Congratulations on Making it With Your High School Crush!

You were kind of a loser in high school, but then anyone who’s worth knowing was when you come down to it. As such you were never very excited by the prospect of attending your reunion.

All that changed a week ago when your software company went public to an explosive response and you became so fucking rich you couldn’t spend all your money if you wanted to. Since then you’ve created three charitable foundations and commissioned several poets to prepare for the upcoming reunion.

You’ll show up thirty minutes late, on the advice of one your poets who tends to be more successful with women but who is considerably less articulate than the other one who is occasionally described as technically being a virgin by the standard of his current romantic success.

Once there you’ll order a gin and tonic and quietly sit in a corner, watching the party from behind a pair of large black men you’ve hired too intimidate your former classmates and beat the living shit out of a select few persons from your old life. You’ll sit there, occasionally sending one of the men to assault someone, for around two hours before she finally works up the nerve to approach you.

“John?” she’ll say, shocked. She’ll look just as beautiful as she did ten years ago when she hugged you and said she sort of regretted never getting with you, even for one night.

“Mary-Anne,” you’ll say in a low, coarse voice, just the way your poets told you to.

“Wow,” she’ll say, taking in your dress and your bodyguards. “You’re doing pretty well for yourself.” She’ll lean forward, giving you an obtuse view of her cleavage that you’ll have to try to ignore.

You’ll shrug in response. “Just money,” you’ll say, sipping your drink.

She’ll smile. “Can I sit down?” she’ll ask. You’ll nod, smiling a little for the first time.

For the next hour and a half you’ll be walking the razor’s edge, doing all you can to seem like a better man than you are for this ideal of womanhood, all the finer for ten years of age, until she leans forward and asks if you’d like to get out of here. You’ll smile wide, forgetting all the poets taught you as you take her hand and leave for your mansion where she’ll proceed to fuck your brains out, which won’t be hard considering you’ve only had sex six times in your life up to this point.

You might get into some trouble later for conspiring to have your former classmates assaulted, but they’ll be hard pressed to prove it and they’ll have to admit to being beaten up, indirectly albeit, by a nerd. So you shouldn’t worry about that tonight.

Tonight you just have to worry about your laughable sexual performance and being charming enough to get Mary-Anne to stick with you long enough that you can become good at getting her off. The poets should be able to help you with that, but remember: they’re poets. Their advice is only as good as your interpretation of it. It’s their nature.

Anyhow, Congratulations on Making It With Your High School Crush! The sex gets better when you stop stressing so hard about it, trust us.