Today, and how we got here.
This blog is meant to be a place for me to document and details the things that happen in my life as a 30-something, single mom navigating the world of modern dating, sex, relationships, money, careers, stuff I love, and all things girlie and girl related. There are no rules and I don’t want to classify this in one particular category, but if history predicts future (thank you, Dr. Phil) there’s a really good chance most of the content will be about my love life.
My current life: 32 years old, full time working mom, 3 year old son.
It all started when I was around 3 years old. I remember having my first crush on a boy in my kindergarten class (I a junior, he a senior – little did I know then, my penchant for older men would come back full circle, but that’s another post…). This boy was beautiful! He had wavy blonde hair, light blue eyes and dimples for miles. I remember being physically aroused at the thought of him. I would pretend he was with me when I was at home, rubbing my stuffed Alf doll against my undeveloped crotch in failed attempts to alleviate the pain I would feel at not being able to have an orgasm.** I was always interested – maybe even obsessed – with sex.
I never hooked up with that boy – I was far too shy and quiet as a little girl (that changes later, trust me). The next year he moved onto another class, and I developed a crush on a pair of best friends. I remember wanting to find reasons to hangout with them but I was still far too awkward, so I would watch them from a distance and hope they noticed me (they never did :().
As I got older, I began finding creative ways to play with the boys. In grade two they would role play the characters from a cartoon called COPS which cast several male, and two female characters. I volunteered, knowing full well I was not rough and tumble enough to really keep up with them, but did it anyway because my thirst for their attention overrode logic. These boys were the most athletic kids in the school. They would scale the portables, jump over massive boulders, and seemed to have unlimited energy. Eventually I got tired of sucking at everything they did, and got demoted to guarding weapons for the “good cops” while they ran off to fight school yard crimes. Even at that, I was just happy to have a reason for the boys to talk to me.
In grade three I finally landed my first boyfriend. I was so happy I didn’t even care that he was also my friends boyfriend. Our relationship lasted a few months and was mostly consisting of confused, rotational hand holding between the three of us, and ended when I was on the monkey bars one day and he seized the opportunity to pull my pants down as a prank (pulling my underwear down with them). I was mortified – and dumped him on the spot.
It was years before I’d have another boyfriend again. I was yet to be kissed until 7th grade, where I got asked to the first school dance by a gorgeous guy of mixed descent with the most luscious lips in my entire junior high. He gave me my first french kiss which was a terribly confusing, yet most exciting experience. Tongues and lips were thrashing around, he overtook what felt like the entire bottom half of my face, and his tongue was wagging around inside my mouth like a windshield wiper at top speed. Still, I remember being dizzy and in lust afterwards. I wanted his mouth all over me.
That relationship faded, but only a few months later I began really experimenting with sex. I gave my first blow job to a friends brother in their garage. We had been casually dating and I wanted to know how to do it, so he let me. He laid back on his dad’s motorcycle while I dryly bobbed my head up and down about 5 times. No one was enjoying it so I stopped. We laughed about it and I wondered out loud why anyone would want to do that (I figure it out later on, don’t worry).
The following summer I decided it was time to lose my virginity. I was obsessed with losing it. All my girlfriends were about two years older than me, and while only a couple of them had actually had sex, I didn’t want to be the last virgin standing. I had to do this to secure my spot in the cool older girls group. I had to do this because it meant I was now a full grown woman. But mostly I had to do this because I was so damn horny and needed to have another person touch me and get me off (I didn’t learn how to properly masturbate until I bought my first vibrator, at 17). I didn’t have a boyfriend (despite loads of pathetic, failed attempts during the school year) so I recruited a friend of mine who was 15 (a whole two years older than me – 13 at the time). We agreed on a time and date. He made arrangements for us to go to his cousins apartment. I brought us a 2L bottle of Grower’s Apple Wine and we drank it out of mismatching glasses in the kitchen with his cousin, who was in on our plans for the afternoon ahead. Before we could start, we were afraid of someone hearing us in the next apartment (oh how naive I was to think I’d have a screaming orgasm the fist time). My friend, and future virginity taker suggested we put on music (I chose Nirvana’s “Nevermind”). We went to the bedroom and I laid on the bed, still in my dress, underwear removed. I don’t even remember if he took his clothes off, or just unzipped his pants. All I remember was him awkwardly and slowly pumping away at me while my head kept hitting the headboard while listening to “Smell’s Like Teen Spirit”. The whole thing lasted about 2 minutes. I ran to the bathroom afterwards to make sure I could find evidence of my popped cherry, and was elated at the slight pink discharge I saw on the toilet paper in front of me. Level achieved! My virginity was over with. Afterwards his cousin pulled out his new bb gun and was playing around pretending to shoot us (just shooting near us). He accidentally shot me in the collar bone and I still have a scar from it this day. I guess it was his way of making sure he got in on penetrating something that day too, ha! I remember leaving and wondering if the whole world knew. Could strangers tell I was an adult now, doing grown up things like drinking cider wine and having sex? Looking back, I still don’t regret how young I was or that it wasn’t with someone I loved. My cavalier attitude about sex will be a huge part of this blog (if you can’t tell already). For years, I wondered if something was wrong with me because I was ok with losing my virginity in a way that most people I knew wouldn’t understand. I’m way past that now, but slut shaming was a part of my life long long before the term existed, and sadly, long before the feminist movement against it began.
My second sexual encounter was unfortunately quite different. I was raped by a guy I knew from school. We had just started dating and he asked me to come to his house. We were making out and he was fingering me, then the next thing I knew he was having sex with me. He literally swapped his finger with his penis and I had no idea except that things felt really tight and painful all of a sudden. I pulled out from under him and saw his penis, and I realized what had happened. At the time, I didn’t even know I had been raped. I thought I must have unknowingly gave him the idea that sex was on the table and he was just confused. Plus, I went to his house to fool around so I knew it could happen. Truthfully, sexual education did not cover rape very well back then and while I knew what happened didn’t feel right emotionally, I had no idea it was a crime. In my mind it was only rape if a stranger in an alley tore off your clothing and left you a weeping mess for a stranger to stumble upon and save you. I remember I bled a lot afterwards and was scared. I told my girlfriends and they told me how disappointed they were in me for having sex with him, and because I was so confused by what had happened, I agreed with them. It was only a few years ago this memory came flooding back to me and I realized what had actually happened.
Fortunately, I was somehow able to get past the experience and continued lusting after boys. By this time I had matured in to a pretty, young girl and was able land boyfriends very easily. I mastered the art of flirting long before my 16th birthday and I could get boys to pay attention to me with the bat of an eyelash. I knew how to sit and just ever so slightly lean into a guy and give him my undivided attention, giggle, and “accidentally” brush my hand on him in conversation. I knew how to get him to notice me from across the room by positioning myself close enough to be noticed while pretending I didn’t notice him noticing me. I knew how to read them and used it to get them to like me. It felt so powerful and was incredibly intoxicating. I lusted after them the way they lusted after me. If I could find a way to get paid for mastering the “thrill of the chase”, I’d be a millionaire. My girlfriends did not see my talent quite the same way I did. I got a lot of attention and because flirting was second nature to me, I often attracted guys I wasn’t even hitting on. Namely, guys my friends had crushes on. They ganged up on me and bullied me. This may sound crazy, but I get it now. Sometimes I was unfairly targeted and called a slut for no reason, but there were times that I would steal boyfriends or flirt with guys and deliberately steal attention from them when I knew my friends had crushes on them. It was an insecure power play. We were all equally shitty to each other, and although I took a hiatus from that group for many years, we all reconnected, some apologies have been made and I hold absolutely no grudges. We’ve all grown up and I love them dearly now. I am convinced though, that this is why I became a “boy’s girl”. My best friends were guys, and I always had a boyfriend. Women made nervous. Men made me feel safe. To this day, I still get on with men far better than I do women. It’s not a problem, just some personal insight.
The relationships we have in our lifetimes, regardless of length or intensity, all form the people we are today. It shapes the fabric of our character, helps us understand one another and helps us determine they types of people we want in our lives as we emotionally grow. With this blog, I hope to document my experience with love, sex, and the lessons I’ve learned over my short life so far. Thanks for reading and joining me on this crazy journey.
**In the rare instance I share this story with anyone I’m almost always probed with questions relating to molestation. I can assure you, my hyper sexual interest has always been primal, and most certainly was not a result of sexual abuse. I hate that I have to say that, but now you know so we never have to talk about it again.