My first time was on a plush king-size bed, surrounded with rose petals from the garden. An assortment of vibrant shades of scarlet, delicate pinks and lustful crimsons surrounded our bodies as two became one. We stared deeply into each other’s eyes as we moaned in ecstasy. Twenty-three minutes later, I breathlessly cried his name as we both came in unison, our limbs so entwined that it was a challenge to distinguish my own arms from his.
Just kidding. The first time I had sex there was a strange, unfamiliar boy joining us in the room. The only thing blocking him from seeing us awkwardly swap virginities was a bed sheet push-pinned to the opening of the split-double Syracuse dorm room. It was romance at its finest. Starting with an audience was a probably bad idea. Call me an exhibitionist, but nothing quite compares to knowing there’s another pair of ears listening to my cherry popping whimpers.
That maiden voyage is bound to hit some rocky seas. But a little prep-work would have served as a trusty life raft. Personally, I was bombarded with abstinence-only education my entire life. If my parents had even the foggiest idea that I’m no longer a virgin (much less the sex columnist) I’d be burned at the stake for my whole small town to see. I’d picked up some second-hand information here and there from friends, but my general understanding of sex was pretty rudimentary. I had never even seen a condom before I had taken off all my clothes and decided to give in to my carnal side. All things considered, it was a pretty decent 45 seconds.
After some casual story swapping about v-card giveaways over the years, I’d say that, in comparison, I was pretty damn lucky. Allow me to paint a picture of what, I’d have to say, tops the charts of virginity-losing horror stories. It starts out pretty typical: teenage girl decides to have sex with her high school boyfriend. They’re in love; the timing couldn’t be more perfect. They have sex for the first time but something just doesn’t feel quite right to her. I mean, it hurt a lot, but that’s normal, right? She chalks it up to first time discomfort, but three passionate love making sessions later things still haven’t improved. Turns out, anal isn’t her favorite sex act. I can only speak from the female side of this, but not much about the first time is particularly pleasant — and that’s if he gets it in the right hole.
According to global surveys, the average age for deflowering is 17.3 years old, conveniently in the midst of adolescent awkwardness. Chances are, in the room of every experimental teenage couple, there’s a high school calculus book just waiting to be flung off the bed.
I have lots of college friends, however, who still remain virgins. Most don’t necessarily object to sex, but that trustworthy guy/girl just hasn’t appeared yet. I know people who lost it five years ago, I also know people who have lost it within the past six months. Obviously it goes without saying: There’s no predetermined “normal” age. Everyone reacts differently to sexual experiences. If I had had my way, I would have clung to my ex-boyfriend’s waist and not moved for a solid three hours post-first coitus. I don’t regret losing my virginity at 18 — I didn’t take it lightly, neither did he. But for those of you who are waiting, for whatever reason, I say good for you. It’s so important to take time to figure out what you want. The right time, the right gender, the right situation for you.
Life is full of sexual milestones — your first blow job, your first orgasm (mine was about two months ago. Do the math, boys.), the first time you cry after sex — but nothing quite compares to your very first time in the sack. No matter how many times you may have imaged them, it’s those tender, life-altering moments that never quite go according to plan.
In fact, I think I’d be hard pressed to find a girl or a guy whose intro to sexual experimentation was the stuff of a silver screen romantic comedy. Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong — send me an e-mail with all your gloriously blissful first time stories (or nightmares come to life, but only if they top accidental anal. Lord knows I love hearing confessions).
But the awkward fumblings and the minuteman duration aside, deflowering sits at the top of the old bucket list. I like to think of it as the genital gateway to the much more fun to-do’s that come afterwards. As for my sexual milestone status, I’m going to attempt to give away this pesky hooking-up-in-the-back-of-a-pickup-truck v-card before it gets too cold out.
The Preacher’s Daughter is a senior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She may be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org. Decent Exposure appears alternate Thursdays this semester.
Original Author: The Preachers Daughter