Touched for the Very First Time
posted by W-D Staff on 9/18/01
Stories about sex make Baby Jesus cry.
Virginity and the shedding of one's virginity are issues that have been skewed over the years. By definition, a virgin is someone who has never had sexual intercourse before, but who may or may not be sexually active in other (i.e., non-pentetrative) ways. The blanket term "virgin" suggests someone who is prudish about sex, and someone who possesses a certain naivete about such matters. As breasts begin to grow, and testicles drop (although not necessarily in that order, or to the same person), there is a notable curiosity in sex -- and the opposite sex (typically). During adolescence, when these visually tantalizing physical developments transpire, many teens wish to become sexually active, or at the very least "experiment."
It's the done thing.
Just like every other rites of passage, the rush to lose your virginity is very much peer-based. Boys have it harder (so to speak), since their level of sexual experience is seen to define their masculinity. Girls usually wish to lose their virginity just to get it over with, to see what all the fuss is about. Sometimes they'll enjoy it, usually they'll feel dirty because having a minuscule teenage member bouncing around you for thirty seconds is not something to make a young girl feel special. For guys, those thirty seconds (or sixty minutes, if you're anything like me) are the initiation that kick-starts their transition into manhood. Yet, despite this traditional view on virginity, many people choose to wait, based on moral reasons or because they simply can't find anyone desperate enough to sleep with them.
We at Whatever-Dude.com, being the great public servants that we are, decided we'd tackle the moist, sticky subject of virginity - how we lost ours and whether it was all worth the hype. We're not sure whether this article has come too soon, but we're happy to give the topic a good seeing to, and hope most of our readers will feel satisfied and wordly as a result. Be sure to open up!!111
As the only girl writing for an all-male site, I was understandably pretty embarrassed when B first mentioned that we do this article. As it is, I'm really awkward when it comes to talking about sex, probably because I'm a bit of a prude and the shyest, most nervous person alive. Also, this story is so ridiculously embarrassing, anyone reading this will have to feel a little sorry for me. But for the sake of journalism and participating in a fun W-D collaboration, I have decided to throw my two cents in the mix. Let's take it (very slowly) from here.
I was a junior in college (which is very early, considering I was planning to save myself for marriage). My boyfriend was way cooler and much more experienced than I am. We had been dating for about three months at the time, which may not seem like a long time considering I was planning to wait until marriage, but in college time, three months is very long. When you see someone every single day and night, you get the idea…Can you see I'm postponing the story as much as possible? Anyway, I decided I wanted my boyfriend at the time to be my "first." I was convinced we were so in love, we would probably be married anyway, so what did it matter if we got a head start?
We decided to stay at my parents' house in New Jersey for the weekend. My Mom was not a huge fan of Tom from the beginning, because, as she put it, she knew he would be the one to finally "deflower" me. So while my parents were upstairs sleeping, we were in the family room watching Working Girl (how appropriate) on my mom's beauteous, lush, teal-colored couch. Oh God, I am getting so embarrassed right now. Anyway, I had the wonderful idea that now would be the perfect time to christen our love for one another. I wanted it to be romantic and loving, kind of like a scene from Return to the Blue Lagoon. Sadly, it ended up resembling the scene from "Life Goes On" when Corky and his girlfriend finally got it on.
Becca, I wanthoo have thex with hah.
I scoured the house for pretty candles, I only found two little votives my Mom got from church (I thought it would be a nice touch to use Catholic candles to celebrate the end of the innocence). I pictured the undressing scene to go smoothly too, but, he ended up ripping several buttons off his shirt because he was so nervous my parents were going to catch us in the act.
Anyway, I'm not even sure if this could be categorized as the "first" time, because I think we actually experienced the feeling of "penetration" for about 2 seconds before I started screaming in agonized pain. Undaunted, we decided to try again. Well, after 2 more failed attempts, my experiencing lockjaw and subsequently weeping like a willow, we thought it would be a good time to stop. No sooner did we move aside than a large gaping bloodstain appeared on the couch. And believe me, I'm not talking about the bloodstain you get when you pick a scab off elbow. Oh God this is embarrassing. We immediately got up and ran, naked, into the kitchen to find any kind of cleaning solution available. Windex, Comet, Soft Scrub, jewelry cleaner, nothing for upholstery! I flang the refrigerator door open and pulled out the only thing I thought could save us: a 2-liter bottle of Seltzer. So we ran back into the room with Seltzer and about 5 dishrags. We must have worked on that stain for 3 hours, and it honestly looked a lot better when we were done. In fact, a normal person would never have known any intercourse took place on that couch. Tommy finally got dressed (after three hours of cleaning) and left the house with about 5 bloody rags, probably wondering why the hell he ever went out with me in the first place. I later found out that he buried the dishrags in a park about ten minutes from my house. I love that he buried the rags, as if throwing them in the garbage wouldn't suffice.
The next morning, I got the feeling my Mom knew something was up. I lied and told her Tom got a bloody nose all over the couch. I don't think she bought it.
Jen, I smell sex and candy here.
After the heavy shame of Catholicism worked its magic on me, I caved in and told my Mom the truth. Needless to say, she refused to speak to Tom or myself for weeks afterwards and told me that Jesus was disappointed in me. I have not watched Working Girl since.
"I was not quite prepared for the reality of my dual role. On the one hand, the willing corrupter of an innocent, and on the other, Humbert the happy housewife." - Jeremy Irons, Lolita, 1997
A normal man, given a group photograph of school girls and asked to point out the loveliest one, will not necessarily choose the nymphet among them. In 1983 I was three years old, and my most pressing matters involved finding one of those boxes to stand on in the arcade. I was a short kid, and my head's a little too big for my body, but in the memories between Ronald Reagan getting shot at and the first day of school I was a pretty smart and mature little guy. Sure, I still pooped my pants every now and then but I could read and write, and that's all any man can ask for. George Washington Carver pooped his pants and look at him, he invented the peanut. Without the peanut we would've never had the 1985 classic "The Peanut Butter Solution," and without that we would've never found the harrowing connection between peanut butter and witchcraft.
Life ain't nothin' but bitches and Pac-Man.
So in 1983 I was well on my way to inventing the peanut (or some other nut, like the space nut) when she was born, so God tilted the whole world sideways and shook all my dreams and intentions of a pure Christian marriage right into Heaven's recycling bin. In retrospect, I think Mandy Moore might've gotten all my hopes and dreams. And to think, *I* could be dating Fez from "That 70s Show." So far we've established that Jessica Mounts (and her unfortunate last name) has prevented me from inventing a space nut and doing Neutrogena commercials. See where this is going?
First I stole your dreams...now? THE CHOKESLAM
Time folds, and I'm being lead down a hallway adorned with pictures from her childhood. Baby pictures with a Nintendo in the background. Images telling stories of how she used to dance in her crib to Billy Ocean. I think back to what lead me to this, back when I was popular in elementary school all the way through awkward weight gain and acne through middle school on up into high school. I hadn't been long graduated, but I'd managed to escape high school (and a Mormon girlfriend) with my purity and morality intact. Not one of those "oops I forgot to wear a condom and now you're carrying my awkward teenage seed" trips I'd seen all the pretty girls in Spanish class take for me. I wanted real love, and thanks to America's public education system, I'd mistaken "true love" for the fifteen year old girl with a high-level C-cup. It's a common mistake.
But I'd just graduated...I had no idea what love, or relationships, or interpersonal conversation with a girl without worrying about my jogging pants riding up my crotch would be like. Those sweat stained pants had been replaced with cool black pants, my old ratty hockey jersey replaced with a nice looking shirt...and the first thing that popped out of my sheltered womb of social growth was a desperate need for companionship and a second chance at those girls who wouldn't date me three years ago.
I was a daisy fresh girl and look what you did to me.
Looking back I feel like Jeremy Irons, watching Dominique Swain take her retainer out before going down on him. We were in her mom's room, on a big waterbed that probably had contained gross motherly acts of parental private pounding already. She really was a beautiful girl...coming off the same Paul from the Wonder Years geek streak that I was just over, only three years sooner. In this world where Anna Nicole Smith marries a man who was alive when Mash was popular, losing your virginity to a girl three years younger is like watching Night Court reruns with a gun to your temple - not a big deal.
I don't remember how it happened, because we were both waiting until marriage, but when standard making out lead to her reaching down and unzipping things and moving things and inserting things the world started to go blank for me. Some people get nervous during their first time, or feel moral or physical pains, or come to some realization about themselves...it wasn't the case for me. I just closed my eyes and when I opened them, I could see down the hall. And do you know what was down the hall?
It Takes Two.
Two identical strangers. Two different worlds. One harsh reality -- your girlfriend was 11 when this was released.
The Olsen Twins movie. With Steve Guttenberg. As an 18 year old heading into his first year of college I was having sex with someone who owned the Olsen Twins movie. It's not like me going back and buying Transformers on DVD for some kitschy kick because it was released in the mid 80's either, this is an "I own this movie because I indentify with it as a small girl" scare. As her fleshy body and soft brown hair trickled down my shoulders and over my chest I kept thinking "oh my God, she was 11 when that came out, she was 11 when that came out." I closed my eyes again and turned my head to the side...every time I opened them back up I saw something else...a Hanson CD, a copy of Mighty Ducks laying on the floor, the list goes on and on.
I had to tell her to "Cut...it...out...." at least for now.
I went on to date her for a few months afterwards, but things were never the same...sex made our relationship go from an innocent courtship to a complicated coexistence, where she had to come to terms with an older man stacking up a big brick wall between herself and her sheltered family's dogma and where I had to come to terms with the fact that I had sex with somebody who likes Hanson. Since then I've had sex with somebody who had a giant "Pink Flamingos" poster in her living room, so I guess I'm going to be associating passion with crap eating for the rest of my life.
Actual dialogue from the film: Stay where you are, or I'll shoot. And get your hands off that steaming dog turd. It's mine.
Shortly after losing my virginity and becoming one of those sappy enamored kids who brings the woman they love a flower every time they see them for the first three months of dating (and I really wish I was making that up), I was dumped about a week before Christmas. I made up with her, though, don't get me wrong. After another happy month of dating I got dumped on Valentine's Day. I was considering getting back together with her right before St. Patrick's Day just so I could have a great excuse to get drunk and moon everyone in a large city from a float. But I thought that would've just been self-destructive.
What's the lessons learned from this? First of all, date somebody your own age. Until you hit 50 and start wearing those fat guy hats that button in the front, the kind that Gallagher wears, you're going to be growing and learning. If I'd looked at a group photo I would've never looked at Jessica and though she was capable of doing that much damage...a short, soft, beautiful little girl who, to this day, I feel like I made into something unclear and painful to remember. Sorta like the 1985 classic "The Peanut Butter Solution."
Sorry Dave, we're just not big fans of your work on the soccer field. Try rubbing peanut butter in your hair.
Right now I'm looking at pictures of her and feeling sad that I let sex into my life at a time when I wasn't ready for it. I'm munching on space nuts (they taste like green cheese~!1!) and hoping that one day I'll come to terms with the feelings I had and the ramifications that a little coushin pushin' brings on. Want clear skin? Stay away from sex until you're old enough to do it right.
I could've done those Neutrogena commercials. But the first Neutrogena girl got shot for marrying Luke Perry on 90210 and Mandy Moore got bombarded with gamma radiation, causing her to grow to 11 1/2 feet tall, so I guess I'm better off. Thanks, Jessica.
Going into my Freshman year of high school… I was small. Real small. Standing in at a towering 4'11" and weighing a whopping 95 lbs… my prospects for losing my virginity anytime in the near future were slim. Well, by my Junior year, I had grown to 6'0" and my weight skyrocketed to 350 lbs. Haha.. Actually, my weight increased to 170 lbs… but I just wanted to imagine someone out there reading this, thinking, "Sheeiit" after seeing that 350 lb. figure. Sorry, I like to amuse myself. Speaking of amusing myself… even though I had grown in stature, most girls in my school still viewed me as that goofy little kid that entered the hallowed halls of my high school as a freshman… so I was forced to amuse myself in high school. I amused myself A LOT. Hell, some nights I had many a session of Def Comedy Jam alone in my room.
"Have you ever noticed white people can't dance? OMG LOL!!11"
It wasn't that girls didn't like me. It was just that they didn't look at me in that way… so the only social skills I picked up throughout my high school career concerning the opposite sex, were how to be like a brother to girls. Of course I debated moving down South where that type of relationship might actually be consummated with some Brotherly Love… and I ain't talkin about the show starring the Lawrence brothers.. if ya catch my drift. ;)
I even ended up taking a Sophomore… who happened to be the hottest girl in our whole school to my Senior prom… but it was like the equivalent of having a Ferrari with no keys. Sure I could sit next to it and take pleasure in the fact that people could see me with it… but I sure has hell wasn't even getting close to driving that thing. Can I use any more metaphors within a single sitting? Wait and see…
So off I went to college, with visions of sugarplums and getting laid dancing in my head. Through my first two years… my social skills improved.. and my status improved from inept dork.. to kissing bandit. I think my personal best month was hooking up with ten different girls. Still though, I could never close the deal… and if Glengarry Glen Ross taught us anything, it's to Always Be Closing.
By the time my Junior year rolled around, I was a frat guy, I lived in an off campus residence where we had parties constantly… and still.. all I could manage was a couple sessions of kissy-face per month. Now being that I was friends with people who had in upwards of thirty notches under their belt… my futility became the subject of humorous ribbing. My failures were starting to get on my nerves… and that's when it appeared in my apartment. It was February of '95 and I was introduced to something that made my jaw drop… My roommate had gotten America Online. Now being that my use of computers had virtually stopped once I stopped playing Micro League Baseball for my Commodore 64… the whole concept of this "new fangled Internet thang" was startling to me.
The closest Dave ever came to scoring during Junior High.
Well, the Thursday night of the first week of February, it was snowing pretty heavily.. and we ended up canceling the party that we were supposed to have. You see, that Saturday my fraternity was having what was known as a "Bottle and Babe" in which the whole concept was that one of our residences would host it.. and all of the brothers would show up with a date and a bottle of hard liquor.. and we would have pledges bartend. Well, we would always try and have parties on both Thursday and Friday before these things… just so all of the brothers who didn't have g/f's or solid prospects had a chance to find a last minute date.
So it was Thursday night, it was snowing out.. and half of the guys I lived with were out at the bars.. and since I was still only 20.. and my good NJ fake ID had been taken away a few months earlier.. I sat at home with my other ID… a shitty West Virginia fake.. sitting in my wallet, saying to me, "Don't even think about it, bro." Of course, this was said in Jason Priestley's voice.
"I'm saving myself for someone who likes horses."
So as I sat home, bored and drinking by myself… I turned on my friend's computer and loaded up this AOL thing. Out of curiosity, I entered one of the chat rooms.. and I started talking to this girl. Well, it turned out that she was from a town about a half hour away from where I went to school… and on top of that, she was in the same boat I was. Her father had just gotten AOL.. and she hopped on because she was bored and stuck inside due to the weather. So I chat with this girl for a while.. and it was going really well. Being that I hate typing as it is, I suggested that we just talk on the phone, being that it was a local call and all. I give her a call.. and we were getting along really well over the phone, so I just figured, "What the hell."… and I invited her to the party we were having the next night. Well, she was skeptical.. but when it came up that she had gone to the University of Delaware but was taking a semester off… somehow, my one roommate had overheard my end of the conversation.. and asked her if she knew some guy that he had gone to high school with. Well, it turned out that she did know my roommate's friend pretty well, which was weird considering Delaware's a decent sized school. So the whole, I know this guy's not a psycho because he's friends with someone I'm friends with mentality, was put into place.
She agreed to come to the party.. and I sat around all day Friday, wondering just what the hell I had gotten myself into. Now the thing about our apartment was that there was only one bathroom, which was in between two of the bedrooms.. so whenever we had open parties, we alternated which bedroom would stay open to accommodate the line for the bathroom. Whichever room stayed open inevitably was a few personal items shorter the next day.. so whenever our room was the designated bathroom line room, my roommate and I would always take turns hanging out in there and keeping an eye on our stuff. So as I stood in my room, talking to some people on line for the bathroom, one of my other roommates came in and said, "Dave.. there's some girl out there looking for you." It was the moment of truth.. and images of a huge wildebeest standing in the hallway jumped into my head.
GORE GORE GOOOOOORE
I peeked my head outside and saw about ten girls in the hallway.. and instead of going up to each one individually asking, "Are you Jen?".. I decided to do the brave thing.. and go back into my room and hope that she would come and find me. A minute or two later, I saw a girl enter my room and as I eyed her up, I thought, "There's no way that this could be her." When she said timidly, "Are you Dave?".. I was just like, "Jen?".. and when she smiled and shook her head yes, in my mind, I shook my head and exclaimed, "Dear God.. Thank you so very much. I'll never doubt your existence again." This girl, for lack of a better adjective, was fucking balls out hot.
Well, the two of us ended up sitting on my bed, just shooting the shit… blissfully unaware of the other people in the room doing the pee-pee dance as they waited to use the facilities. Eventually, the time came when I knew I needed to make a move… I never even got to sit there and have those uncomfortable few minutes of waiting for the right time to lean in.. because before I knew it she made a move on me… and started to make out with me in front of a room full of people. Well, since we were having the "Bottle and Babe" the next night, I excitedly asked her if she wanted to go with me… and she excitedly agreed. It was exciting. I'm excited just thinking about it. I'm also excited because I just won the Guinness Book of World Record for using a variation of the word "excite" the most times in a four sentence span.
The next day, I went out and bought a box of condoms and a bottle of Absolut Kurant. I figured finishing one would lead to the use of the other. I got dressed up in a shirt and tie..and put the standard issue blue blazer on. I then tried to lower myself from the rafters.. but ended up falling to my death. Sorry.. a little Blue Blazer humor. Couldn't help it.
Jen showed up at my apartment.. and we ended up doing a couple of shots and having a couple of beers before we walked over to where the function was at. Well, we weren't there for more than fifteen minutes before we had consumed a couple more shots… and people were telling us to "Get a room" as we pawed at each other like a Discovery Channel special. We made our way to the keg in the kitchen.. and as we were standing there having a beer, the topic of "How many people have you been with?" was tapped. I said to her "Honestly… none," in a mixture of embarrassment and drunken hopefulness. The second the answer left my mouth.. she grabbed me by the hand and said, "Let's go." Booyah.
OH YEAH BABY OH YEAH BOOYAH! BOOYAH!
When we got back to my apartment, we went to my room and started going at it. Unfortunately, the alcohol was stopping an important facet of the process from taking place… and visions of all of the unnecessary, uncomfortable erections from my youth (in classrooms, at grandma's house, etc.) came flooding into my brain… as I looked down and was mentally rooting for the equipment to work. Then a light bulb went off over my head. Here's the part of the story where I put the "ass" in class.
I went through the bathroom and into the other bedroom to look for the cure-all for my problem. As I rummaged through the closet, I passed up the bowl; decided the bong just wasn't going to do… Oh no, this was a job for… the houka. Four tubes of marijuana-ey goodness. I walked back into my bedroom with a smile as wide as the day was long… and the two of us proceeded to sit on the floor, sitting Indian style, as we sucked harder than being forced to go to see Gallagher perform.
It slices. It dices. It'll lower your IQ by 30 points just watching it!!
Now I don't condone the use of drugs… but in this case it was necessary.. and lordy, lordy, did it work. It occurred to me that we should probably have some music on, so I went over to the stereo and started rattling off suggestions from my CD collection. When I asked, "Dave Matthews Band?"… she replied, "Nah.. too cheesy." Further down the rack I went… and finally I sheepishly asked, "Tool?"… to which, she shocking to me, replied, "Oh yeah."
To make a long story short (Ha! Too late for that).. I ended up losing my virginity, while listening to Tool's "Undertow." Now some people might say that losing one's virginity is the moment a boy becomes a man. Not me, however. I think that moment came a week later… when she called me up and asked me to come out to her house to hang out with her friends… and I refused because I wanted to hang out with my friends instead. She got pissed at this.. and we only talked like maybe two times after that. The moment that I realized that I didn't really care because I had gotten what I wanted already… That my friends, is the moment I truly became a man. Nah, I'm just kidding. I'm still nowhere close to being a man… but I do have my fingers crossed.
Then how did you type this?
It's a figure of speech… Sheesh!!
They really have a lot to answer for. Pop Culture and, in particular, television and movies spread the notion that virginity is not a desirable condition, that it's something of which to be ashamed. Sure, Britney and Justin might swear they're virgins, but flaunting their sexuality at every turn does not render their claims very plausible. And even if they are virgins, they're still selling sex and selling it by the bucketload to wide-eyed youngsters. Sex is obviously a best seller, and anyone who isn't sexually-minded or decides to wait is seen as an outsider or a freak.
Well, that's how we're taught, and we're trained to believe that sex before marriage is a good thing. Hey, I'm not arguing, but I'd hate to have those beliefs in this decadent society, and I can sympathize with the thousands who feel that they have to "lose it", just because the culture dictates that it's right.
You can pick any number of movies and TV shows, with teen sex surely a prevalent theme. I'm all for gratuitous nudity and Katie Holmes looking purdy and sexily guilty, but it's these depictions which put a lot of pressure on real-life youths, and that's when teen pregnancies and the wonton desecration of apple pies occurs. It's an outrage, I'm sure.
However, for the vast majority of people, there is a very real need to have sex, either due to peer pressure or because you've got a serious case of the horn.
I think the stories here and from the world around us would seem to suggest that it's not the first time that matters, it's how many times you can orgasm. Or something equally cliched and out of place.
I hope you can't sleep and you dream about me!
Paul loses his virginity.