44

Wagged classes. Scrappy hair. Smudged mascara. Heartbreak.
And so the tumultuous tales of boys to men begin.
The first crush begins it all.
The crush.
The obsession with boys.
The heartache.

Us girls began to read magazines way beyond our years, so we could sneakily read the sealed sections under the table in science class, trying to gain tips on how to give a better blow job, even though the mere thought alone of having a penis anywhere near our lips was enough to make us dry retch.

We would go to the library to read the human biology books designed specifically for the eyes of a male or female alone, so we could analyze and giggle at the diagrams of the male or female anatomy.

We would roll our skirts higher and put added padding in our bras, or just wear a bra when we didn’t even need one.

All this to give us more sexual appeal.
Why? So we could play under the table in math’s class? So we could brag to our friends about our sexual escapades with full detail, even when we never even kissed a boy, only read about how to in a magazine?

And what did it get us?
A name.
Slut.