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Life is weird

When I was eight years old, the boy (also 8) across the street asked me if I wanted to have sex. I said no. I knew what he meant. Somehow at 8 years old, I had already figured out the mechanics of sex. And wanted nothing to do with it.

By the time I was 11, I had grown men whistling at me. I had a man try to pick me up in his car when I was about 13. Those things, combined with being heavily involved with church kept me from experimenting. Oh, yes, and the fact that I was so shy and introverted, I didn’t socialize at all.

When I was 7 years old, I was playing house with the girl next door. I remember kissing her. I really liked it, but I wouldn’t allow myself to think about it. How different my life would have been if I had been allowed to explore those feelings. They moved away not long after that.

My first real sexual experience came when I was in college. He was my first (and technically, second) boyfriend. On the steps of the dorm leading to an unused basement door, I gave him a blow job. It was dangerous for the fact that it was a Christian college, and that could have gotten us both kicked out. At that point in time, I didn’t care. I knew I wasn’t going back. So I took a chance.

My first time actually having sex was weird. I was at work, and was flirting with a cook I liked. (A little background here, I was being stalked by another guy who had worked there too. I was afraid he would try to rape me.) Anyway, Red and I both got off at the same time, so I game him a ride home. Somehow, I decided I wanted to have sex with him. He went inside, and got a condom. I found a place to park.

So, on a hot, humid August night in south Florida, I lost my virginity in the back of a Celica. It wasn’t exactly pleasant. I wasn’t ready, and he was big. I remember looking through the back window, and watching the heat lightning. It wasn’t enjoyable, but it was my choice. I liked him, and I was attracted to him. We actually did it twice that night. The second time was better.

Now, back to being introverted. I had no real experience with men. I didn’t know the protocol of having sex with a co worker. We had a few more experiences, but we never went out or dated. Stupid me, I didn’t realize that him asking me to his birthday party was asking me out. I said no because I had plans.

Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had dated him. My life could have been completely different. I probably would have stayed in Miami, and I wouldn’t have met my husband.

So many “what ifs” in life. What if I ended up with Red? What if I had met T in Miami, and realized back then that I was bisexual? What if I had met my husband there? (He was stationed in Key West, while I lived in Miami)

It’s kind of funny when you think of the steps that led you to where you are right now. One little thing done differently would have changed the entire course. I might have had a good life with Red.

But if it was different, I wouldn’t have interacted with the people I have. Would J have ever asked his girlfriend out without his interactions with me? Would certain people have not met because of me?

I wish I had finished college, and had a decent paying job. But if I had finished, I wouldn’t have met my husband. And frankly, that would have been a tragedy. He is the best part of my life.

I have no idea where I’m going with this post. My life has been a bunch of strange events. What if I hadn’t been stalked? What if I stayed in Miami? I don’t know. I am where I am supposed to be. I have no clue what my purpose in life is. I can only hope to do what I can to make the world a better place. Maybe because I’m here, J and his girl will have a child who cures cancer. Life is funny when you think about it.

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