Seventeen

There was a rumor going around when I was in junior high that I wasn’t going to get my period til I was seventeen. Kids are so cruel. At the age of twelve, I was way behind all the other girls at school in regard to physical maturity ( most likely emotional maturity too ). I didn’t have any breasts. I didn’t have any hair down there. And I didn’t have a clue why girls my age would be the least bit interested in kissing boys. Gross. This complete non interest in men continued through high school. While the girls kept getting bigger, I stayed the same. It sucked. I remember wearing this lace camisole under my tops so that the other girls wouldn’t see my puny pathetic chest. I tried so hard to hide it.
 
At some point my nickname became “cleav”, as in NO CLEAVAGE. ( BTW … It stands to reason that I have been utterly fascinated with breasts my whole life and finally got implants at the age of 35 ).
 
Not surprisingly, I never had a boyfriend or dated in high school. The hormonal bedrock just wasn’t there. Friends would often comment and tell me how lucky I was. I could have sex and never ever have to worry about getting pregnant. What my friends failed to recognize of course, who on earth is going to have sex with a girl who looks and feels like a boy???
 
When I finally got my period, I was seventeen and a senior. I was with my girlfriends that night. We were drunk and stoned. I went to the bathroom, saw blood, and thought I was dying. Laughing, they said … “It’s your period, dummy.” My initiation into womanhood, at seventeen. Finally.
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