April 8, 2010

My first kiss had been Timmy, a tiny peck in the backyard snow of a five year old’s existence. My next kiss had been Jenny, my best friend forever. This was the pattern my life followed, first a boy, then a girl, each with equal pleasure, but one choice met with shame. I was a boy crazy girly girl, writing our names in secret notebooks, kissing every new boy as often as I could. All the while, Jenny and I continued experimenting, exploring what felt good and what didn’t in our pre-pubescent bodies. With Jenny I was the instigator. With the boys I was the lamb, ready to do whatever they asked.

But eventually we were caught, me with my head in her crotch. Shortly afterwards I was caught again with him, his pants down, kissing my neck. All of us 7 years old.

The talks then began, “Someday, when you’re much, much older it will be time to find a nice boy and get married. Only then can you do the things we caught you doing with that boy. You should never do those things with girls, it’s just not right.”
I still kissed the boys, I fantasized what my wedding night would be like. What joys I could discover in the marital bed. But secretly, I would watch women’s breasts, the rise and fall of a woman walking. Victoria’s Secret became my favorite mailer, I’d spend hours looking at the women in intimate apparel. Even my Barbies were fair game, I’d rub their hard breasts and feel a twinkle between my own legs. While I never masturbated, I spent a lot of time fantasizing and enjoying the curves of a woman’s body.

When I finally grew old enough to date I dated veraciously. Every night of the week I was entertained by more and more boys. Once I hit college I would have a midday lunch with one, dinner with another, late night dancing with a third. There were make out buddies and boyfriends, twice I served as a mistress. The kisses we shared were passionate, the sweat beading over hard muscles, the stolen moments in the cab of a truck were all exquisite.

But I still felt like I was missing something. In my dance class I watched the girls, as their hips shook and their breast bounced. In the locker room i felt shame. I carefully watched them undress their sleek bodies feeling like an imposter, if they only knew how I thought of them I would be thrown out for sure. When Elka joined dance it was all I could do to not stare with my mouth open. She wasn't like the other girls, more slender and demure and completely self assured. With a short pixie cut and small round breasts, she was intoxicating for me.

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