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Happy Birthday To Me: The Evolution Of My Sex Life

Today’s my 36th birthday. I always weigh, measure and evaluate my life’s progress on my birthday. Many of us do this. Either on New Year’s Day, at Christmas or at our birthday, we’ll stack up the year’s events, our accomplishments or failures, to see where we are. As for my sexual growth over these past several years, I LOVE where I am!

I was the prototypical late bloomer. Skinny and tall, intelligent and well-rounded, I wasn’t exactly the guy’s first pick for Saturday-night dates in high school. College wasn’t much better, although I did get some experience and earned the richly deserved title of “supreme ball buster.” But as I neared my 21st birthday, I was still technically a virgin. I hated the mere idea of that. I thought I’d be forever branded “unsexual,” the pretty, yet exclusive chick you’d better not mess with. I needed to make some changes.

And change I did. At least on the outside. In a few short months, I remade myself into a new version more closely resembling girls who, I believed, got the most male attention. The word promiscuous wouldn’t be inaccurate. Damn it, I needed to make up for lost time. I ramped up my boldness quotient, wore provocative outfits, drank a little more heavily, anything I thought would get and keep a guy’s attention. I was getting my freak on, by any means necessary!

I was never terribly modest, so I started taking my clothes off with anybody who responded. I endured much nonsense that the “real” me would never even consider. But I did learn so much about sex, sexual politics and why I’m so glad to be back to the “real” me. Being a girly, girl may have gotten me some much needed bedroom experience, but its who I am now, and really always was deep down, that my current flames tend to appreciate currently. I can’t count how many times my most recent boyfriends have commented on how much they love that I can watch a football game without needing to ask what’s going on or that my strength and the fact I always know what I want is such a turn-on. They love that I’m just as sexy in a tee shirt and jeans as I am in a short skirt.

Now I’ve reached a point where I have absolutely nothing to prove. I can use my girliness like a toy, pulling it off the shelf when its necessary (or fun), then putting it back for safe keeping. My most powerful self, my most sexual self, IS the woman who takes no crap.

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