Doing what is right by our American moral standards and laws is not always what our hearts and minds desire. We try to do what is “right” and what is considered “morally acceptable” by, we think, a majority of our society.

 

On the age of sexual consent, the legally defined age at which a person is deemed legally competent to consent to sexual activity, we vary from state to state though. Eleven states, including my state of Arizona, set the age at eighteen for people to have unrestricted sex. Eight states lower that age to seventeen and thirty-one states (including Washington, D.C.) drop the age of consent to sixteen years old (https://www.ageofconsent.net/states).

 

Readers of my blog or my friends on Facebook have probably already related the above to my situation with a lovely seventeen-year-old, who I call “Trouble,” and has recently expressed an interest in exploring her bi-curious inclinations with me. And, for the record, I have not encouraged nor participated in her experimentation.

 

It is difficult to reconcile my feelings, indeed my longings, when I stop to consider my behavior and sexual activities at seventeen. By then I had been sexually active for five years.

 

During my seventeenth year, I was a senior at Hollywood High in California. My sexual appetite was running wild and I did little to restrain myself. I did not want to hold back. I have little memory of being anything but sexually aroused every hour of every day.

 

One notable night that year I found myself in the company of four young men who were in Los Angeles with their college jazz band attending a competition of some kind. They were band geeks for sure but made great music, were sweet as can be and were virgins all. So, one at a time I fucked each of them, privately in a hotel room, as they were too shy to fuck me as a group. It was as funny as it was fun. I found that riding them cowgirl style was the best way to manage the logistics as they knew how generally how to go about fucking, but lacked any finesse or self-control. Even with warm, wet washcloths for cleaning up between the boys, I got through all four of them in just over an hour.

 

That same year I was in two lesbian videos, strictly amateur stuff. In one I was supposedly interviewing for a job and ended up licking the interviewer. In the other I was a babysitter caught masturbating on the job by the mother and received an over-the-knee spanking, groping, and fingering as punishment.

 

There were other not as daring exploits that year. I slept with the cutest dyke who was a stage manager at a small Los Angeles theatre. She was the ultimate tomboy who reveled in my tussling her short, short hair as she ate me. I dated a fifty-year-old film producer who let me play the spoiled baby girl and showered me with gifts.

 

And then there were the usual senior year things -- band banquet, prom, school musical, senior trip -- all of which involved sex in one form or the other with boys and girls. I thought it was normal and fun.

 

And that year I also traveled and sang with my father’s band. That resulted in a few trysts when I wasn’t on stage.

 

To put it simply, the year I turned seventeen was a wonderful mind-blowing, and eye-opening adventure. By California law, I shouldn’t have legally been allowed to enjoy the joy ride that was an important year of my sexual awakening.

 

But, despite the truth that a seventeen-year-old could embrace and enjoy sexual relations with an older woman, and even benefit from it, that behavior if revealed publicly, could ruin a career and a reputation.

 

I have to be good. And patient.