The first time I had sex I was 17 years old. I had done everything except have sex by the time I was 12. Once I passed that threshold, there was no turning back. I was promiscuous, no doubt.
There was the first one, he didn’t really love me, I didn’t know that until after.
There was his good friend who helped me get over a broken heart.
There was a one time thing with a boy who turned out to still love his ex.
There was my high school sweetheart.
There was a one time thing with a boy from Drama after my high school sweetheart and I broke up.
There was that one time with that one guy that I will deny to my dying breath. Never happened.
There was a week in NY with my aunt’s brother-in-law when I was on vacation.
There was my post high school sweetheart, the one who had a crush on my sister.
There was my father’s next door neighbor that one time.
There was my father’s next door neighbor’s roommate.
There was the guy who I worked with and was 14 years older than me.
There was a one time thing at a 4th of July party.
There was the boy who was too young for me and later married my cousin.
There was my first husband.
There was my rebound relationship who gave me my oldest son.
There was my second husband.
There was my current husband.
Too many. I know. I was desperate for some affection though. So many of those, I wish I hadn’t actually slept with. A few I wish I hadn’t actually dated at all. I don’t count M at all. It wasn’t my choice. I don’t acknowledge it as sex.
Since July 1995, there has only been one guy. If I have any choice in the matter, and I should, there will never be anyone else.