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Coles Notes Memoirs

Do you ever wonder where it all began? How did I (or you) become the sexual creature I am today? Care to dip your toe into the tepid pond of my memories?

I will forever remember the day of my first venture into the world of sexuality. It was innocent enough and the smell of Royal Copenhagen will always evoke a strong physical response. He was a cute boy, but a vocal boy. A young girl just venturing into the realm of ‘down there’ isn’t prepared for what her actions might produce. So, when faced with the announcement of satisfaction one must quickly ponder, should I stay or should I go? I chose to go. The poor guy, left in the throws of passion to finish himself off because one teenage redhead hadn’t come to grips with her sexuality yet. I wonder how he remembers that day? Does he have any physical response when he smells the sweet scent of Bonne Bell Lip Smackers?

When one is fully engulfed in the sexual experimentation that comes with the physical innocence and active imagination of a teen, there has to be a venture into the shower with your best friend from high-school—right? I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s played out the shower scene both physically and mentally. Girls do look ever so lovely all soapy and wet. There’s nothing overtly naughty about the innocence of teenage girl-on-girl discovery (the dirty part comes later), but merely a revelation of comparison. Do my parts look like her parts? Does what I experience, look like, feel like, or taste like, compare to the Lara’s, Tara’s or Sarah’s of the world? (Names have been altered to protect the innocent).

My teenage innocence leads me fast and furious into adult jadedness. The teens are when some of my self-destructive behavior kicked in, but not before the purity of first love.

My first love left an indelible mark upon my being. It set the bar for what future encounters would be compared to. Is it fair? Absolutely not. Does it happen? Absolutely. Why? I blame the shiny newness of it all. Not only were we young and completely curious, but we had the bonus of stamina and very little adult supervision. Frolicking into the wee hours until the two of us were sweaty and spent, or staying up all night talking about how wonderful our future was going to be together. Either way, this stuff is great, but the trouble with first love is that it’s the beginning of something, and something with a beginning has to have an end.

I did mention this was going to be the Coles Notes version of my memoirs, right? On the journey so far we’ve skimmed through the sea of cheap cologne, the soap suds of my best friend and touched on the scar that was first love. At this point I would say we’ve hit the fork in the road—dark whole of “I’ll never love again” or the out of control sashay into the hell of promiscuity. Hmmm…what route shall I choose? Impure thoughts or impure actions? I’ll take Impure Actions for $200, Alex.

Enter the era of the double rye and coke (and keep ‘em coming). This was a fun time, a promiscuous time, and a time that can’t be gone into in much detail or else I’d be writing the next edition of War and Peace (or would that be Roses and Wax?)

Let’s just say, the tales from these adventures will reveal themselves in due time my pretties. Keep reading and the stories will be released like a tightly bound corset slowly being untied eyelet by eyelet.