Angie could never find out why. Her mother wouldn't tell her anything about sex. It was always, 'Nice girls don't sit with their legs apart. Nice girls don't say those words. Nice girls don't ask those questions until they're old enough.' Hell, if sex was such a bad thing, why were adults always wanting to do it? Why did they think it was such a big thing? Could it really hurt children to know about it? Her father didn't think so. He'd wanted to tell her about sex several times but her mother always butted in. Then there'd be a big scene. Her mother would scream about getting a divorce, making a big scandal. Her father would end up shaking her out of her hysteria and her mother would shout, 'Don't touch me with your filthy obscene hands! Not after you've touched all your nurses.' Angie wondered what she meant by those words. Did her father have sex with his nurses? He probably didn't with her mother – she wouldn't even let him touch her.

A poke in her back roused Angie from her thoughts. She turned to face Doug.

"Tell me all you know about sex," Doug commanded.

"Look," she retorted, "I was only trying to help you out. Brad was so obnoxious."

"I didn't need your help before, I need it now."

"Don't you know anything about sex?" Angie asked pityingly.

Doug blushed. "Of course I do. But Brad doesn't want to know ordinary facts."

"What makes you think I'd know anything different?"

"Your father is a medical doctor, isn't he?"

"He doesn't consult me about his work," Angie said, deliberately aggravating.

"Haven't you kept your eyes and ears open and picked up a thing or two?"

"Mmmm," Angie said mysteriously, fluttering her eyelashes at him provocatively.

I wonder if she's been laid yet, Doug asked himself. She has a wide mouth. If the grandmother tales are right, she should have a large vagina.