Note to my regular readership: If you’re just here for the sex, there’s a juicy tidbit at the end of the post. Although, you’ll be missing out on lots of Minxiness if you skip straight there. I’m just saying is all.
It’s odd that the older I get, the happier I feel. Generally speaking, of course.
Maybe it’s because over the course of my life, the pursuit of happiness has come to mean much more to me. Especially as, during that time, I’ve experienced the requisite pains and miseries of life with which happiness can be compared.
I am fortunate enough to have had a happy childhood. Not that I have nothing to complain about. No, no. My therapist could spin you a tale or two that would stand your hair on end. (Of course, then she’d be struck off and I’d have to exact murderous revenge on her and her family. But hey – life has drawbacks, sister, suck it up.) But I was happy, generally. Warm comfortable home, warm comfortable parents, a sister I with whom I was alternately best friends and spitting enemies but always loved very much.
And happiness continued until puberty hit.
Now I’ve always been blonde, and I’ve always been what a certain person refers to politely as “a big girl”. I’m currently 14 kilo smaller than I was about 4 months ago – which is about the smallest I’ve been in over 8 years – and I continue to reduce as I speak… And busty. Oh yes. A most splendiferous chest area. Yes boys, you may drool…
So, no Skinny Lizzie this Minx. Oh no.
As a teenager, I was not – to quote a male friend from then – “the kind of girl that boys go out with”. And once this fact was made clear to me – in no uncertain terms – puberty started to seriously suck.
Looking back, I seriously wonder why I just accepted this state of affairs. Why is skinny and pretty the only pre-requisite for dating between the ages of 13-16? Why did I have to rely on my wit and comedic talents in order to have any friends at all? And even then, why did I find myself (as a quite-shy-underneath-all-the-hilarity, overweight girl) on the receiving end of mean and obnoxiously immature teasing by 2 nasty, bitchy, sub-intelligent no-chinned wonders called N and M? (Who shall, naturally, be cursed by the ‘Thing’ of Minx and all Minxy members in perpetuity.) And who are, I hasten to add, so much more pathetic and unhappy and less successful than I am today (yes, even with all my woes – nobody knows the troubles I see…) that I’m almost inclined to believe in a higher power.
At 16 I had my first serious boyfriend (D). D was incredibly good-looking, charming, sweet, talented and hot stuff on the dance floor. He had several other girlfriends after me before coming out as a gay man at the age of 19. Incidentally, D is now living in the States with his long term partner. I don’t know if he married but he might have, he did live in San Francisco for a long time.
But I remember parading him in front of my then friends with such pride. This guy was gorgeous! And he wanted – YES, HE VOLUNTARILY WANTED – to be with me. Eat shit, assholes. It was an ego boost that every overweight and not-conventionally-pretty 16 year old girl should have. It did wonders for my self-confidence.
And it got better and better from then on. At 18 I discovered my sexuality. Heterosexual sex, and lots of it, in case you hadn’t noticed. Not that I rule out any other kind of experience…
On my year out between school and university, I had many dates, boyfriends, one-nighters (consenting), and yet the penny still didn’t drop as to why on earth I’d want to remain “in” with the crowd of friends I had back then. None of these partners were from among their ranks. Among them I was still this pariah. Jerks.
It took several boyfriends and 3 hell-raising years at college to realise that these “friends” were people I had to let go. They’d let me go already, I was just hanging on for dear life, out of fear that I’d never find any other friends. How wrong can a person be?
It’s the whole letting go of a situation thing. I’ve never been very good at it. It always seems to be something that I drag out over a period of time, in order to lessen the pain. But hey, whatever works, right?
This is just a bit of background on me, pre-Minx. But since I know the calibre of the people reading – and the voyeurism that they regularly exhibit (god bless ’em, they make my life worthwhile!) – I will throw in the following juicy tidbit before I close.
I lost my virginity at age 21.
My (then) boyfriend (S) and I finally did it in his bedroom, down the hall from his parents. They knew I was staying with him and had no problem with that, but old habits die hard so it still wasn’t a big grunt-and-scream event for either of us. S was a beautiful man, patient and kind and sweet, and he looked like a downscaled version of a Greek god. Finely muscled, broad shoulders*, six-pack stomach, narrow hips and a cock so hard he could have poked a hole in the wall.
Unfortunately, on this occasion, I didn’t take advantage of any of this to its fullest extent, I was more concerned with just doing the deed, and casting my virginity away like yesterday’s pizza. I was 21, for god’s sake! There are only so many times you can laugh along with the jokes in the college bar without blushing and falling uncharacteristically silent. My friends were all very encouraging and had left me with quantities of advice on enjoyment, prolongment and technique – none of which I could remember.
It’s a bizarre memory, notable for the clarity with which I recall it, and the humour that accompanies it. I remember the lead up thinking “oh my god. I can’t believe I’m finally doing this. It. Wow.” Then that split-second of pain, closely followed by S groaning, cumming and collapsing.
And me lying there, thinking: “That was IT?! THAT??!! Fuck, I hope it gets better with practice…”
And of course, as you all well know… it has.
Be well, y’all…
* Note: Well-defined and sexy shoulders can cause the Evil Minx to get off a bus at the wrong stop and follow a complete stranger home. And I use this example on purpose. A pair of gorgeous shoulders can intoxicate me and addle my brain faster than a large gin and tonic…
[Note: Of those 35 or so people in my crowd, I’m still in touch with 2. And both of those people are and were never the kind to “dis” a Minx.]