Double Take on the Double Standard

When I was 16 or so, there was this big punk rock guy named Max. Max was a wild party guy who loved to drink, do drugs and get into all kinds of trouble drivin' his '68 royal blue Mustang around Boston, New York and wherever else good times were to be had. Above all, Max loved to fuck.
We all did, sure, but Max was down for anything, anywhere, anytime. One summer in Harvard Square, while the University held its centennial bash in the Cambridge Common, Max and a friend climbed up onto the big statue of Paul Revere—astride his rearing horse—before the crowds of graduates and fancy-schmancy alumni arrived. They finished a couple 40’s and smoked a joint while the Harvard blue-bloods swilled plastic cups of champagne. If any of the rich revelers had looked up instead of down their noses, they would've caught one hell of a sex show going on between the legs of Paul's bronze pony.
Though not the best looking guy ever, Max was a total stud. He had a reputation of being one of those guys who got off on getting YOU off. Max was the MAN. He got tons of pussy—and plenty of cock—with little trouble. Except for this one time...
We all lived in a rundown house, a squat that was a temporary home to ten or twelve of us. One of the girls who lived there, Mika, had a crush on Max, so one day she scored some acid for them. From morning to nightfall they tripped: ran around town gawking at people, laughed their asses off, snuck into a hotel pool for a swim and then headed back to Mika's house. The acid was wearing off a bit when they started fooling around. Max went down on her, got her all happy, then climbed on and in.
Once in her, he noticed how strangely she was behaving—kind of giggling uncomfortably and not really knowing what to do with her hands. "She can't still be tripping....." he thought. "Uh oh. Is she a virgin? Shit! She didn't tell me. I gotta get outta here... I’ll make her cum and then split." He tried everything, finally pulling out and going down on her for what seemed like forever until she squeaked his name twice.
He was sure she faked it. Max excused himself to get a beer and check out the party going on upstairs and said he'd see her in a few. At the party he ran into Robbie, one of Mika's roommates, a tall blonde skater chick who had flirted with him many times and had essentially flashed the green light to him for future escapades.
He was painfully frustrated since the sex had been so uncomfortable and lame. Robbie kissed him a promising hello. Max confessed to her what had transpired with her roommate. She didn't seem to mind. She kissed him again. They went outside. Within minutes they were in Max's car fucking like pros.
After a while, and just at the crucial point of their tryst, the two noticed a shape outside the foggy back window. "SHIT! IT'S MIKA!!!" exclaimed Robbie in a screechy whisper.
Mika ran off. Max and Robbie, totally busted and a bit shaken, finished fucking. Afterwards Max fired up his 'Stang and drove off into the night. He felt a little bad for the way it all went down, but he was just a hot blooded young man and that's what hot blooded young men do, right?
Later Robbie consoled Mika with "Fuck that guy. He's a lying piece of shit. I TOTALLY didn't know about you two. He's a fuckin' liar." Blah, blah, bitchy-ass BLAH.
A few years later, we heard that Mika turned into a man-hating lesbian. Oh, well. No big loss there, and I don't believe you can blame a man for that (though I'm sure some have tried). You can't hold it against a guy for getting it when and where he can. That pretty much defines a man in some respects. The girls all knew Max, knew his rep and wanted him just the same.
And, sweet reader, all of these stories are true. True, yes, but the boys were girls and vice versa. Mika was Mike, Robbie was Rob, and Max was actually me. Oops.
How you like me (Max) now?