So many thoughts were running through my head, from unicorns to high-speed car chases to why would a woman ever need a man if she could make herself feel so outrageous? Why did she even need to leave the house? Maybe this is what stay-at-home moms did all day. Maybe they just sat around and played with themselves while watching Days of Our Lives, and then Another World, and then General Hospital. Why would anyone go to college, when you could just meet a guy, send him to the factory, and spin your baby bean all day? The only warning my mother had given me about too much pleasure was with regard to chocolate. "Life is like a box of chocolates," she told me. "Eat too many and you'll end up with your father's tits."

I didn't know at the time that what I was doing would be considered masturbating, but I definitely knew enough to know that I needed to be somewhat discreet when accommodating myself. My parents had never had the birds-and-the-bees conversation with me, and neither did any of my sisters or brothers. I once asked my father about where babies came from, and he told me that "sometimes Daddy parks his car in Mommy's garage." I had no idea what that could possibly mean, but I never went into the garage again.

The only conversation about a penis I'd ever had was with my next-door neighbor Jason Rothstein. The Rothstein family lived next to us for my whole life, and they had two sons who were good friends with my brothers. My brothers and I were always over at their house until for some reason, one night while playing Tip the Waiter with Jason, he decided to pull his pants down and show me the tip of his penis.