnamese were on the point of invading australia.
The yellow peril was at australia's throat again.
It was much worse this time.
We just weren't about to be subsummed in the Japanese co-properity sphere,
we would be living under communism.

When on leaving high school,
I showed no interest in being a medical doctor,
my mother used her extensive contacts, 
to get me a job as an office boy, 
sorting the mail in a prestigious business in downtown Sydney.

I got a scholarship to go to university and instead enrolled in Science.
Later I got a scholarship to so a PhD.
Beyond room and board, my mother didn't contribute to my education.
If it hadn't been for those scholarships, 
I would have been an office boy.

When my godmother asked my mother in front of me
how I was doing at university,
my mother said "he's wasting a golden opportunity to become a medical doctor" 
and looked at me with distain.
She expected my godmother would sympathise with her.

With the invasion by north vietnam imminent, 
unprecedented action was needed and the country did something that
had been rejected by popular referenda several times before;
conscripting my generation into the military.
My mother voted for it of course.
She couldn't loose; either I'd die and she'd be a valourous mother,
or I'd return from battle a hero.

No-one asked me.
I was confused.
Clearly I had to honour the sacrifices of my father's generation
and of my father who'd died when I was young as a result of going to WWII.
They were the only reason I was living free and not under the thumb of the Japanese.
I had to do my part to save australia from being invaded again.

I realised that dying in a rice paddy in vietnam would put paid to my plans
of a PhD and being a scientist.
I decided that if I was going to Vietnam, 
I would do so on my terms.
Rather than taking my chances with the lottery,
I joined the citizen's air force,
wearing my uniform to university one day a week,
and spending part of my vacations on air force bases.
Several of my peers did the same, joining the citizens army or navy.
My mother couldn't understand what I was doing.
Why didn't I do the honourable thing 
and just join the army 
and go to Vietnam like God required of me?

The money from the air force allowed me to do things with my spare time,
like going hiking, 
otherwise I would have spent my life sitting in the kitchen 
listening to my mother telling me how lucky I was to have her as a mother.

By then I was doing my PhD, 
it became obvious to even me that the north vietnamese
were winning the war, 
they had no interest in invading Australia,
if they even knew where it was.
Australia had supported an oppressive regime in south vietnam
and had done nothing for the freedom of the south vietnamese,
who were the big loosers in the war.

I had looked to the church for guidance on the war.
They had condonned the whole effort, 
the deaths, 
the dumping of more bombs in Vietnam than had been
used in the whole of Europe in WWII,
the sending of my generation to a war that didn't help
the vietnamese, when Australia had not been threatened.

I saw the church as being morally bankrupt.
I realised that much of their teachings,
on which I'd based my life, were also suspect.
I had decided that it was unlikely that sex by itself was inherently sinful,
and only the church could make it wonderful and sacred.
The only way of getting out of this morass was to 
and get away from my mother and the church.
My PhD scholarship gave me enough money to leave home.
I moved to a progressive on-campus college at Sydney University, 
Wesley College.
There students weren't doing what God told them.
They were making decisions for themselves about their own lives.

6 mins

\HRule \\[-0.2cm]

--

\end{comment}

\Large

0 mins

short (No Shame sized) intro:

I grew up in a conservative christian household.
Life revolved around God and the Queen.
I was an active member of the church.

When I was a teenager, 
Australia conscripted my generation to fight in Vietnam.
I looked to the church for guidance.
They recognised the war as part of God's plan,

No-one asked me.
Society just expected me to do my duty.


\begin{comment}
My mother sent me to military high school, 
to prepare me to fight my generation's war,
whenever it came.
I had wanted to go to an academic high school, 
to prepare me to become a scientist.

which as I gradually became aware,
was to send my generation to a war, 
which didn't threaten Australia
and which dropped more bombs on Vietnam 
than had been dropped on Europe in the whole of WWII.
All of this without any interest 
in the freedom of the people living 
under a foreign supported repressive regime in south vietnam.
It was these people, the south vietnamese,
who, in the end, were the big loosers in the war.

My mother was all for it of course.
She couldn't loose; either I'd die in Vietnam, 
making her a valourous mother, 
who'd given up a son to save our country,
or I'd return from war in glory as a hero, 
like my father did from WWII.
Did she think she was going to let me waste all that money 
she'd spent on military school?

I knew that being a servant of God wasn't easy.
God is always testing your resolve.
As I had done faithfully every time before,
I once again agreed to play my part in God's plan.

No-one asked me.
Society just expected me to do my duty.

At least if I was going to Vietnam,
I decided I would do so on my own terms.
Rather than have my name go into the lottery,
I joined the citizen's air force. 
\end{comment}

By the time I was doing my PhD, 
and the Vietnam war was over, all but the killing,
I realised that the church, 
by condonning the Vietnam war, 
was morally bankrupt.
Much or all of their teachings,
on which I'd based my life, were now suspect.
I decided that it was unlikely that sex was intrisically,
and only the church could make it wonderful and sacred.
I saw my mother as my jailer,
although I barely could admit it to myself.

I left home to get away from my mother and the church.
I moved to a progressive on-campus college at Sydney University.
There students were making decisions about their lives
rather than waiting for word from God.

\begin{comment}
Once I left home, foresaking the path of Godliness, 
I was committed, there was no going back.
The Lord thy God is a vengeful god.
In retribution, God sent me 40yrs of crippling headaches.
These brought great glee to my mother, 
who took every opportunity to remind me they were my own fault 
and that I thoroughly deserved them.
When doctors couldn't do anything about them, 
I could hardly be surprised.

My mother promptly disinherited me, giving the family fortune, to my brother.
My brother had never paid the slightest attention to the church or God,
and when it became his turn to stand up and save Australia from the marauding Vietnamese,
ducked it, by taking his chances with the lottery.
\end{comment}

I hoped a few things would change.
I was hoping for a girlfriend, 
where it would be her and me, rather than God, her and me.
Finding a girlfriend was even more difficult than you'd expect from looking at me.
For decades, all women looked like my mother.

1 min

\HRule \\[-0.2cm]

\Large

0 mins

On-campus, there were always things happening.

I had needed a date for a party. 
As you can imagine it hadn't taken long for me 
to exhaust the supply of girls 
who would go on dates with me.

(stop and look down-cast. Wait till get laugh.)

So I asked the girlfriend of a friend if she could set me up.

At the party, my date and I found that we had friends in common,
quickly telling me the sort of person she was.
From our party conversation,
she was accomplished and determined.
This was a formidable woman.
She was going places.

We were having a pleasant time together.
It was a nice date.
About half way through the party,
my date let me know that she had \textbf{plans for later that evening}.

(look in shock. this is more alive than looking terrified. 
Terrified is frozen 
and the audience won't know whether it's the character or the actor.)

Her plans meant that we would spend the night together.

To say her declaration came as a surprise would be an understatement;
this is not how I expected it would happen.
I didn't know people did this.

We weren't getting on in any way special
that warranted the unexpected invitation.
I realised that I hadn't been asked to jump
over a very high bar to qualify.
I expected that combing my hair
and speaking in complete sentences,
had been enough.

She made the invitation, using the only 
the limited tokens of party chit-chat,
the only thing available to people who've just met.
She showed great courage.
I would have been impressed,
that she'd carried it off,
had I the spare neurons to do so.

But I didn't.
I was jammed.
She'd issued the invitation.
It was my place to reply, but I couldn't.
\begin{comment}
I couldn't expect her to hold up both ends of the conversation.
After that, in the face of my silence,
there was no chance of us building any communication.
\end{comment}
I was glad that she didn't smile at me and say
"well, cat got your tongue?".
Formidable as she was,
I knew she didn't have the bandwidth for this.
It would have been more than I could handle.
I was speechless.
I was actually terrified, although I didn't know it.

It never occured to me to say to her
"well thank you, that's very nice.
This is going to be my first time and I barely know you.
If you'd really like to do this with me, 
how about we go outside and talk for a bit.
Would you like to hold my hand?"
Actually it did occur to me, 
but the voices in my head mocked me so thoroughly,
I realised it wasn't worth trying.

As we found out later, on comparing notes,
my date was operating with a similar agenda to mine.
In the confusion of the evening,
it never occured to me that the unfolding drama
might be the result of similar agendas.

I mean, what's the chances of two people, 
with matching agendas, finding each other, 
just \textbf{randomly} like this, 
on a blind date no less?
And then when the miraculous happens, 
you're not able to communicate, 
so neither of you recognise the situation.

Not only could I not speak, 
I couldn't think either.
It never occured to me 
that it was going to be \textbf{her} first time.
I'd always assumed that a girl could do it any time she wanted
and she would have done so long ago.
All she had to do was pick someone and ask them.

Girls only asked the \textbf{cool} guys.
I was a science nerd.
I \textbf{wasn't} one of the cool guys.
I knew no-one would be asking me.

(stand to one side of stage. Look at the group of cool guys,
holding my hands together, nervously, looking to see if they'll
accept me.
I approach them cautiously and say
"hey guys, want to see my diagram of the strata in the Grand Canyon?"

I then move to where the cool guys are
talking the role of one of the cool guys.
I stand, hands on hips, as if I'm a cool guy.
I roll my eyes and don't acknowledge the nerd.

I resume my position as the nerd,
and slink off rejected.)

Although I didn't know it at the time,
the thing that I said couldn't possibly happen
was \textbf{exactly} what was happening on our date.
She'd picked me and she'd asked.

Later, 
I talked to a woman friend,
trying to figure out what had happened.
She said "well, yes, this is what guys think.
But there just aren't that many guys around
that you want to do it with,
unless you're prepared to just throw it away.
It's just as hard for the girls as it is for the guys."

\begin{comment}
I thought when this happened to me,
you'd both know about it,
way ahead of time
and you would have been converging
on agreement about how and when.
When the moment finally arrived, 
you would both be ready for it
and would be able to enjoy being together,
at least as much as is possible, 
considering how nervous you both are going to be.
With communication blocked at my end,
there would be no way my date and I 
would be negotiating doing this together.
\end{comment}

So there I was. 
I barely knew her. 
I mean we would be taking each other's clothes off ... 
and doing things ...
which even now I don't speak about publically.

Although the situation was beyond my comprehension,
I knew that she was an otherwise completely normal person.
She had hopes and wishes for a happy and meaningful life 
and she was doing her best to get there.
I could expect to see her and her friends again.
I had to get this right.

(put notes down, look like this is serious)

For the rest of the party,
my head was spinning.
Rather than putting my efforts into something useful, 
like establishing communication with her,
I spent the rest of the party 
spiralling into my private hell.

(Hop from one spot to another on the stage, 
with each new thought.)

Could I do this with someone I'd just met?

She was nice, but we weren't even friends.

Could I say no?

How \textbf{do} you say no?

Guys aren't supposed to say no. 

When the moment comes, society expects us to do our duty.

No-one tells a guy what to do,
when your date puts the make on you.
Sure, if you know her,
but what if you've just met? Then what?

(stop hopping. walk forward to the front of the stage)

I couldn't imagine another guy in the world,
giving the matter a second thought.

If I said no, 
everyone would know about it the next morning.
Hell hath no fury...

There was no way this one would be keeping it quiet.
She would have howled from one end of the university to the other.
The Sydney women's wall of shame
would have my name painted on it in foot high letters.

(paint J O E with hands in the air, then say "Joe")
No female would ever forgive me for what I'd done.
I'd carry the shame with me for the rest of my life.

I would have to face her friend, 
the girl who'd set us up. 

(girlfriend is stunned, in horror)

"What?! You said no?! You turned her down?!
She's my very best friend. She's absolutely lovely. How could you?!
I put you two together ... I was counting on you to be nice to her.
OMG! she'll be so humiliated, she'll hate me.

(change to anger from the girlfriend)

Oh, how could you do this to me?!
I thought I was doing something nice for both of you.
You complete bastard!
I'll never let you forget this.
Every other guy in Sydney would leap over themselves
to be with her and I entrusted her to \textbf{you}?!
You had your chance!
You \textbf{blew} it!
You're never going to hear the end of this!
Do you understand?!"
If she wasn't good enough for you,
don't expect to ever go on another date with anyone again, ever, ever."

At social gatherings,
I would see girls urgently whispering to each other,
while looking at me in horror and pointing at me.
They'd turn to their dates and whisper in his ear.
He'd roll his eyes with contempt, then turn to look at me with distain.
Later at the drinks table, he'd greet me
"How's it going Casanova?".

I could imagine walking into the dinning room,
to see the faces of 200 people,
smirking at me, their faces plastered with silly grins.
They would be beating their hands on the tables as I walked past,
rattling the cutlery,
drawing everyone's attention to my entry into the dinning room.
They would be waving to me, loudly calling out to me
"How was your date last night Joe?".

I knew what the guy's reaction would be.
I didn't know what the girls would think
and I knew they'd never tell me.
I'd never live it down.
I'd have to leave town.

I could tell from the change in attitude
and the new confidence of my date,
that my silence and confusion
had been interpreted as assent.

I had left home for a reason.
Was I going to say no,
when finally I was being offered just what I wanted,
just because it wasn't unfolding in the way I expected,
just because it wasn't with someone I knew \textbf{very} well?

Who was I waiting for; Catherine of Wuthering Heights?

Even though I hardly knew her
and sparks weren't flying,
I saw that she was as nice a person as anyone I'd ever met.
My decision was made from a mixture of peer pressure
and not knowing how to say no.
Uptil then, I had spent my life in service to God.
I saw that now it really was time to get on with my life
and this was as nice a person as I could ask for
to take that next step with.

Maybe it was a sign from God.

(wait a bit, thinking, then look upwards, acknowledge God with mouth or eyebrows)

At the end of the party, 
we left arm in arm.
We were two very nervous virgins,
two people who had to negotiate the rest of the night together
with a person we'd just met and who we barely knew.
We had almost no communication to help us.
In place of communication,
we had only the hope and trust that we would be nice to each other
and the knowledge that our common friends would wish us well.
I'd found my Catherine and she'd found her Heathcliff.
We left together, to meet our separate dates with destiny,
without either of us realising that our partner was doing exactly the same.

9 mins

\HRule \\[-0.2cm]
\begin{comment}
\end{comment}

\large

Author's notes:

I wrote this after reading the chapter 
in Naomi Wolf's book "Promiscuities"
where 20yrs later, she and her friends
gathered to share their stories of how they lost their virginity.

I can see from writing my story, 
that I have a lot less terror of females
than I did back then.

I also realise what a bum rap guys get.

My mother treated me like a juveline delinquent.
I was beaten, harrassed and hounded 24hrs a day.
She reminded me that I would grow up to be the same beast as my father.
I knew what that meant.
It was sex, which all women hated and loathed their husbands for.
The only thing useful I could do with my life was to die in a war,
making her a mother who'd made the great sacrifice for her country.

From everything that I know about my father, 
he was the nicest guy ever.
How he managed to be with my mother I don't know.
After he died, my mother drove off his friends,
so that I would never know them, till it was too late; they had all died.
She rewrote history so that everything good in my life came from her.

I \textbf{was} nice to my date that night, 
at least within the bounds of my nervousness, 
my limited ability to communicate, 
how little we knew each other 
and how uncomfortable we were with each other because of it.
You can't ask any more of a young man than that.

A couple of years later, from America, 
I wrote to the church elder,
who'd run the youth fellowship.
He best knew my contributions to the church.
He knew that I wanted to make the world a better place.
I told him that I was taking my own path now and
that much of what I learned in the church was not on it.
I hoped he would respect my decision and that he'd wish me well.
I asked him to pray for me.
He never wrote back.

The church has never reviewed its role 
condoning the carnage of Vietnam.
They didn't have to.
It was part of God's plan.

%\newpage
\normalsize
\small
%\footnotesize
%\scriptsize
%\tiny

\end{document}

