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[Editor's Note: Amanda Stern is the author of "Scout's Honor," which appears in Love Is a Four-Letter Word]

I was the type of teenager who, in a fairly successful bid, acted tough to thwart my deep-seated fear of - well, most everything.  Part of acting tough included big talk. As a big talking teenager, I exaggerated my experiences in less successful attempts to thwart participation in the very activities I claimed advanced expertise. To be clear: I was a bit of a liar.  In "I Never," the popular drinking game where one drinks only IF they're guilty of the dirty truism I was consistently drinking. According to past games, by the time I was 15 I'd: had sex on a gynecologist's table, done acid, made out with a girl, spent the night on a park bench in Washington Square Park, been chased down the street by a knife-wielding mugger and had sex with two brothers. I'd done none of those things, but pretending brought me an immense amount of street-cred with my naïve 9^th grade colleagues. 

When I wasn't big talking round after round in "I never," I was big talking over at a cafe that no longer exists. The Figaro was on the corner of MacDougal and Bleecker and all the waiters were hot. Case in point: the actor Sam Rockwell worked there.  I spent my spare time sitting in an uncomfortable metal-backed chair, drawing in my classic hardback artist's sketchbook (whose black leatherette cover I etched drawings into with a knife), bumming cigarettes from the waiters and waiting for something interesting to happen.  And then, during the summer of 1985, when my parents were away for the month, something interesting did happen.

Manny was a new waiter. He was an extra on Miami Vice (which had just started and was a big deal), and claimed to be a Ford model. I loved Manny. I stared restlessly at Manny as he bussed espressos and half-eaten éclair from the square marbleized tables. Thrown smirks grew to full smiles. Soon, he'd sit with me when service was slow and tell me stories about acting and modeling and I'd make things up to impress upon him that I was significantly more advanced than any other teenager in the entire universe. I had to prove that the eight-year age difference meant nothing for a girl who'd experienced so much. 

And that's how I found myself in a tricky position of agreeing to sleep with Manny.  "Somehow" Manny was under the impression that he was just another guy for the Boys I've Slept With list I claimed to have started. The truth was, I'd never had sex before. Could one pretend to have had sex when they'd never had it? Was there a way I could successfully fool Manny into thinking I was experienced at something that petrified me? And not only that, did I really want to lose my virginity to a waiter? Did I really want to lose my virginity to a 23 year old? Did I really want to lose my virginity to a guy I didn't love, much less really know? Not so much. Yet, apparently I agreed to accept his visit after he finished work that night, at 11pm.

I started sweating at 10pm. By 10:15pm I was drenched. There was no way I could do this. How had I gotten myself into this situation? What moron pretends they've had sex when they haven't? The Figaro was at the end of my block. Manny would be ringing my bell no later than 11:05pm.  I couldn't believe I had done this to myself and now I had to follow through. I had to have sex for the first time with a 23-year old waiter who was an extra on Miami Vice and a Ford model. Not bad, actually, but I'd like to take a pass this time around.

At 11pm I sat on the couch in the living room, numb. At 11:03pm I decided to turn out all the lights in the house. I went back to the couch where I sat, frozen. At 11:05pm, the doorbell rang. I sat, anxiety spreading as hot vibrations right beneath the surface of my skin. The bell rang again. Could he see me? The bell rang again. Would he break in? My breath grew shallow and the bell rang again in short bursts until it lengthened into a long nasal call. I sat on the couch in the dark and held my breath. I sat in the dark through the ringing. I sat in the dark through the knocking. I sat in the dark on that couch afraid for myself and afraid of myself.  I sat until Manny left. I sat in the dark and in the silence wondering which café I'd go to now.