The Happiest Days of Our Lives by Wil Wheaton Read Free Book Online

same curious look. He smiled enigmatically.
    Twenty minutes later, with burnt toast in my pocket and butterflies swarming in my stomach, I bought my ticket. We stood in a line that grew to about two dozen people and waited for the theater to open. I made nervous small talk with Darin, talking a little too loudly about the great cast they had in…I think I chose Huntington Beach.
    The doors opened a few minutes before midnight. We walked into a theater that, Tardis-like, seemed bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. Dirty blue and orange curtains hung on the walls. Two aisles separated three groups of squeaky blue seats. The floor was painted navy blue—blue seemed to be a recurring motif in this particular theater—and was appropriately sticky. We chose seats on the aisle near the back. I should have been freaked out when a guy sat down a few rows in front of us and lit a cigarette, in total violation of the theater’s rules, but being rebel-adjacent excited me.
    The theater quickly got as full as it was going to get. It seemed that most of the audience members knew each other, especially the four people who huddled together at the front, under the screen.
    A dude with long black hair and bright red lipstick emerged from the group and spoke to the audience. I can’t remember what he said, because as he began, a hand tapped me on the shoulder. I looked up and saw the most phenomenally beautiful girl in the world standing in the aisle. She had shiny black hair in a Bettie Page cut, bright green eyes, full red lips. She wore a red corset that fit her…perfectly.
    She bent over and asked, “Are you a virgin?”
    I was, in every way that mattered; and in that moment I would have pushed my mother in front of a train on its way into a lake of fire if it meant that this girl would separate me from this affliction.
    If I’d been standing, I’m certain I would have fainted. “Wuh…what?”
    She extended one hand and caressed my face. She repeated herself, even more seductively than the first time. “Are…you…a virgin ?”
    My voice cracked as I said “YES!” a little too loudly.
    Her eyes flashed and she squeaked—squeaked!—a little. “This is going to be fun .”
    Before I could ask if this kind of “fun” came with an instruction manual, she stood up abruptly and hollered, “I have a virgin!”
    “A VIRGIN!” replied much of the audience.
    Before I knew what was happening, she stood me up, had me repeat some oath that I’ve since forgotten, and spanked me—not brutally, but not overly gently, either. I remained fully clothed, but by the time my deflowering was done, I was soaked through, as everyone in the theater sprayed me with squirt guns and spray bottles. As quickly as it started, it was over, and she disappeared before I could get her number—much less drop a Life of Brian quote on her.
    Like most people’s, my deflowering was nothing like I’d hoped for or expected, but it was still magical. I loved every second of it, and before I knew it, she had vanished into the dim light of the theater.
    While other regulars repeated similar rituals with a few other virgins in the audience, I looked at Darin. He looked back, mirroring my disbelief.
    “That was awesome!” I said. Not only had a girl practically showed me her boobs, she’d touched my face! Seductively! And talked to me! And spanked me! And squirted me with a squirt gun! I was beside myself, and the movie hadn’t even started yet.
    The lights went down and the show began. I didn’t know any of the lines, but I quickly figured out what to yell at Brad and Janet. I threw my toast. I did the Time Warp. I watched the girl who’d taken my Rocky virginity play Magenta, which is probably why Magenta is still my favorite character in the whole show to this very day, twenty years later.
    When it was over, we drove back to La Crescenta in my slightly-better-than-Patrick-Stewart’s Honda Prelude, blasting New Order the whole way with