Ah, the first time! You're

callow and clumsy and woefully

sincere, but it doesn't even

matter because you're so happy

just to be experiencing the rush

of something completely new. The

second time, you start

developing a sense of timing, a

few theatrical touches designed

to make your performance more

memorable for all involved. By

the third go-round, your

repertoire of tricks and

flourishes has gotten so

sophisticated it rivals that of

a veteran courtesan: You could

be faking it or not faking it,

and no one would know the

difference. Ultimately, however,

it doesn't really matter if

Diane and Mike are the virginal

vessels of unsullied

exhibitionism that they purport

to be or just a couple of

auto-pimping flauntrepreneurs,

well-drilled in the mechanics of

pubic relations. Either way, Our

First Time, the public

deflowering Diane and Mike have

scheduled for cybercast in a few

weeks, is still the most

compelling demo of Web-based

communal voyeurism that we've

yet seen. In marrying

recreational surveillance with

the concept of appointment

viewing - we're certainly not

going to be watching Jennifer

Ringley fold her laundry on 4

August at 6 p.m. PDT

- it points the

way toward a promising

pay-per-spew future that many

are already parodying and even

more, no doubt, are using as the

foundation for their latest

business-plan pipe schemes. But

while Our First Anal Sex, the

first of the knockoff sites,

looks like a parody, it also ups

the ante for customer service.

If Mike hopes to keep up his hit

count, he'd better top off that

first score with a back door

extra point.

Speaking of a sex act that, in

certain circles, is called

"laying down the law," we've

noticed that GOP leaders in

Congress are preparing to plug

President Clinton's very quiet

executive order of last month

ensuring no job discrimination

against gays in federal

government. GOP homophobia is

OUT there, baby! Only weeks ago,

Texas Republicans barred the Log

Cabin Republicans from

exhibiting at its convention

(party spokesman Robert Black

hastened to reassure

conventioneers that GOP elephant

nipple rings and Judy Garland

squeezebags would still be

available at most exhibition

booths); meanwhile, Great

Thinker Trent Lott compared gays

to kleptomaniacs (basing his

homophobic cringing on the

Bible, which includes law

esoterica - outlawing the eating

of pork, for example - that

makes Mississippi's state laws

look like the Amsterdam public

charter); and James Hormel's

nomination to the ambassadorship

in Luxembourg is still in Senate

purgatory because of the

nominee's orificial preference.

Adding insult to injury, the

Federal Trade Commission has

launched an all-out assault on

the Hormel family's signature

meat byproduct. But there may be

more than one way to put the "G"

in GOP. With disclosures that

the Queer Nation spans from Newt

Gingrich's family tree to

William F. Buckley's dinner A

list to the most stalwart of

Republican Congressmen to city

halls and state legislatures all

over the place, even Orrin Hatch

has summoned the sense to get

out of the missionary position.

Well, there's a first time for

everything.

Despite the best efforts of CBS

to give the show a quiet, last

rites in the nursing home, the

Family Matters finale continues

to draw encomia, in shades both

arch and unfunny. In addition to

providing a likely hiding place

for all those black viewers who

turned up their noses at

Seinfeld, this

famous-for-being-obscure show

was a fascinating case study of

the rich fungi that grow in the

shadows of TV decadence. Sitcom

senescence tends to bring out

the kind of desperate creative

energy witnessed in the last

season of Roseanne. It manifests

itself in recklessly conceived

wacky characters, graying high

school students, wig-wearing

evil twins, and, if you're really

lucky, appearances by Ted

McGinley - the one-man TV

killing machine whose

scythe-swinging presence

presaged the deaths of Happy

Days, Dynasty and Married ... with Children.

The innovation of

Family Matters was

that Jaleel "Urkel" White's

towering, muscle-bound,

falsettoing adolescence gave the

show a late-period quality even

in its early years. As the show

sent Urkel on increasingly

fatalistic "Polkapaloozas" and

trotted out such Urkel alter

egos as the swinging Stefan

Urquelle (a sly nod to Nick

Ferrari, Latka's doppelswinger

in Taxi's final days), White

made a sub rosa stab at becoming

the black Andy Kaufman, and

Family Matters became a

Hubble-worthy spectacle - a

sitcom whose final season lasted

about eight years (including

this last one, in which ABC

traded it away in a Babe

Ruth-style scandal). Now it's

finally over, but while the kids

may have lost interest and

hipsters exhausted themselves on

more high-profile immolations,

the real TV fans will be

watching the swan song tomorrow

night to find out how Urkel gets

out of his wacky space shuttle

adventure. It may not sound like

much, but trust us, it's better

than your first anal sex.