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'Chicken or Brave'
2003-02-17 - 12:42 a.m.


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Men's knowledge of woman has come a long way in a short amount of time.  Fifty years ago, not only did they not know what a woman's clit was, they did not care.  Now, at least, they just don't care.

There is no manual, there is no dialogue there is nothing to teach the modern man about woman.

When I was eleven, in the dying day of the rollerink weekend, I was exposed to this lack of knowledge.  I had just moved, and my new best friend, Nicky Jericho was in love.

He had met a nice neighborhood girl of our same age at the roller rink, and skated with her.  Nicky could skate backwards, and this helped immensely in getting a girl to skate with you during the slow skates.  I just never learned, and held his backward skating ability in high regard.

He had talked about her all week, going off into this distant stare whenever he talked about her.  They skated again that night at the roller rink.

"Argentum,"  he said, getting that stare,"One of these days I'm gonna' play 'chicken or brave'."

"What?"  I asked.

"Chicken or brave with her."  he said, and let it hang.  I stood, at a loss, but trying to play off that I was not. "You know what 'chicken or brave is Argentum?"

I paused.

"You DON'T know?"  he mocked me.

"No, I don't fuckin' know."  I said, getting irritated. 

"Okay, okay, take it easy,"  he said, "'Chicken or brave:  you start at the girls ankle, and you ask, 'chicken or brave?'.  And if she says 'brave' you go to the knee.  Then you ask 'chicken or brave?' again.  If she says 'brave' you go up the thigh..."

Then he paused, getting lost in his own pubescent fantasies.

"And..."  I prompted.

He roused himself.  "...and you ask, 'chicken or brave', and if she says 'brave, then rrrraaah!"

He made a growling noise, and made an overhand grabbing motion between the imaginary girl's thighs.  The one that was going along with the 'chicken or brave' game.

He looked at me slyly.

"You know what the rrrrraaah! is, don't you?"  he asked, making an overhand grabbing motion again.

I tried, but had no idea.  I decided to admit it.  Honesty should exist between friends.  Honesty and some sort of acceptance.  Things that just don't exist in conversations about sex between eleven year old boys.

"No."  I said sullenly.

"Oh my god." he sputtered, and looked around to see if anyone was listening. "oh my god."

"What?"  I asked.  So what if I didn't know what the fuck he meant?

"Don't let anyone know you don't know, okay?"  he said, mocking me.

"What-the-fuck ever dickhead."  I said. "What is it?"

"Oh my god."  he sputtered again, and again looked around "oh my god."

"Well..."  I prompted.

"Its the coochie, man." he said.

"So, what the fuck are you doing with that?"  I said, miming his overhand grab.

"GETTING it, man."  he said.  "Don't you know what to do with a coochie?"

"Of course I do," I lied.

"Then what the fuck, nigga!" he said.

"I don't think you know what to do with a coochie."  I said.

"At least I know the 'chicken or brave'"  he said.

"I think you're a coochie."  I said.

"That's so gay, I can't believe you said that."  he said.

"Whatever.  Let's go,"

And we did.  His mom was waiting for us outside.  I spent the night, and in between drifting off into fantasies of his rollerink girl, he mocked me several times for not knowing the 'chicken or brave' game.

Looking back, I don't think either of us knew what to do with a coochie.

Nick moved away later than year, and I haven't seen him since.  Since then, I hope he's learned what to do with a coochie.

Wasn't destined to go far with that overhand grab thing.  Or 'chicken or brave'.

 


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