Sex.

The word itself can be considered taboo. I remember when my parents sat me down to have “the talk” with me. I had to have been around eleven or twelve. I was home schooled, so I didn’t have the same pressures or other opportunities to have someone else tell me about sex as my friends. I guess I must have asked where babies come from, or they were thinking that mother nature would soon be knocking on my door, but they sat me down in the living room and explained to me the basic procedure of how babies are created. I remember being very curious. It’s funny to me now, because I prefer to never hear my parents talk about sex these days, but then, I wanted to know everything.

After the initial information had time to process I began to go back and ask more questions. I wasn’t so concerned about the how as much as I seemed to be interested in the why. I wanted to know what would drive two people to have this intimate encounter. I wish that I had known the right questions to ask though because nothing could prepare me for how much intimacy can affect you.

I was seventeen years old when I had my first kiss. Trust me, when you are seventeen, you feel as though you have waited a lifetime. I had liked guys before that, but for some reason guys were never all that interested in me. I had never even held hands with a guy before my first boyfriend. I hadn’t even had a “boyfriend” before my first boyfriend. At seventeen I was completely green to the whole aspect of relationships. I was slightly naïve when it came to my understanding of how relationships worked. I thought that the first guy I dated would be the guy I fell in love with and spent the rest of my life with. I look back now and that God that wasn’t the case, but I remember wanting to spend every moment with this guy.

Our first kiss was perfect. I honestly couldn’t have asked for a better first experience, but then that one kiss led to major make out sessions. I became somewhat addicted to that feeling you get when you are caught up in the embraces of someone you care about. I loved making out. I loved the way it felt to be kissed. I loved the way it felt to kiss someone else. I got caught up in it and I don’t think I was prepared for the fall out.

When we broke up I was devastated. I thought that it was the end of my world. I look back now and realize how dramatic I was being. Life hadn’t even begun for me. I was just starting. It took me quite some time before I kissed someone again. I remember thinking to myself that this guy was a really bad kisser. We only made out twice, and that was quite enough for me.

I wish that I had asked the right questions, because sometimes I feel like I’m lost and like I will never find my way back up.