Where better to start a month of talking about sex and sexuality than the first time.
Set the scene. Okay.
I was young and pathetically in ‘follow you round like a dumb animal’ love. I had always been the ‘friend’ who lived vicariously through her much more attractive friends romances. So when someone paid attention I would really focus. I would giggle in all the right places and hold hands and do pretty much anything to make sure that I stayed in my happy fantasy zone… with all the melodrama that comes with it. Even though it was a long distance thing…
ANYWAY… There was a party to celebrate a birthday. Parties, of course, being an excuse to get drunk, have a crisis and a windswept melodramatic argument, storm out, be chased and then have a huge make up scene.
Well, it all went very well, the drinking, the crisis (I saw him kissing someone else), the melodramatic argument (face slap, turn on heel, everyone staring), stormed out and was chased down the road (best friend followed me) to the local park, which would be walked through to home. Best friend was being all defensive and hateful to him, in that way that best friend’s are legally required to be. He was all manly and tall and sent her packing.
"She kissed me. It’s not my fault."
Now, we all know that I am a sucker for a good line … and that wasn’t a particularly good line. It took ten whole minutes of him begging forgiveness before I believed that he was an angel, and the much more attractive girl he had been kissing was an evil temptress trying to lure away my man.
I, to this day, can’t remember the thought process in my head that lead to me losing my underwear in that park, and thinking it was a good idea. I do remember it was up against a wall. I do remember it was over very quickly and I remember it feeling ‘jerky’ and terrible.
And I remember us breaking up not long after that.
I really wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t emotionally prepared for the rollercoaster of crap that would go through my head, not being able to tell anyone as I was so ashamed, going through the horror of thinking I was pregnant and having to travel to a town 20 miles away from my own to guarantee no one would see me buying a test kit. And then, after we broke up being convinced I was ‘rubbish’ and going through all that with only my diary to tell.
So romantic it was not, good it was not, but at least I got some fresh air!
So, do any of you feel brave enough to tell your first time stories?
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