Until I was transferred to Gifted, my hat and gloves were confiscated daily, (...They probably would have taken my boots, too, but I guess they couldn't force me to run around barefooted...The School Board would probably have considered that bad form.) and I had to go to the School Office every day after class to retrieve them. (After my transfer, I got away with a lot more eccentricities as a "Gifted" student and no longer had to contend with the daily harassment.)

My familiarity with the Office came in handy halfway through the school year. My best friend, one of the gifted guys, and I got volunteered to organize student records for the last four years and the current year. We dived in and actually improved the mess that was. We worked from a list of things that all records were supposed to have included. If there were missing documents or information, we noted what was missing, and attached a note to the outside of the file and forwarded it to the office staff to complete. If there were additional items, a note was attached itemizing the additional articles, so someone else could decide if they stayed.

During our search, we, of course, found our own records. (No, we didn't go straight to them first.) I know that I've heard it, and other folks have heard that "something or other," "is going into your permanent record." I'm sure we all blew it off as bull. My friend and I discovered that there IS a permanent record. Neither of us having been in too much trouble over the years, we didn't expect to find much in our records. We did find the things that are supposed to be in there and a few extras: letters, test scores, etc.

In mine, we also found the original copy of my infamous "note." (Son-of-a-....!) That did clear up a curiosity item of mine. I had wondered how the folks at my brand new high school knew about my proclivity for writing, porn (snicker) or any other type of writing for that matter. It turns out that my "note" had earned me my "gifted" status and my entree into the creative writing class.

In the tenth grade, I wrote a little one-act play that had to be presented in class. (...Take a guess what form that play took...) My blankety-blank teacher insisted that I be cast as the main female lead. (I had paralyzing stage-fright.) During the play, I was forced to kiss (...my first kiss!...) the baddest boy in the class, (...He was a Senior, or should have been, held back a year...)a tall good-looking blond with a scary reputation, who initially was as frightened as I was. (He tried to make me laugh, smiled at me during rehearsals, and was very sweet and, what I thought at the time, romantic for the kiss scene. After the play was over, we never spoke to each other again.)

One of my most gratifying accomplishments was having written a One-Act play that was produced at the city's real Opera House. Most of my other achievements had to do with academics like the 100th percentile on tests, (...I asked a teacher to explain how that could happen. It simply means that who knows who and I got the highest but the same score...100% of those taking the test got a lower score than I/we did...) I earned a Merit Scholarship for highest SAT scores that year. (Had I not made some bad choices later, I would have graduated from UGA in two years and would have taught creative writing at one of their junior colleges.

During a discussion about time travel, I said if I could have avoided getting knocked up, I would have graduated college, had a career, etc., etc. Sometimes my husband totally surprises me. When I made that observation, my astute husband in a sincere moment, commented, "But you would never have met me...", and he was dead-serious and not kidding me. (...Sometimes he's so romantic and doesn't even know it...It was one of those so-sweet-that-I "got a lump in my throat"-moments...) That year I also earned an NEA Scholarship for poetry, etc.

Those same test scores earned me a trip to the Governor's Honors Program. That's where I developed my love of kissing, even over sex. I was the first ever Sophomore to go.

Again, we go time-hopping. My parents (...actually just my father...) were very strict. I was not allowed to date until I was eighteen. (...Fooled 'im and got pregnant before I was allowed to date [Ha, Ha!]...Like that's a great accomplishment...Number One Bad Decision of my entire life.) I literally got screwed by a classmate who thought he was a poet. In his first love note to me, he wrote that my eyes were "like honey in an oaken bucket." (...Yes, oaken, not oak...) And I was stupid enough to fall for his crap and his pretty face. (He looked like a young Val Kilmer.)

He's a Pisces male, born only hours before me. For those that know a little Astrology, you know that that means we were absolutely incompatible, too much alike. He was also THE consummate liar. (Doesn't say much for us Pisces females either, we're the "ho"'s of the Zodiac. Once we discover sex, we're pretty insatiable.) It all ended very acrimoniously anyway, with my entire family disgusted with him, and some of them, with me.

I will say this, he's the only man, boy, whatever, with whom I always reached orgasm. Except for our very disastrous first time (...just pain and a bloody mess...), he brought me to orgasm easily and every time. (The only good thing that resulted from that first time was my daughter...a one-night stand, and I was pregnant!) Soon my father made me go live with my "husband."

People still don't believe that the "poet" and I were never married...I found out that it's easy to prove you're married, but how the hell do you convince anyone that you're not?...I was kicked out of school, not for being pregnant, but for being married!...The poet got kicked out, too, for being married...Miss Martyr that I am, I tried to convince anyone/everyone that we weren't married, and that they had no right to kick him out. I would accept that I deserved it, 'cause I was knocked up. No one would listen. The two of us graduated in night school for the last six weeks of Senior year, with our day school grades. It's amazing that the renegade that I was managed to graduate second in my class!...and in the city.

With him actually in my life for the short year that we were together, it was admittedly, the most satisfying sex I've ever had. He'd always hold me by my hips whether I was in "mission," on top, doggy, or side-by-side, so he could always control speed and pressure. He'd kiss me very thoroughly during the entire event, and was very careful that I make it before he would finish. (Another weird anecdote: I always experienced the color blue every time I had an orgasm with him.) Although it sounds like it, I didn't influence him at all. He was definitely my first, (I was eighteen, believe it or not.) but I could not have been his first, 'cause he was too damned good! Too bad he turned out to be a total son-of-a-bitch.

(When I say that I didn't influence him, it's this part of my story that I'm referencing.) I learned my preferences, in what I understand now, was a more common occurrence than I thought at the time. I wasn't allowed to go on sleepovers to my friends' houses, but starting as early as the eighth grade, they were welcome at my house anytime, singly or in multiples. I don't know what went on at my friends' sleepover parties, but evidently word got around about what went on at mine, and I had friends seeking to stay over every night of the week, and once in a while more than one gal at-a-time.

All of us girls were One Direction or at least Harry Styles fans, and some had other crushes as well: Chris Pratt, Channing Tatum, Ed Sheeran, and weirdly, one of mine was Benedict Cumberbatch (...before he was Sherlock, or I had become JohnLocked...)  We'd take my writing one step further than the daytime efforts. We acted out the little stories that I'd write.

We didn't physically do anything beyond heavy petting, but we all learned some pretty varied and thorough kissing and petting. Though lovemaking was described, we never took it beyond some very sexy kisses. The closest we got to real sex, was learning female faces when "coming." (We all probably used those practiced responses when we were faking it in our real lives in later years.) For the male responses, I usually made an astonished face and moaning sounds and such. I'm still curious about how it feels for a guy. Maybe that's why I get gooey when my hero has an orgasm. I know what it feels like for a female, and I probably give short shrift to some of the feminine responses. (I guess since I'm in love with the hero, it makes me happier for him to be satisfied than myself. I'm always more pleased when my guy makes it than myself. When loving, most of my energy goes into pleasing him.)

We took turns being the guy, but a lot of the girls always wanted me to be the male, because my guy portrayals were much more sensitive, touchy-feelie, romantic, and vulnerable. (...Usually when I was the guy, I'd have my heart broken, and the girl had to heal my heart with her love. [snicker]...or I was an asshole who let the love of a good woman "save" me... Besides, I also had the best British accent...) As far as it went, I didn't mind being the guy, 'cause I got to teach kissing and petting, to suit what I really liked. After I taught someone something, then they had to use it on me. (I must have been male in a former life anyway. When I was very young, I had recurring dreams of being male.)

After a couple years of practice in bed at night, coming upon the real thing was beyond wonderful. As a Sophomore, I went away to College Summer Camp, called Governor's Honors. I was elected to attend for excellence in creative writing the second half, and languages the first half.

I learned Greek and Swahili that first term, or as much as one can absorb in six weeks. (My Guidance Counselor back home was grooming me to be a multi-language interpreter at the U.N, since among other small language offerings, I had already had one year of Spanish, a few weeks of German, a smattering of Portuguese, [...my mother's uncle spoke it to us as children...] and two years each of French and Latin...Believe it or not, I was actually considering following that interpreter thing as a career...(snort!]) The first  project of the summer was translating a Greek text into Swahili. (It wasn't nearly as much fun as I thought it would be.) I still love languages even now, but that experience ensured that wrote 'em off as a career.