If you haven’t had a look at your calendar lately, let me remind you that today is the last day of April. Which means it is also the last day to make donations to The Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network (RAINN) on behalf of the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008. I’d like to personally thank those of you who took the time to read my GBBMC posts and also those who offered words of support and encouragement in response to my last story.

And remember, just because the GBBMC ‘08 is coming to a close doesn’t mean you can’t continue to support RAINN’s cause. Thanks again for helping to make a difference. I hope we’ve done Carly proud!

DONATE TO RAINN HERE. If you’re feeling especially generous, please mention the GBBMC:08 and my name & blog in the “donation in honor of” field. Thanks for your support!

Alright, I expect some of you are thinking, What’s up with the password protected post?

When I first read about GBBMC 2008, I knew I had to participate. Not because I was part of the first one. Not because there’s some sort of prize. Not because I like to write about sex (in fact, I’m way outside my comfort zone in that respect). I knew I needed to be a part of GBBMC 2008 because of the cause.

And because of the story below.

Now, as for the super-secrecy, I apologize. The post shares a story that I’ve revealed to only two people in my life and even then, just in snippets. I’m not exactly anonymous here, and I don’t think that I’d want all the people I know in real life to stumble upon the story.

Plus knowing that people can read only if I let them means I can be more open and honest.

Makes sense?

If you want to read, please leave me a comment or email me and I’ll send you the password. Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to make the story completely public. But for now, baby steps.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Update: I’ve been informed that with the password protection on, there’s an issue leaving or viewing comments. Because the privacy settings are being such a pain in the ass, I’m going to leave the story public until the end of the month (I think I can cope for a couple of days). Sorry for all the inconvenience!

This post is part of the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, and is meant to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN).

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Before I start sharing the stories of my adult years, let’s take a break to look at some numbers.

My current age: 27

# of guys I “went out” with: 2

# of guys I dated: 8

# of guys who didn’t make it past the first date: 3

# of guys weeded out after the second date: 2

# of guys who found it necessary to share stories of past lovers: 5

. . . firearms: 2

. . . his pet rat: 1

Age at which I acquired my first boyfriend: 13

# of “relationships” I’ve had (anything over a month long): 5

. . . that arguably meant anything to either party: 3

Shortest relationship: 3 months

Longest relationship: 5 years

# of guys I’ve kissed: 5

. . . with tongue: 4

. . . and meant it: 2

Age at which I had my first kiss: 18

# of guys I’ve “fooled around” with: 4

. . . and didn’t later regret it: 2

# of guys to “round all the bases,” if you will: 1

Age at which I lost my virginity: 24

# of novenas my mother said while desperately hoping I’d save myself for marriage: 9,735,256,001

# of days it took her to get over my corruption: 1

. . . and begin asking me for grandchildren: 1.0001

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

DONATE TO RAINN HERE. And if you’re feeling especially generous, please mention the GBBMC:08 and my name & blog in the “donation in honor of” field. Thanks for your support!

This post is part of the Grassroots Blogger Book Marketing Campaign 2008, and is meant to generate donations for The Rape Abuse and Incest National Network (RAINN).

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jared was about as accurate as the Psychic Friends Network. My freshman year of high school I had braces and glasses, I was still shopping for clothes in the children’s department at Caldor, I wasn’t yet tall enough to ride roller coasters, and my “breasts” barely filled an A cup bra.

Oh yeah. I was a heartbreaker.

For the duration of freshman year, a group of upperclassman referred to me as “Mouse.” I acted as if the nickname was a term of endearment, even though it was clearly delivered as a taunt and I had overheard the ringleader explain to someone, “Cause, you know, she’s just such a mousy little thing.”

I was well on my way to earning the title of “Least Likely to Get Laid.” And then things got weird.

In the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, the boob fairy finally came to me. Perhaps due to the extended wait time, she decided to be generous. I went to sleep a girl with a roomy A cup bra and woke up needing a 36C.

I suppose I should have been excited about becoming a woman. I mean, yeah, my mom hadn’t really sat me down to talk to me about it, but I had read Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. Yet there I was, inhabiting a whole new body I wasn’t comfortable in. I was scared. Suddenly I had huge sweater kittens and bled from the genitals. Judy Blume couldn’t prepare me for that.

If the kids at school noticed my transformation, they didn’t say anything. Not to my face anyway. However, I did finally wind up with my first (and only) high school sweetheart. We smashed our whirlwind romance into the last few weeks of sophomore year. He called me a couple times to talk about cats and homework. I think he held my hand on the way to the cafeteria once. And he bought me a cookie. In retrospect I suppose it’s not quite what you picture when you think of horny teenagers. My peers were having abortions. I was having . . . chocolate chips.

At the time I didn’t find it at all unusual. After all, my friends were virgins. As far as I knew, I wasn’t any different than anyone else. Of course, I had no real knowledge about sex, I had never experienced arousal, and I still had yet to kiss a boy. But you know, other than that, totally typical.

I nearly missed my junior prom. My mom called in a favor and had the neighbor’s son take me. It was possibly more humiliating than staying home.

I skipped the senior semi-formal . . . after getting shot down by two guys.

In fact, the only one who seemed to show any real interest in me during my high school years was one of the vice-principals. I had never even really met him but once, and I would have preferred to go my entire high school career without knowing him. The week before graduation the valedictorian and I spent our afternoons practicing our speeches with our English teacher. I vividly remember sitting on a desk waiting for my classmate one day when the vice-principal came in to speak with the teacher. I recall little of the conversation, only that while my instructor’s back was turned as he rummaged through a file cabinet, the creepy vice principal sidled up to me and caressed my face. It was so unexpected and unwelcome that I nearly fell off my seat.

That one small incident bothered me tremendously, probably more than it should have. But I had never had anyone touch my cheek before, and there was something eerily intimate about the gesture. There was more to it too. A little seed of sadness began to grow inside me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I connected the bit of attention with my new body and fought back dread that this was only the beginning.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

DONATE TO RAINN HERE. And if you’re feeling especially generous, please mention the GBBMC:08 and my name & blog in the “donation in honor of” field. Thanks for your support!