Vermont, continued

And what is it about sex that makes everyone so insane about the topic? Why is a girl's sexuality seen as a finite commodity, one that can run dry if tapped too soon? Aren't we women like maple trees, producing an abundance of sugar regardless of whether or not we've been tapped before?

Granted, one doesn't tap a sapling. A tree shouldn't have more than three taps at a time. But the idea that women are harmed by early or frequent sexual expression makes as much sense to me as, well, most things my mother believes to be true. I don't think I was "damaged" by my backseat adventures. Sure, I had my heart broken, and I wrote some bad poetry. But that's not damage - that's life. Like the Vermont maple, my tap-marks heal over, and I am a wellspring of sugar, an inexhaustible fountain of the sweet, sticky syrup of life.