I wonder if my tits are the reason for an underage relationship?

Like a gazillion years ago I was a soccer player. Pretty freaking good actually. All through my teens I played at a high level, and when I was 20 I was blessed with a scholarship to a college in the United States.

Now, it wasn’t a ‘full-ride’ or anything, and I still had to actually attend class to play, but it was something and to this day I still make sure to mention this little tidbit to anyone who remotely mentions anything regarding soccer; need to buy shin pads for your 4 year old's 1^st soccer game? Hey, did you know I was on soccer scholarship when I got pregnant with my first child? Your neighbors 14 year old kicked a soccer ball into your hard and *GASP* it ruined your flower bed? Hey, did you know that when I was 13 I tried out (and MADE) the Provincial Soccer Team?

You get my point. I’m super proud.

From 13 years to 16 years I played with some pretty talented girls. Some have gone on to play for the Canadian National Team, others for professional leagues around the world, but I chose a life of marriage and children and gave up my dream of playing soccer. I guess I could still play, but extra pounds and bunk knees prevent me from playing anything higher than a recreational level, and my stubborn attitude refuses to accept mediocre soccer without screaming my face off and well, getting my ass-kicked by a 40 yr old woman with cankles doesn’t appeal to me.

Wait, I MIGHT BE THAT 40 YR OLD WOMAN WITH CANKLE SOMEDAY.

I have some fond memories and not so fond memories (I will not re-hash those years where I was an emotional target for bitchy girls who liked to make others cry) but the other day I was reminded of one such memory that, at the time, was humiliating, but now seems almost foreshadowing. Ill explain that part later.

At 15, traveling was new to the junior soccer world. I mean, we traveled across the Province to kick the shit out of local teams because we were THAT awesome, but traveling longer distances than a few hours wasn’t something we did very often, if at all. That year, we were fortunate enough to fund-raise enough money (I WILL NEVER SELL ANOTHER TRAIL MIX BAG DOOR TO DOOR NO MATTER WHAT MY CHILDREN NEED TO RAISE MONEY FOR)  to take us to New York and Boston.

We were 36 hormonal 14 and 15 year old girls and 3 VERY male coaches. And I think there were some parent volunteers. I don’t remember them being there, but I am sure the ratio of adults to kids HAD to be better than 1:12. Especially male to female.

But I digress…

Despite being there to kick some American soccer playing ass, we also were able to enjoy some down time with tours, shopping, and the beach. On one such outing, we were taken to the famous Jones Beach. 

 You think that wave is high? Well it was. And I went swimming in it. Ok, maybe not that particular one, I stole that image off the website, but trust me…the waves that day were just as high.

Now, at 15, you wear a bikini. It’s just the way it was. And is. And always will be. When you have a body like that, you flaunt it. Especially when your Mother isn’t around to chase you with a towel to cover you up. Pretty sure I purchased that bikini in New York because my Mother wouldn’t have let me take a suit like that.

This is probably what my Mom had in mind

This is pretty similar to what I wore. And no, even at 15 my body wasn't THIS hot

 It’s probably not going to be news to you, but wearing a bikini and swimming in waves like that = not a good idea.

So, unbeknownst to me, as a huge wave crashed over me AS I WAS SWIMMING CLOSE TO MY SOCCER COACH, my top decided to go with it. And I was left standing there, pretty much naked (and not knowing it for at least 15 seconds).

My Coach was 23. And somewhat hot.

I was 15. And somewhat well-endowed.

The foreshadowing? He eventually married one of the girls on our team. In fact, some say that trip was when things ‘started’. I wonder if it had anything to do with my tits in face.