I remember my mom telling stories about my grandma, that she was the “go to” mom for her circle of friends. If they had questions about anything — menstruation, breast size, boys, penises —my grandma was there to answer questions. Maybe this made it easier for me to ask my mom about things—I just always knew I could. I still explored in private, read things I probably shouldn’t have, explored bodies with friends, but my mom was there and available. I babysat for someone who had a subscription to Playboy, so I read columns and looked at pictures. Certain “steamy” books made the rounds in junior high school and I read those. I vividly recall those butterflies in my stomach and genitals and while I probably couldn’t have identified them as arousal, I just wondered. I didn’t feel ashamed at all, I just knew those were feelings I didn’t have all the time. Certain boys took my breath away and made my heart beat faster, but moving to three different places in high school kept me from dating much. I was an athlete—not so attractive at that point in time—the guys ogled after the cheerleaders, not the basketball players. Bottom line, I was kind of a late bloomer.