I feel like I’ve written a lot about my dating life as of late. What I have not done is written a lot about sex. I originally didn’t write anything about sex because I was worried that a family member (any of them, really…) would read it and be… uncomfortable. I suppose I’m also moderately concerned that my family would judge me and look at me through a different set of eyes.
But whatever. We’re [almost] all adults here. People intercourse. Get over it.
I was a late bloomer. Really late. I mean, I had boobs by 14, but I had my first kiss at the age of 15. Not my first make out, my first kiss. Lots of people have that peck first kiss in kindergarten. Not this girl. This girl was 15. I actually lied and told the guy I was 16 and then he got really incredibly mad at me when he found out I lied, but whatever. I digress.
I don’t think I even SAW a penis until I was 17. It was years before I did anything with one. So it won’t really surprise you to know that I spent nearly all of my college career a virgin – and proud of it. Some people consider being called a virgin an insult or offensive. I wore it like a badge of honor. I wasn’t dating anyone seriously and I was happy to avoid all the emotional drama of sex.
Then one day something changed.
I’ve spent my entire life preaching the idea of being ready. There are ways to know you’re not ready: if you’re not comfortable buying condoms at a store, you’re not ready to have sex. If you’re not willing to go to the OBGYN doctor, you’re not ready to have sex. If you can’t say the words “sex” “penis” “vagina” without turning bright red, you’re not ready to have sex.
But I was ready. I don’t know why, but I felt ready.
So when my sorority had a dance, I invited a guy I thought was super attractive to be my date and mentally resolved myself to doing the sexytimes with him. I’d known him for weeks and he didn’t seem like a total dick. So, why not?
By the time the dance rolled around, entirely too many people were aware of my plans to end my state of virginity. It had become a joke. It had become a conversation topic.
The dance happened (it was fun, but it’s clearly not the point of this story) and then my date and I adjourned to my apartment. We drank a couple beers, watched some TV and began making out on the couch. I very smoothly requested that we change locations to my bedroom and continued to make out on my twin sized bed.
It happened so quickly.
You know that threshold where if you put 1% more effort into the kiss everyone will know and react because, clearly, it. is. on. ?? Well at that moment, I put all my effort in. If I am recalling correctly, he rolled me from my side to my back and kneeled over me in order to take off his shirt. He lifted my torso enough to tear mine off as well.
It all happened so quickly.
Soon I wasn’t wearing pants anymore. I was going to engage in coitus and I was ready. When we were both no longer clothed, and he was awkwardly hovering over me, I rolled over to my nightstand/bookshelf, opened a little purple caboodle style box, and pulled out the top condom without looking at the brand/make/model.
Caveat: since high school, I’ve always been in possession of condoms. Why? I was making sure that my friends who were having sex would never “wing it” because they didn’t have a condom. So the box on my bookshelf? FULL of condoms. All types, sizes, colors, and textures. Most of them I’d acquired at the student health center. So I was more than well prepared to give it up. But more on that later…
So anyway, I handed the condom to the guy knowing full well that he’d be better at putting it on than I would. Especially in the dark.
It all happened so quickly.
Within what felt like a second, I was no longer a virgin. I was moving semi-awkwardly along with him. I was silent. I was savoring the moment. The moment I took my sexuality into my own hands and did what I wanted with my body when I was ready to do it. I felt powerful. I felt sexy. I felt in control. I felt pride. And then? I felt nothing.
It all happened so quickly.
Literally. I remember thinking to myself “really? That was sex? That’s what I waited more than 2 decades for?” I also remember thinking to myself “what is that smell? Is my roommate baking??” But more on that later…
To his credit, it wasn’t a bad experience at all. There were good feels. There wasn’t any pain or blood (which I had been warned were common during a girls first time.) And when we were done he stayed close to me, but it became clear pretty quickly that my twin sized bed (with a built in head and foot board) wasn’t big enough for two people, one of whom was over 6 ft tall. We both got up, ripped the sheets, blankets and pillows off my bed and made a “bed” on the floor where we curled up and fell asleep.
The next morning, when we woke up, I pulled the ultimate cool girl move and told him:
“Just so you know, I don’t expect you to like…date me… or anything.”
Yep. That happened.
After I walked him out and he left, I cleaned up my room. Remade my bed with new sheets and threw out the condom wrapper when I started laughing so hard that I brought myself to tears.
My roommate wasn’t baking that night…we had used a banana flavored condom.
Don’t worry, he eventually found out he was my first (thanks to my friend.) We also have kept in touch a bit. Actually, in case he is reading this, you were very good and I’m happy you were my first.
Anyone else lose their virginity during a glorified one night stand? Anyone else ever use a flavored condom? Wait…does this explain why I am the way I am???