The end of innocence
Today's entry is not for the squeamish or faint of heart. It is not for the morally or politically correct. It is what it is-a description of my first sexual encounter. I have decided to relay the rather humorous story of how I lost my virginity. I can't really say why, other than the fact that it is a somewhat interesting story.
I was 18 years old and in the final two weeks of my first semester at college when I met a girl a year ahead of me. Her name was Becky. She was very into me, and had the benefit of experience in this arena. Winter break came along and we parted ways for the holidays. Becky lived across town from my family's house. Now when I say family I mean my two half-brothers, my mother and her new boyfriend at the time. Becky and I were not able to see each other until after Christmas.
Two days after Christmas day Becky and I go on a double-date with my mother and her new boyfriend, Mark. We went to a chain restaurant and had a good meal. On the way back to the house it started to snow heavily. My mother and Mark did not notice since they were in the back seat making out like a couple of teenagers on a date. The roads were very bad. The trip lasted for just over an hour rather than the twenty minutes it normally would take. When we finally arrived at our house the roads were treacherous…too treacherous for poor Becky to go home that night. After a brief call to her parents, where my mother assured them that it was no inconvenience and that Becky could stay in the mythical guest room, my mother awoke my youngest brother and told him to sleep on the foldout couch in the livingroom so that Becky and I could have some privacy (wink wink, nudge nudge).
Now the stage is set for a romantic evening, right? If you consider a romantic evening sleeping in your younger brother's waterbed with your new girlfriend, then possibly. You may at this point ask why we didn't just sleep in my own bedroom. I mean, this is my family's house, and that should mean that I have a bedroom, shouldn't it? Well, as it happens, I did have a bedroom, but it was occupied. You see, halfway through my first semester at college my uncle, who was my mother's brother, called to ask if he could come to stay with her while he dried out. My uncle is a drunk and a convict. What could my mother say? I know she could have said no, but we are a family of good, and sometimes gullible, people. So my alcoholic uncle had been sleeping in my bedroom the entire winter break and I had been sleeping on the couch.
My youngest brother and I are separated by a gulf of nine years, placing him at eleven at the time. Needless to say, the décor didn't exactly lend itself to a romantic environment, but we were making the best of it. Becky and I decided to fight of sleep by slowly stripping one another and making a meal of each other's bodies. Let me say this-even to the experienced in these matters a waterbed can be a hard thing to navigate through the seas of passion. Due to my naiveté, and the fact that the waterbed was of the full-motion variety, it was a clumsy affair trying to jockey for position.
Now things have progressed quite far, and the foreplay has been exhaustive, so it was time to do the deed. She was ready, I was ready, now all that was needed was…DAMN! I know where the condoms are-in an antique wooden box on the dresser in MY bedroom. So, in the heat of the moment, I jumped from the bed, naked and obviously aroused, and quietly slunk into the room where my uncle lay mercifully snoring. It took only a few minutes to locate the box, which I quickly tucked under my arm before racing back to the bedroom. As soon as I was back I flipped open the lid, dumped the contents onto the floor, and quickly grabbed the three unopened foil packets. As I lifted them from the pile, all connected at the perforated ends so that they could be torn off and used individually, I couldn't help but think about those Jacob's Ladder toys I have played with so many times. At this point the truly interested reader would want to know the contents of this box, but that will be another story.
Tearing open one of the packets I had a brief moment of concern when I realized that there was probably a very distinct inside and outside to this contraption, and I had absolutely no idea what to do. Becky, seeing my hesitation, took it as a sign that I expected her to cover my tool, and said that she'd take care of that part. There, now we were ready for action. I climbed back onto the bed, waited for the motion to settle enough to be certain of my aim, and slowly inched my way away from innocence.
Well, things were interesting. We went on for quite some time. This is not going to be a bragging session about longevity…no, it is exactly the opposite. This is a sad tale of fear. You see, every time I started to get close I would think, "that's it, I'm really going to do this with someone else and not just myself," but then I would get so excited and nervous with all of the mounting anxiety and expectation that the feeling would quickly subside. This went on for many minutes. I went from top to bottom and back to top again. The hands of the clock had made it most way around a circle when Becky quietly said, "um, honey, are you close? I'm really sorry, but I'm getting kind of sore. Would it be terrible if I asked you to stop?"
Can you ask me to stop?!? Thank god! By this time I had been supporting myself with my arms for well over half an hour. I had been thrusting for more than that. My arms felt like wet noodles, my stomach burned with the motion, and my ass had the most terrible cramping that I had ever in my life had the displeasure of experiencing. In fact, I had been thinking for the past several minutes that this had to be the single most sweaty, slimy, uncomfortable exercise of achieving orgasm that any person had ever had to endure. So what I said was, "I'm so sorry, sweetie, I'll stop right now. The last thing I want to do is hurt you."
I had become a hero that night. Becky asked immediately afterward if she could finish me some other way. I thanked her and explained that this was already so good that I didn't need anything else, and that we should just sleep. Come to think of it, that was probably the first time I had ever slept naked. She thought I was a saint, and I thought that I should revert immediately to masturbation.
Things got better. By the third time I finally finished during intercourse, just before a police car shined a spotlight into the car window. But these are all other stories for other nights.