It took me forever to figure out how to get back on this site. Now Google is telling me that they are shutting the whole thing down. Oh, well, I guess no one reads any of this stuff anyway. I have had no responses to my first post.   I think I started out as one big mess from the day I was born.
I was an "After Thought" my siblings are 8,10 and 13 years older than me. An accident, a surprise, an unplanned pregnancy.  My early years I seemed to be surrounded by more parents than any kid could ever need. I had a mom.  She was tired, depressed and unhappy. My dad was not really engaged but pretty fond of me and I am told spoiled me rotten. Then the siblings, my oldest brother was eager to punish me and teach me lessons with cruel and immature choices on his part. He was also a teenage alcoholic and probably manic/depressive, angry as hell at the drop of a hat and I was afraid of him. My second brother was better. He played with me, taught me to skateboard, let me knock golf balls around our backyard and seemed to be a bit more sensitive to my childish fears and frustrations.  Lastly, my sister, 8 years older than me, she hated my mear existence and was the one stuck with me the most. She made frightening threats on a regular basis. Of course,  I was drawn to her like a flame. I wanted to look like her, dress like her, touch her stuff. I swear I truly believed that her food tasted better than mine. I tried to figure it out. Maybe it was her salvia. If we both had exactly the same thing, a glass of Coca Cola for example. Hers tasted better than mine. She was gifted and could drown me in guilt like the most seasoned nun at a home for unwed mothers.
Example: My teenage brothers shared a car and predictively fought over it on schedule. On one of these occasions, it became more violent and dramatic than usual. They each had dates and wanted the car. The first boy got in the car and drove away, the other yelling for all of Seventh Street to hear, "I'll bet (insert a girls name here) would be interested in hearing about (a different girls name here) before she goes out with you tonight." Tires squealed several times and reappeared in front of our house. Pushing, shoving, cursing, until the other boy got behind the wheel of the car and drove off. The first boy shouted threats that brought the second back to the house. Fists and bloody lips and someone sped away in the little car again, spraying gravel and laying skid marks over the street. I quietly reacted with an expression I had heard a dozen times a day in our house. "Je-sus-Christ!" My sister heard me and grabbed me firmly by my arms and began a tirade about taking the Lord's name in vain and how I would burn in hell for all eternity and my parents could never get over the shame and dishonor I brought to our family. Soon after the fight between my brothers had moved into the house with much more shouting, threats, cursing and blows. Dad entered the situation. One boy landed in a big chair on the North side of the living room, the other hit the couch along the west wall. Keys were confiscated and shoved into Dad's pocket. I don't know what they did about their dates. But, the little blue car remained parked on the street in front of our house and I couldn't figure out how I would make amends or ever earn forgiveness from God and my parents for my unforgivable transgression.  All that teenage drama, violence, fist fighting, threats for the whole neighborhood to witness and somehow, I was the one conscripted to burn in hell.
I don't know how old I was when all this was happening. Another incident was with my oldest brother. The angry, drunk, one. He took me swimming. The two of us piled into our Dads pick-up truck and drove to the city pool that was located the next town over from ours. About 8 miles from home. I was quickly deposited into the small kiddie pool and my brother made his way to the large pool. He was surrounded by other teens, mostly girls, I played with other kids in the small pool. I found a ball and began playing with it, entertaining myself.  It was turning dark and lights came on, and I found myself alone in the kiddie pool. I just continued to play with the ball. I could push it under the water and it would pop up from the water and I would catch it. I was content doing this. At some point, two people came to the edge of the pool and asked me for the ball. I told them it was mine and continued playing. Then my brother, a lifeguard and the two people came to my pool and I was ordered to give them the ball. I couldn't win so I gave it up. Then my brother told me we were going home. He was angry, I had lied, I had embarrassed him, Mom was going to really let me have it when she heard about the ball. We made our way down the highway to our town when he pulled into the local soft-served ice cream stand. He would not let me have ice-cream because of what I had done. But, he went to the window and bought an enormous ice cream cone for himself and returned to the pick-up truck and ate it in front of me. Some of his friends came over to the truck and he told them all about how horrible I was. Remember, I had embarrassed him. Two pretty girls told him he was being mean and making too big a deal out of it. But no, he had to teach me a lesson.
Upon arriving home I expected Mom and Dad to rip me to shreds. They, frankly, didn't act very interested. Not much more was made of the whole thing. I learned a lesson, that I didn't like going anywhere with my brother. There were other experiences similar to this one, I must have been a nightmare of a child. Good thing, this belligerent, often drunk, cruel teenager with a juvenile record was there to guide me through my childhood. He eventually took on the responsibility of explaining the facts of life to me. He was always drunk at this point. It ended when I was 14 years old and he pinned me in the corner of moms kitchen and began admiring how my breast had developed and how he liked the soft curve of my hips and how good looking I had become. Luckily, a family friend followed him into the room looking for ice from the refrigerator. He looked puzzled and suddenly pulled a chair from the kitchen table and sat down in a way that said, I'm not leaving. I ran out of the kitchen to my mother in the next room. I'll always be grateful to that man, a teacher,  but never saw him again. I think he kind of dropped my brother as a friend, after that.

Day One.

One particular subject I am very interested in is, well, sex.
I won't be talking dirty or even titillatingly. I just have a rather unique point of view. I'm pretty liberal and free thinking. My own mother became more and more of a prude as she aged. She became religious and totally lost her sense of humor.  But, at the same time, she was one of the randiest women I ever met.  I had to take care of her in her late 80's and recall having to remove books that would kind of get her juiced up. No one wants to deal with that.

The relationship between children and parents regarding sex gets very cloudy.
Neither wants to know anything about the others experience.
NO! Don't want to hear it.

For example, I am quite certain, that my mother believed I was a virgin when I married. She wanted to believe that anyway. I was 29 damn years old when I got married. I had dated several guys not to mention all the one night stands.
When I returned home from a wedding trip to St. Louis, I was sitting alone with Mom in her living room. She developed a strange smirk on her face and asked, "Well, did the earth move? Did you see fireworks and shooting stars?" I just stared at her. 
Oh dear God, you're not going to go there, was my thought.
I just smiled and tried to avoid eye contact
 I also recall her trying to inquire as to whether I experienced an orgasm. Dear God. She was the last person I ever intended to share this conversation with.


It makes me recall being a Freshman in college and the girls in my dorm were sitting up late sharing all the information we could about sex. I was a virgin then. Many of the girls were not. We novices listened eagerly to the "Older" more "Experienced" girls. In truth, it scared me.
One weekend another "Innocent" friend named, Jeanne, gave in. She traveled off to Purdue University to spend the weekend with her boyfriend. Upon her return, she ran to my room to give me a blow by blow account of her memorable weekend. The only part I remember was when she told me that boys liked to, as she put it, "Kiss you...." Jeanne then silently mouthed the words, "down there" as she pointed at her crotch. My face expressed my shock. I had never imagined this. I knew boys like blow jobs and had the relative idea of how that worked. But, boys doing it to girls had never entered my limited imagination. We both contemplated on the subject, speculating about urine and vaginal odor and now we had another hygienic concern to be prepared for. Much less, birth control.

Birth Control. Boy, that another issue. It was 1976. Doctors could slut shame you to tears. Planned Parenthood was the way to go. Jeanne was Catholic. What a pain in the ass. Every damn month after that first weekend. She would dissolve into mild hysteria over her period being a day late. She would come to me, crying, red-eyed, snotty nosed. "What will I do? I could never face my Dad."  I would repeatedly tell her, "You really need to start taking the pill." Her response was always, "But, I'm Catholic." Oddly enough, she always started contemplating abortion. I found this rather extreme. She was too Catholic to take a pill, but she would terminate a pregnancy? I also suggested this was a problem she should share with her boyfriend. Wasn't he a part of this mess. I finally reached my limit and said,  "Jeanne, The Pope doesn't want you screwing that guy every weekend either." She kind of quit hanging around with me and dropped out of school the next quarter. She married that guy the next summer. So she got her MRS degree.

During all this dormitory drama, I was having my own experiences. My first date in college was with a very tall Fraternity boy named John. He was tall, okay looking, funny and asked me to a party at his frat house. The Delta Chi. He came to my dorm and walked me across campus to his house. It was loud, lots of people and lively. John introduced me to his friends, we got a red plastic cup full of beer and danced in the basement to Boz Scaggs and Journey. As the evening progressed, he took to calling me, Pretty Girl. As in, "Hey, Pretty Girl, this is my favorite song." or "Wow, you sure are soft and sweet, Pretty Girl." I kind of wonder if he forgot my name during the night.
Finally, as the night grew late, he showed me to a living room sort of spot. There was a fire in the fireplace and a long white sofa in front it.  He led me into the room and closed a beautiful pair of French doors behind us. We sat down on the sofa and we drew closer to one another. He put his arm around me and whispered something to me. He kissed me very sweetly. I kissed back. I expected this to be much like my high school experiences. Kissing, the boy trying to feel me up. I wouldn't let him and then we all went home. Well, it was cozy and warm. He was even romantic, still calling me Pretty Girl. I wasn't giving him any hints. Finally, in one swift and stealthy move, John stood up and dropped his pants and sat back down beside me. He didn't even fumble with a belt buckle or his zipper.
I had never seen an adult man with a full erection.
I was horrified. My first silent response was that there was no way that would fit in my vagina. It was enormous. Now, realistically, he was not a mutant or anything. I suppose he was normal to average in size. I just had no idea that a penis got so large. We had seen animated versions in Home-Ec.and some attempts at Sex Ed. in public school.  But, I thought what was flacid just got stiff and engorged. I had no idea that they became much larger. The other thing that stuck with me and I definitely found distasteful, was his hand pushing the back of my head toward it. I knew what he wanted and I was having a very hard time taking all this in.
 I walked out those french doors, to the front door and out onto Riverside Drive. I walked the length of Fraternity Row, across campus and back to my dorm. I imagined him flailing about, tangled in his pants looking like a fool in front of the people outside the french doors.
 I arrived in my room. Luckily, my roommate was not home. I cried. All those dumb girls and I had no one to talk to. Jeanne was off getting her "down there" kissed at Purdue. 
There were a few more awkward and clumsy encounters with John. But, he just wasn't going to be the one. My virginity was intact until I met a Sailor in New Orleans.