XOXOXO....Zzzzzzzz

I'm a prude. P-R-U-D-E. I always have been.

My first real boyfriend, who I actually hoped might "put the moves on" me, now has a boyfriend. I guess that explains his lack of eagerness, which is probably okay since in my 15-year old mind meant inter-digitated hand holding. Oh yeah. Regular strumpet over here.

My next romantic conquest came my junior year of high school. It was more of a "let's IM a lot but never really talk in person" relationship, but he was an absolute sweetheart, and I really should have been nicer to him. You see, that teddy bear was my first kiss, and it only happened one time during the course of a 7-month relationship.

I thought we moved very quickly since our first date was to see "The Ring," and it involved head-on-shoulder-type cuddling followed by a full-frontal hug. Oh yeah, Polka Dots, you're a hussy. I was ashamed of our fast pace, so the next few dates we maintained a steady cuddle plateau. Mr. Teddy finally worked up the courage to kiss me on date 7 or 8... man-whore. It was a brief tenth of a second, mouth-closed ordeal, yet it terrified me. At age 16 it was my first kiss.

The next time we hung out I was petrified that he'd try something a little more lingering, and as much as I liked him, I just wasn't sure exactly what to do with that, so I did what any self-respecting teenager would do... I played possum. Teddy was trying to introduce me (a Harry Potter aficionado) to the world of Lord of the Rings. There we sat in my basement in the dark on opposite sides of the couch as he inched ever closer. Was he going to try and make out with me??? I shuddered at the thought.

I had sequestered myself in a far corner of the sofa wrapped in a blanket when a genius idea hit me. He'd never kiss me if I was sleeping! Thus, I called upon my expert acting skills and fell into a gentle slumber complete with snuffles and grunts. As his curfew approached he tried to rouse me:
"Polka Dots?"
"Snnnnuffff"
"Hey, babe, I have to go."
"Mmmmm"
"Do you want to walk me out?"
"Saskjcxlskdare"
"Come on, let's go."
I stumbled sleepily up the stairs and led him out through the garage instead of the front door (the scene of our first X-rated scene - didn't want to give him any ideas). I clumsily side-hugged him (downgrade), and hurried (in a drowsy fashion) inside.

He stood there confused as I turned to go, and I felt truly guilty. I don't know why I had such a barrier up about physical contact. He was cute, sweet, funny, charming and wonderful. Needless to say our relationship didn't continue much longer. Ironically about a year after we broke up I realized my mistake and tried to reconcile, he had moved on, however - probably to a brazen whore who played tonsil hockey with abandon.

Of course the refusal to smooch recklessly is still firmly intact. At the age of 22 I can count on a single hand the number of males with whom my lips have come into contact. Now, though, instead of faking sleep, I break arms if I'm not interested.