THE MECHANICS OF THE YOUNG MALE MIND

When I was in the sixth grade of grammar school, a girl from the north joined our class. No, there is no need to mention her name, though we all remember it well. She was small, slender, and incredibly alive.
Naturally all of us twelve-year old men were rather smitten.
Some people just make you feel more involved.
Or jealous; many of us became so.

Because, of course, there was just one of her.
And not everyone got to share the company.

The prospect of doing homework together with someone else, someone soft, suddenly became very attractive. I think most of us experienced a renewed enthusiasm for more academic pursuits at that time.
Which was a jolly good thing, as entrance exams for highschool were scheduled for late spring, and there was much yet to be done.

Quite a few of the students got into the better highschool that year, much to the surprise of mijnheer Goes, who normally expected a somewhat lower percentage to succeed. Not to criticise his inventivity and tutoring, but concupiscence is profoundly encouraging, especially when neither the subject nor the object actually grasp what is happening, and neither side knows how to put it into words, let alone finds a way of letting it out.


Some people just have a personality that encourages the best efforts of others, working on the subconscious remarkably like coffee. Their presence stimulates, and if there's even the faintest hue of something naughty about the glow one feels around them, so much the better.
Sweetness speeds the racing mind.
Innocence beguiles.


One the whole, it's a damned good thing that women don't know how men think. They'd probably start treating us as infected lab animals if they did.
Fascinating, yet repellent.


Nobody better tell.




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