Every high school had one.
Aldo was the expert on all matters sexual. He was the Chief Justice of the sexual supreme court.
The year was 1966. Life was all about the Beatles, the Stones , and desperate, pathetic attempts at physical contact with women.
As a member of the track team, we adhered to a daily schedule that left us with much free time.
This worked out well for Aldo.
“Come on boys, gather round.”
We dutifully formed a semicircle in the discus pit.
“Now boys, you just can’t climb all over a woman…you’ve got to engage in foreplay.”
Foreplay? Hmmm..I wondered what that was.
“Fellas, I must tell you that if you gently nibble on a woman’s earlobe, she will eagerly seek to pleasure you.”
One of the lads asked Aldo how he knew these things. It turns out that Aldo had pleasured dozens of women by the time he turned sixteen.
I quietly wondered how women could be attracted to this pimply, flatulent meatball. But I engaged in reality distortion and accepted his statement as true.
Aldo grandiloquently pointed in a southerly direction. We quickly determined that he was directing our attention to the girl’s tennis team. Oh, how marvelous they looked in their short white skirts.
“Boys, listen to Aldo and you can have your way with any of them.”
Yes, Aldo, yes. At this point, my hormones could have powered a spaceship to Mars.
Sadly, as it turned out, Aldo’s advice didn’t help. I had many more misfires before I landed a man on the moon.
But I returned to Aldo’s classroom on a regular basis, eagerly awaiting every scrap of advice that might deliver me to paradise.
It must be said, I can’t remember what most of my high school teachers said, but I totally remember Aldo.