It was the summer after my sophomore year when my family decided to take a trip off to the foreign lands of Europe. First stop was Paris, the land of amore, with my brother, his friend and my parents. After a short four days, we parted ways with the boys, who made a beeline to the Redlight District, and took a train down to the Sud de France (Southern France) to meet up with our old foreign exchange student, MC. MC has spent a summer with my family, learning what it was like to live in a country where the drinking age was 21. I always knew MC was a bit wild because when she came to stay in the U.S. at the mature age of 14, all she wanted to do was rage, but I was too much of a goody two shoes to entertain the idea at that point. But now that I was 16, I was ready to get my freak on in Toulouse, France. My parents dropped me off at MCâs house, and quickly scurried to the French countryside for a much anticipated romantic evening...vomit.
Around 10:30 that night, we headed out to a bar to meet her friend, keep in mind, that this was my first ever bar experience. Upon meeting my new foreign friends, I could tell one of the boys was totally into me. I had to keep up the facade of being a hip, cool, American, so I decided to play it cool and make him work for it. Since this was my first time really drinking, three drinks in to the evening, I was completely plastered and acting suave as hell. The first french fry was just eating out of the palm of my hand, and when I was feeling it, we started to make out, basically on the table where everyone was seated...always classy.After macking on my first frenchy, I was starting to get bored. So, drunk and looking for newer and hotter entertainment, I decided to go on the prowl.Â
 As we entered the next bar, MC ran up to someone she knew and started an intense conversation. Feeling slightly out of place and being drunk, I decided to scout and mingle around the bar. Eventually, I found a boy who had peaked my interest. I struck up a conversation, full of broken English and French, with a cute âgarsonâ  five years my senior, and quickly had him enamored with my pathetic attempts to speak french...whatever country you may travel to, try to learn typical conversation sentences in the language because no matter what, accents are always a turn on...One thing lead to another (see a common theme here?), and the next thing I knew, I was in the basement of the bar, on top of what I can only assume was a dishwasher, hooking up with my new French lover. I look back on that now and realize how sketchy that was, the basement was almost completely dark, we had to find a way to unlock the door to get down there, and it had a strange smell of bleach and marijuana.Â
After 30 minutes or so had passed, I thought it would be a good idea to go touch base and find my friend, but to my surprise MC was no where to be found and I was left at a bar, in the middle of Toulouse⌠by myself. Slightly panicked but still super blasted, my French lover thought he could calm my nerves with another drink, which I eagerly took down. In a country where I couldnât really speak the language I had no phone to get a hold of anyone (not like I had anyoneâs number), no clue where MC actually lived and lost my money somehow during the evening (pretty sure someone stole it while they were feeling me up). Needless to say, things were really starting to look up for me.
 At around 3:00 am, my French lover decided it would be best if he took me home,to his place, and maybe, we would find out where my friend was in the morning. I was beginning to feel as though I would soon be spending the rest of my days being passed around Europe as an American sex slave, hello Taken. As I stumbled along the street, closer and closer to my impending doom, I heard someone yelling my name. I turned around to surprisingly see, MC speeding down the street with a whole Vespa gang, also very drunk. She apparently had left the bar to âsmoke a cigaretteâ (for three hours) and had forgotten to tell meâŚwhat a bunch of bullshit. She told me to get on the back of someoneâs Vespa, so we could go to an after hours party somewhere outside the city. I quickly kissed my lover goodbye, thanked him for not selling me on the streets, and hopped on the back of a Vespa and rode off into the sunrise to get ready for some more partying.Â
When I was in high school, my parents wanted me to get a job to learn the âvalue of the dollar,â⌠okay, sweet. I have no work experience and donât even know how to go about finding a job, but I did have one skill that I thought would help meâŚI played soccer. There was a small soccer store in my hometown and I figured they could use some female presence to help boost sales (sex cells sell, for real!). I had my friend drive me, since I had just recently totaled my (first) car, and we went on a trek to the âSoccer Shoppe.â I wasnât even sure if they were hiring but I thought Iâd asked. There was creepy old man in the back, who limped towards me when I entered the shop, asking me what I was there for. My friend and I looked at each otherâŚmaybe this wasnât the place I wanted to work, but whatever, I decided to ask for a job anyways. He did a quick once over and hired me on the spot and told me I was going to start work the next day. Very excited I had landed my first real person job, I ran out of the store and to the 7-11 next door to celebrate with a Big GulpâŚclass, class, class.
Okay, major dilemma here. Iâm dating Curly Q, but his brother is gorgeous and now more and more of my hours were being scheduled with Big Sexy instead of my main man. Big Sexy made it clear from the start that he was interested and had no problem going after his brothers girl, which is sooo dick BTW. Anyways, things between Curly Q and I were fizzling out, so I decided to end it and I wanted to capitalize on my next opportunity.
When Big Sexy found out I was single, he texted me ASAP to say âsorry about the break upââŚyeah right, him and I both knew he was totally stoked about it. A few weeks went by and it seemed as though Big Sexy was slowly fading into the past. Now that he was accessible, I was starting to lose interest fast. Good news for Big Sexy though, since I couldnât drive, I needed a ride home one night, to which he quickly offered his services. I obvi said yes, somewhat knowing how this ride was going to end.
Our shift was over and we both headed to his car, so he could drive me home. The drive took longer than normal because he was literally going 20 mph the whole time, until I told him to step on it, driving slow was a total turn off. As we got to my house, I unbuckled my seatbelt and went to thank Big Sexy when he leaned in for the kill. We started making out and all of a sudden some hilariously weird whistling noise was coming out of his nose each time heâd kiss meâŚI couldnât take it. About five or so minutes into the makeout sesh, I absolutely lost it and burst out laughing. I couldnât even breathe as I was trying to get out of the car. He asked me what was wrong but I couldnât tell him because I was succumbing to my laughter; I just looked at him, pointed behind me and said, âGoâ between breaths. He pulled away super pissed off and gave me a goodbye middle finger, the perfect way to end what just happened.Thank god, I humiliated Big Sexy enough so that Curly Q would never find out about what his brother and I had done.  And although Big Sexy wasnât the college man I thought he was, he and sweet, sweet Curly Q introduced me to what is was like to take a lap in the gene poolâŚtwice.
So Iâm pretty sure this is where all of my issues with relationships came to be...at the ripe age of 5 years old.
It was a Monday or Tuesday, Iâm not quite sure, it doesnât even matter, the sky was blue, sun shining and I was hanging out at the house, a.k.a. tree fort, with my 6-year-old husband (starting off with older men too soon). I should have known my sights for men were already set too low, when I was sitting back watching Mr. Tree Fort make dinner. Um, hello?! Clearly a red flag, Iâm all for the husband kicking in and helping around the house, but shouldnât he have, like, a job to do? Mr. Tree Fort was way too content doing all the cooking and cleaning up.
Anyways, Iâm sitting back against the wall like a boss, when I hear my mom calling my name from a few houses down; it was time to go. So as Iâm getting ready to leave, I tell my husband I have to go to work, Iâll see him when I get home and I give him my first kiss as a goodbye. Okay pause, this is a for real what the fuck moment. As a 5 YEAR OLD, Iâm already settling for a man who obviously has no ambition (except catering to my every need) and is okay with being a stay at home dad AND on top of that, I just wasted my first kiss on a deadbeat freeloader. No, no, no that is not going to work. I want to be a successful (super fucking rich) and independent young woman, but at the end of the day, I do not want to be the breadwinner in my family, Iâm expecting a man to bring home the dough. Yet here I am, starting my life off as an apparent feminist kindergartener, fucking up my future relationships for years to come.Â
After my first kiss to the deadbeat, I decided to take it slow and reevaluate my love life, so I stayed away from boys for a while, until the boys couldnât stay away from me.
Picture an innocent, mousy looking second grader from the Midwest being transplanted to the sunny state of California at the most important transition time in elementary school, third grade. Third grade is when it all happens, you find out if your kindergarten BFFâs really will be there forever (mine have), you find out if youâre smart (welcome to advance reading and timed tests everyone) and most importantly, you find out if youâre cool. Third grade is a time when the cool kids start to peak and the geeks fall to the wayside. So naturally, moving to California was a HUGE upset for me. How was I supposed to be cool when I was the new, fairly ugly, girl!? None of my new classmates would understand what great personality and humor I had, I would be judged solely by my chic, new, super thick glasses and inability to coordinate an outfit myself.
But then, I started to realize Lil Cholo was different about a month into school. One day I was minding my own business and DEARing (Drop Everything and Reading for those of you who didnât go to school) when all of a sudden I hear the sound of giggles coming from the boys in the corner. I slyly look up and to my horror see Lil Cholo doing some type of weird interpretive dance on the floor. Only this was no interpretive dance, I soon figured out, Lil Cholo and the floor were having an intimate moment. My teacher told Lil Cholo to get up and sit in his seat, like this wasnât a big deal, and apparently his chair would quench his need to get off on the dirty, mold filled carpet.
The next day at school, I decided I wanted to avoid being associated with Lil Cholo as much as possible. He definitely caught on to what I was doing and did not take kindly to it. Throughout the day, Lil Cholo was quiet, too quiet and I should have known he was plotting to do something pervy to me. There was 20 minutes until school was over and I was almost home free from a Lil Cholo encounter, when I decided to sit on my chair with my knees and bend over. Now this may not seem like a terrible idea, but it was, my whole cute little third grade behind was left vulnerable and letâs just say, Lil Cholo took advantage.
All of sudden I froze, my body went numb except for my behind. I felt a small hand grabbing a huge handful of third grade ass and knew I was doomed. I quickly turned around to protect my butt, but the damage had already been done. Lil Cholo sat in front of me smiling like the creepy perv he was, and the entire class had burst out into laughter. I was humiliated.
Good news though, not all was lost in my experience with Lil Cholo. Yes, I was destined to never be cool in California because Lil Cholo had damaged my reputation, but I would go on to move back to the Midwest the following year. And I learned a valuable lesson that dayâŚnever trust those who introduce themselves to you first, because at the end of the day, they will always try to find a way to grab your ass. Â
 Itâs eighth grade now, not much has happened with boys since the butt touching incident. There was a fourth grade 2-week boyfriend, first time a boy had ever given me jewelry and we broke up because the necklace âwasnât my type.â Then there was the sixth grade crush on the drummer boy (and hottest guy in school), but after I found out his screen name was âRonnygogglesâ I decided he was too hipster for me before I even knew what that meant; other than that, there was little to no interaction with the opposite sex. But now, yes now in the eighth grade, I was ready to hop back into the saddle and see what boys had to offer.
I first started walking my dog around the block, looking fine if I do say so myself, trying to get the new kid to notice me. Eventually, after my 500th time around the block, he did. We started casually hanging out, his friends and mine, and I noticed each time we would hang out, he seemed to get more friendly with one of my girl friendsâŚyeah like I was going to let that shit slide. I needed to find a way to let him know that I was queen bee and STAT. Itâs not like I even liked the kid, but knowing that he was wanted, made me want to lay claim to him even more. And not lay claim to him in the date him kind of way, but lay claim to him as in be the first girl to go into uncharted territory, a.k.a. MAKE OUT WITH HIM! I know, I know, make out? What a prude, right? But making out was a big deal for me back then, so back off.
Anyways, I started thinking of ways on how I could get him alone, I mean, this guy was a total horn dog so it wasnât going to be too hard, except for the fact that he was interested in one of the chicks I rolled with. I didnât particularly care for her to begin with, so I had no problem stepping on her toes when it came to a little competition. I decided to have all of my friends and his over one summer night to play ânight games,â you know Ghost in the Graveyard, flashlight tag and all of that other fun kid stuff. Eventually, as I had planned, everyone had to get picked up for their curfews, which left only me and the neighbor boyâŚalone. I mockingly asked if it was âpast his bed time tooâ which made him instantly have to prove his manhood by saying he âdoesnât even have a bed time,â clearly a bad assâŚinstant turn on.
We sat outside on my porch for a bit and I knew I had him hooked. I decide to flirt around a bit to see if he would make his move, and to no surprise, after a few minutes, the horn dog leaned in and started sucking my face. And when I say sucking face, I mean sucking face, like making out with a dog. I entertained the slobber for a few moments then pulled away, âItâs time for you to go home,â I said. He was confused, not able to comprehend why I wouldnât want to continue having his tongue shoved down my throat, but eventually he got up, licked my face goodbye and headed home.
You think I cared that I was covered in spit as I walked into my house? The answer is no, because I won, I was the first girl to be covered by his spit and that was all that mattered.Â
Itâs my junior year of high school, I have made out with a few boys, but nothing really to build my repertoire. I was getting tired of the old âletâs watch a movieâ make out trick. Occasionally a guy would try to feel up my, then, non-existent boobs, and I touched a penis once, but decided it wasnât something I wanted to revisit if I didnât have to. I was living a lack luster life and needed some spicing upâŚenter SoccerSox.
One day at school, SoccerSox came up to me and whispered in my ear to âgo online later.â Instantly intrigued, as soon as the end of the day bell rang, I raced home to see what secret message SoccerSox couldnât say at school. Finally, he logged on and IMâd me right awayâŚâwe shuld hang out.â Seriously? That was the elusive message he couldnât tell me at school, and he couldnât even spell should correctly. Whatever, I disregarded his stupidity and quickly agreed, âDefinitely,â I said, âYou just let me know when.â God, I played that off so cool.
A few days later, I was pulling up to SoccerSoxâs driveway waiting to have the best hang out of my life. I walked in to his house and he led me straight up to his room. We literally sat there saying nothing for five minutes because we both knew we actually had jack shit in common. He finally reached in his drawer and pulled out a soccer sock and tossed it to me. âSo?â He said. I looked in the sock with disbeliefâŚit was a condom. I knew it was a condom because I had taken Sex Ed., not because I had ever used one.
Anyways one thing led to another and two minutes later I had lost my virginity, or more so, gave it away. Iâm not even quite sure what it actually felt like, because I had felt nothing. But I had did it, I had tossed away my vCard in the least romantic way to a guy I had no feelings for whatsoever.
I think about how all my friends lost theirs, you know, to their boyfriend of a year, to the boy they were in love with etc., and sometimes I wish the soccer sock could have been a bouquet of roses with a condom hidden inside. But I run into very few people who have a story like mine, and to all my friends and I, SoccerSox will forever live in infamy for going where no other boy had gone before.Â
