Copyright; Elizabeth Loring, August 12, 2006. All Rights Reserved. (No part of this story may be reproduced for any reason without explicit written permission from the author. Do not remove this copyright statement.)
THE BACKGROUND
Every woman needs to know her husband's body better than her own. If she doesn't, she won't keep him. It's part of the second law of nature but it isn't published in any scientific book. First comes self-survival, next comes reproduction. In my brain is where the "map" to my husband's body is filed; right behind "mental;" because sex is 90% mental; and because my plan was to drive my husband nuts. Getting to know a man's body, I call "mapping."
For some unknown reason, the male animal wants a virgin for a mate. Yet before he decides to "settle down" he eliminates as many women as possible from this category. Not that he turns non-virgins down; quite the contrary, he pursues this sub-species of female extremely aggressively. But the deflowering of a virgin is his special calling; and most males keep accurate counts of this type of conquest.
My husband was different than the rest of the male animals when it came to choosing a mate. Virginity wasn't a required necessity; thankfully, for me. For if it was, I'd been low on his list of choices.
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My sexual activity began when I was almost 16. Like all others, it started with a single kiss; that "gateway act" to all kinds of carnal endeavors. During the next year and a quarter my appetite cautiously grew until one night, in the backseat of a car, when I was a bit past 17, I was completely taken; added as a notch on some man's belt and immortalized in his list of remembered conquests. A few months later, I was conquered by another, after that another, then another. Seven different men invaded me by the time I turned 18. But it was the eighth man that really got to me. With him, I learned how much I loved to fuck.
Maybe it was that we were alone, finally able to lie naked together in a place, his apartment, where we were sure to be undisturbed. Sex was different than when engaged in on secluded lovers' lanes or in alleyways in the backseat of a car, always on the alert for passing vehicles or pedestrians, always anxious that someone might see us. Maybe it was my strict Jewish upbringing that I rebelled against. Maybe it was the fact I hated school and loved to paint. At close to 25-years ago, the reasons blend into lies and excuses and can't be separated. For whatever the cause, I left Los Angeles with this man, months more than four years my senior, and moved with him to Seattle.