Oh, I totally expected all my crushes and the one brief actual romance I had in middle and high school to last forever. In fact, I had fewer crushes than most girls, because I tended to stick to the same one for several years, thinking there was some inherent virtue in fidelity and loyalty, even when the object of my constancy didn't know I was alive or wished I'd stop following him like around like a puppy.

Unfortunately, I didn't outgrow that particular stupidity, and the related belief that you had to always "like" someone, until I was 23 or so....

I sort of did that too, Susan, not consciously, but because once I feel "like that" about somebody, I find it hard to shake.My personality has several terrier-like aspects in it.

My personality has several terrier-like aspects in it.

But the affinity for a studded collar and leash go over well in this group.

Woof, woof.(And licking. Lots of licking.)

If you've got a 13-year-old capable of making an intelligent decision about sex, sure, go for it.

When I was 12, I thought I was ready for sex. I was very sure about this.

I cannot begin to describe how much I was not a full adult at twelve. Twelve was the year I started to become an adult, but I was a baby adult. I was not a full grown-up, in readiness-for-sex maturity or any other kind of maturity. I didn't have a full conception of self, yet; and I didn't realize I didn't have it. I was so out of tune with everything.

Sex with other twelve-year-olds, OK. Sex with Ingrid, the girl in my class I loved obsessively and unrequitedly, specifically: sure! Why not. Fun. OK.

But... You know, I've never understood people who said "I'm not ready for sex". I've tried, but I've been unable to understand that viscerally as anything but a coding for "I'm afraid of sex". Because the notion that someone might be a fully-mature being, or mature enough to be able to see themselves as a not-fully-mature being, and not think, Okay, sex now! The reason I say that I wasn't ready to have sex at twelve is that, hey, at twelve I was a discombobulated mess. I didn't know myself coming or going; I had no actualized idea of self. I barely knew what I actually looked like. I fantasized nearly daily about sex, or love, or a relationship-- not just the physical details of sex, the body parts and the nerve endings, but simply having someone that would sit next to me, touch the back of my neck, trace the skin on my stomach as we lay together on the bed in the dark. But a lot of this was bound up in my conception of myself as an adult, a full and viable being, whereas I really...

really...

Dear Lord. I'm not going to finish this post, because it's turning into Baby-Lizard-is-a-fucked-up-ex-person, isn't it. I was about to type, quite innocently, that I wasn't a "real" person, an okay person, but instead a child, who must really still beg excuses for her not-grown-up mind; and the arrogance of thinking that I was complete and valid, whereas I really was not.

Okay! Shutting up now.

Why do you think it has to be about fear?

You know, I've never understood people who said "I'm not ready for sex". I've tried, but I've been unable to understand that viscerally as anything but a coding for "I'm afraid of sex".

I'd say that being afraid of sex is a pretty good indication that someone isn't ready for it.

Not being ready for sex can also be about understanding the possible consequences (from STDs to pregnancy to locker room gossip) of sex and knowing enough about yourself to see what you can and can't handle.

Yeah, but "afraid of" is subset of "not ready". I know there are people who would, quite justifiably, bristle if I challenged them with that. Which I won't. Because I know it's not right.

Why do you think it has to be about fear?

Oh, that was a thought that never went anywhere, because I stopped in embarrassment. I had meant to say, eventually, that I can't understand, intellectually or viscerally, what those people mean-- which is not to say that they're then WRONG, just that I've got something blocking my understanding of them-- because I can't understand being able to both *be* mature enough to *know* the limits of your own maturity, and *not* be mature enough for sex. They're bound up inextricably, in my mind, in a knotty pile of assumptions and history.

This was just a self-indulgent-type post.

cereal:

knowing enough about yourself to see what you can and can't handle.

See, yeah, my brain just freaks out at that. It goes, contradiction! (And dismisses the STD/pregnancy risks of sex as things that can be worked around-- working with a slightly looser definition of "sex".)

I did originally have some point I was trying to make, about young teenagers and sex and fragility and self-recognition, but halfway through I realized I was just insane, myself, and so posted anyway. Because I'm, I don't know. An exhibitionist.