One time a half-Paki, half-Italian neighborhood girl comes to my house to watch movies with me. I didn't know her very well but our families had a relationship of a sort. She had invited herself to watch certain films with me but, hey, I didn't mind being a good neighbor.
The movies she wanted to watch with me were, how shall I say, rather suggestive -- i.e, the 1995 mature sex flick "Kids" wherein 1990s teenagers have sex. I am 18 and she is 16. Quite clearly, in retrospect, that gal might have wanted me. I should have been the one who deflowered her. Alas, I was so lame that the very possibility of all that was "beyond" me, mentally and emotionally.
At my job at Blockbuster, I end up telling this cool hick colleague of mine the above story about the girl coming over to my house while wanting to watch raunchy, suggestive movies. He looks at me as if he's flabbergasted. He says, with a bemused smile on his face, "Man, if a girl ever came over to my place to watch movies, I'd hit on her."
I am such a fucking failure.