Marty Beckerman is an 18-year-old humor and opinion columnist living in tropical Anchorage, Alaska. His award-winning writing has appeared most frequently in The Anchorage Daily News, though occasionally manages to pop up in finer national publications.

It should be noted that Beckerman was forever banished from The Anchorage Daily News on July 25, 2000, after asking a cheerleader how it feels to be a urine stain on the toilet seat of America.

As it turns out, neither the cheerleader nor Beckerman's editor found that interview question particularly amusing.

Beckerman's first book, Death to All Cheerleaders: One Adolescent Journalist's Cheerful Diatribe Against Teenage Plasticity was published September 2000 on Infected Press.

"'Hooking Up' was a term known in the year 2000 to almost every American child over the age of nine, but to only a relatively small percentage of their own parents, who, even if they heard it, thought it was used in the old sense of 'meeting' someone. Among the children, hooking up was always a sexual experience, but the nature and extent of what they did could vary widely. Back in the twentieth century, American girls had used baseball terminology. 'First base' referred to embracing and kissing; 'second base' referred to groping and fondling; 'third base' referred to fellatio, usually known in polite conversation by the ambiguous term 'oral sex'; and 'home plate' meant conception-mode intercourse, known familiarly as 'going all the way.' In the year 2000, in the era of hooking up, 'first base' meant deep kissing, groping and fondling; 'second base' meant oral sex; 'third base' meant going all the way; and 'home plate' meant learning each other's names."

~~ Tom Wolfe

"So are you going to kiss me or just sit there?" she asks.

I'm comfortably occupying the front seat of my awesome 1984 Dodge MiniVan; she's in the seat next to me, wearing a tight pink shirt that shows vastly more than it hides. We're presently parked in the driveway in front of her house; the engine is turned off and I can't help but feel excruciatingly awkward. Our first date has gone pretty well, judging from the sound of things. But Jesus, I just met this girl. Do I really want to throw myself into another one of these meaningless carnal escapades?

"I . . . uh . . . well, let's see . . . I don't know, should we?"

Yeah, I sound like a real fuckin' Romeo.

"You don't like me?" she asks.

"No, I like you a lot. It's just . . . I don't know. I'm an idiot."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I broke up with my girlfriend a week ago and it just seems too soon to be doing this, you know?"

"Oh," she says.

Silence.

"It was really the first deep relationship I've ever been in," I confide. "I guess it would be a little weird, going from that end of the spectrum to . . . I mean, you're nice and all, don't get me wrong, but obviously we don't share some kind of deep emotional longing or anything."

"Yeah . . ."

She smiles and unbuckles her seat belt.

"Well, it was nice meeting you," she says, opening the door. "Call me, we'll hang out again sometime. Unless you want to come inside, but I guess you wouldn't."

MEMO FROM BRAIN TO PENIS: Hey Penis, let's not go inside!
MEMO FROM PENIS TO BRAIN [Re: "Bad Idea": Ha! Ha! That's a good one, old buddy!

"Sure!" I joyously shriek. "Why not?"

"Okay," she laughs, getting out of the sexy-ass MiniVan. "What did you say your name was again?"

"Marty."

"Oh yeah, that's right!"

We stroll up the walkway to her front door, which she unlocks very quietly. She holds her index finger to her lips, alerting me to the fact I shouldn't make much noise; after all, we wouldn't want to wake Mommy and Daddy, would we? No, we wouldn't. Goddamn, something about the possibility of getting caught just sends a warm shiver down my testicles. Not yet, Penis. But soon. Very, very soon.

The door creaks open; the house is dark and the girl's parents are fast asleep. My heart is pounding and the adrenaline is coursing through my veins like black tar heroin. She leads me down the stairs and into her small bedroom, tiptoeing all the way. At some point in this mad process we start holding hands, and I presently feel her grip tightening. Our bodies commit to each other and her lips come closer as we fall onto the soft bed. Yes Penis, your time has come! Rise, Penis! Rise, I say! Rise, damn you! Rise!!

MEMO FROM BRAIN TO PENIS: For God's sake, Penis, don't you remember the beautiful relationship we've been in for the last three months? Haven't you realized that Love is more fulfilling than Lust in every way that matters? Goddamnit, Penis! Tonight's Squirm-Session won't make a single difference to you tomorrow, but if you don't give in -- if you prove just once that you're more than a slave to your own hormonal impulses -- wouldn't that be the true victory? The true "score," as it were?
MEMO FROM PENIS TO BRAIN: Whatever, dude.

"Wait," I say, still holding the girl in my arms. "I . . . this . . . it's just not right."

"Why not?" she asks.

"Wouldn't this mean more to you if we actually cared about each other a little bit? Jesus, don't you want something deeper than this?"

(Long, awkward silence.)

"You make me so wet," she explains, proceeding to wiggle her tongue around the inside of my ear for a good ten minutes.

MEMO FROM PENIS TO BRAIN: Nice try. Sucker.

"Superficial \ adj 1 : of or relating to the surface or appearance only 2 : not thorough : SHALLOW"
~~ Definition from The New Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

I'm not a Saint by any means, as the preceding account hopefully illustrates. I'm a teenage male and have accordingly engaged in more than a few of these meaningless weekend hook ups. If you're a teenager, chances are you've also had quite the bit of (S)experience in this arena. As American Adolescents, promiscuity is not only expected of us but respected as well. The Decay of Love is complete, my friends, and there's no denying that we have collectively earned the prestigious title of GENERATION SLUT. Listen closely and you just might hear the Doomsday Clock tick-tick-ticking away.

Okay, maybe that's being a little melodramatic. Regardless, it's hard to argue that the sexual habits of our generation are healthy in any cultural sense. An article in the Nov. 15, 2000 edition of USA Today reports that a growing number of 12-year-olds are frequently engaging in oral sex with multiple partners. A recent survey in Twist magazine reveals that more than a quarter of teen (and preteen) girls consider giving blowjobs "something you do with a guy for fun."

And how. This article isn't a piece of puritan propaganda by any means; that kind of moralistic preachiness would be just a little hypocritical coming from someone who once fondled a girl's breasts in the darkened library of a Holy Church. No, this article will be an unprecedented forum to address and hopefully provide answers for the following questions: What are the real dangers (excluding Pregnancy and Disease) posed by unbridled teenage promiscuity? Is there a solution to this prevailing plasticity? And most importantly: When is teenage sex appropriate and respectable?

This is going to be a chaotic and terrifying read for sure; the danger of derailing into nonsensical tangents and random hearsay is extremely high. But there must always be risk when embarking on these Adventures in Anti-Journalism, for without risk there can be no substantial gains. All aboard, ladies and gentlemen; this train is leaving the station like a crazed bat out of Hell.

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