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My guy and I were sitting around one night, sharing stories from our past. The conversation turned to talk about our sexual experiences, and we regaled each other with tales from our misspent youth.

I grew up in the San Fernando Valley, in Southern California, a regular "Valley Girl". It was the 80's as well, and my opportunities were bountiful. I shared some fun stories with my husband, and we took turns trying to top each other with our experiences. It was fun!

We sat on the couch, sipping cocktails, and I began to tell my tale. "Once I was walking home from high school, and a van pulled up next to me, asking if I needed a ride. Even though it was after the Manson era, and the Hillside Strangler roamed the canyons where I lived, it was also a time of free love, and partying. As I looked into the van, I could see that there was only one person in it, the driver of course, and he was a fairly cute surfer looking dude with a fuzzy blonde afro. I accepted, and we drove on, making small talk, getting to know each other. We turned off of Ventura Blvd. And headed up into the hills where I lived. Before we got too close to my house, I suggested that he pull over to the curb, so we could talk some more. Well, talking led to kissing, and I am reminded how easy it was back then to have sex without judgment or questions, for I had a lot of it."

"I remembered not being that attracted to him, and deciding right then that I would not give him my number if he asked. But it didn't stop me ...

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