Getting the Hunger Younger

When a few delightful ladies gather together for a natter over a strong cup of the fine roast bean juice, it's almost a certainty that the topic of sex is never far from the table.
The housemates and I this afternoon, strayed onto rather disturbing ground, we discussed the disgusting, mortifying, perverse and often downright unbelievable subject of : First sexual encounters.
We cast our minds back to a time when you thought that to perform a blowjob was to purse your lips and blow down a willie, (or as Housemate B confessed, she had been tricked by her older, wiser, sister into believing that said blowjob was,'blowing air into a boys mouth until they fart') and recalled how we had all taken our first intrepid steps towards the big S-E-X.
These sexual tidbits were the start of it all, a slippery downhill slide, one hand job, some heavy petting behind the recycling bin and Bobs your uncle the cherry was popped. I'm sure there was more to it at the time, but it all seems so hazy years on.

All sorts of interesting stories came to light, including one from Housemate C who had been to school with a couple of girls with rather interesting pasttimes, one enjoying a dabble downstairs with a wooden spoon and the other who preferred to use a rolled up newspaper covered in clingfilm. Whatever floats your boat.

However, the conversation soon took on a slightly more serious tone as we realised, looking back almost a decade to these little misadventures, just how very young we were at the time. Between the ages of 13 and 15 we had all lost our 'innocence' and were moving into quite an adult world of emotional involvement, potential pregnancies and very importantly, the sex associated health risks which come as part of the package.

I could never understand at the time why the parentals had so protested my older boyfriends, couldn't possibly have forgiven them sneaking a peak at my diary (leading to an interesting incident involving my dad, a crowbar and some delightful threats in the name of preserving his little angels goodness, but thats another story altogether) and the curfews, well, at the time, I could have just blown my top over the matter.

At the age of just 22, I am already fully aware that I would, without doubt, follow in my parents footsteps if the time ever came that I should have to suffer the 'coming-of-age' daughter.
These acts of unconditional love performed in the hope that when your Beloved's hormones settle, her fairweather friends fall by the wayside and the teenage angst subsides, she too will look back, smile fondly, and feel thankful that she was never allowed to fall too far off the rails.