Mad Atoms

I was four-years-old back in '82 when my parents took me and my brothers (seven and nine, respectively) to see "Porky's." I distinctly remember a young Kim Cattrall howling like a she-wolf in heat while getting boned by the assistant coach. I made a mental note to learn some animal mating calls for future "make believe" purposes. Seriously, why did my parents bring three little kids to see an R-rated sex comedy?

Dad: "We thought it was a Porky Pig movie!"

Mom: "Your father wanted to see it and you refused to leave! What could I do?"

Pass the popcorn, Mom. This sexy sneak preview to a post-pubescent future was the likely root of my hyper-sexuality, and here's what followed...

Nursery school: I kissed my first boyfriend during nap time. He was a year older than me -- the teacher's son, in fact. We pulled our mats to the back of the room, hid under a blankey and smooched. Joseph Jr. was half black, which set the skin-tone for years to come. Post-college, I dated a few more half-black guys, including Keenan and Marlon. They were not Wayans brothers. However, I am very pro-Obama.

Kindergarten: I staged a real-life adaptation of the classic French film "Jules et Jim" by flitting back-and-forth between two boyfriends, Kenny and Jesse. Kenny was a blond golden boy, meanwhile Jesse constantly had snot running from his nose. I still love those hygienically-challenged Euros.

First grade: I shared a boyfriend with my best girl friend. We both kissed him on the lips (me first). Ironically, our first menage-a-trois occurred on a swing set. Obviously I have been fascinated by "the lifestyle" ever since. Real Sex 16: Take three!

Second grade: I refereed an indoor recess Lego building competition amongst the boys. The winner scored a glimpse of my "non-entitties." Also, my brothers taught me how to steal The Playboy Channel, and then I taught my friend Rachel’s older brother the trick. In retrospect, I now understand what the Vaseline jar on his night stand was all about.

Third grade: My family moved. At my new school, I was a friendless nerd, but I didn’t care. I was happy at home watching Skinemax alone on a Friday night. Consequentially, I may have humped a plush panda bear and given birth to a stuffed Garfield doll wearing a Christmas sweater.

Fourth grade: I regularly crank-called a bad-ass 10th grader named Sean who my one friend’s slutty neighbor used to make out with in the woods. I told him my name was Sandra, that I was sixteen and had double-D boobs. Somehow he eventually traced the call and started badgering me for phone sex. That’s when I told him, sorry, I’m only ten and I’m wearing a training bra. He was still interested.

Fifth grade: I finally infiltrated the popular crowd and experienced my first French kiss while watching "Turner and Hooch" at the local cineplex. Ar-ar-arooo!

I soon followed that up with a hot and heavy make-out session behind the mess hall, against the dumpster, with some other girl’s date to the camp social. I was officially a dirty little slut. In comparison, junior high was a vast desert of chastity. It wasn’t until high school that things got frisky again, but that’s another era...

Despite these questionable formative experiences, I turned out pretty normal—except for my lingering furry fetish. Will someone please take me on a trip to Euro-Disney?