The summer of 1969 was historic. But not because of the full-scale Vietnam protests, Woodstock, or the fact that a man stepped foot on the moon. No—something WAY more monumental happened that balmy summer in New York.
Ron Jeremy lost his virginity.
Without question, the number one question I get asked all the time: what was that like for me?
I remember it like it was yesterday. It was a Tuesday and, as usual, I had fallen asleep to the sounds of “My Three Sons” (the whistling got me every time). Ron was nestled safely in the arms of his girlfriend, Mindy Friedman, and I was nestled safely under his sweaty boxers. I was at peace. Suddenly, without warning, I was awakened by that awful “zipping” sound, and a harsh burst of light exploded into my eye. I was awake, alright, and feeling a head rush like no other.
Oh sure, I’d had this strange head rush before—many times, in fact. But it usually happened more gradually, and always after being lovingly cradled in Ron’s greasy hand.
This was uniquely different.
Before I could collect my bearings, I was headed at full speed towards a dark patch of hair. What is this, I thought? I’m going to crash into someone’s head. Why would Ron inflict this kind of pain on us both? Why would Ron---
MPHHHHGHGGGHGHG!
I’m somewhere I’ve never been. It’s completely dark, but I can make out bits of glistening skin and some weird tubes. I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe. Where am I?
NGGGHAHHH!
I’m out. I’m free. I can breathe. What the hell was th---
MPHHHHGHGHHHHHH!
Goddammnit I’m in again. What the fuck is he doing? I’m feeling sick. I’m really feeling nauseous. Oh my god I’m gonna be sick!
And as if Ron knew, he freed me one last time, and I instantly threw up all over Cindy’s abdomen.
It seemed like the longest night of my life, but in truth, the whole experience lasted about a minute.
