I used to be afraid of my boobs

Note: This entire entry is TMI. You have been warned.

On January 8th of the year 2000, I began dating a boy. It had taken him almost four months of nightly phone calls and daily group lunches for him to screw up the courage to "ask me out" and it was the most awkward conversation of my life. Earlier that day I had admitted to our joint friend that I liked him too and she couldn't hang up fast enough to go dish with him. And then, then...the phone call. Let's relive it, shall we? -

Scene: My bedroom. I am wearing nothing but a towel, my wet hair dripping down my back and I am running late for my friend's birthday dinner. My mom enters and hands me the phone.

We: *exchange the heys and what's ups of most teenage conversations*
Him: So, Friend F called me earlier and told me...
Me, interrupting: Yeah, uh, I know, she told me she was going to call you...
Him: So, I mean, would you...do you...
Me, interrupting: Oh, I know what you are going to ask. Um, look, I'm running late for Friend S's dinner thing, I think I...can I tell you my answer tomorrow?
Him: Oh, um, yeah, sure, if you need.
Me: Great, bye!

And then we dated for almost 6 years. He was my first love, my first heartbreak and my first...well, you know. It took us over three months to make out, almost a year for me to let him get to second base and I believe I gave him an impassioned speech on afternoon about why I thought oral sex was a horridly disgusting idea and should never be attempted (never say I don't admit when I'm wrong!). It was two years before we slept together. I thought it was scandalous that we fooled around in his car on my weekends home from college. I liked it all, don't get me wrong, but there was always a feeling of, "maybe I'm a skank! Should I not be doing this with him?"

The point of this post? Today I sat down and seriously plotted out a scheme to start booty calling my most recent ex. Who is this woman I've become, scheming for one night stands with mentally unavailable men? And, more importantly, why don't I care? Why am I still so glad to be rid of the 15 year old girl who thought she would get in trouble for kissing her boyfriend with tongue outside of her high school? Thinking devious thoughts about seducing guys shouldn't make me feel empowered, should it?

Food for thought while I talk myself out of texting my ex and telling him how much I want to do all the things to him that my teenage self fled from in terrified disgust. I really just want to take her by the hand and tell her, "There, there. Try it...you'll like it."