There seems to be a very common misconception among the virgin population that losing one’s virginity is a magical and spiritual experience between two adolescents who are overcome by natural and sensual desires. Sadly, this “natural grace” that is expected to coincide with the de-virginization process is quite rare. Physical pain, sometimes nerves, clumsiness, technical difficulties and distractions often get in the way. The thing that no one talks about is actually a very relatable yet unspeakable difficulty that everybody endures during his or her first time… “getting it in,” and “sealing the deal.”
According to my emotional calculations at the time, my devirginization took approximately infinite attempts. Actually though, according to realistic calculations, it took five attempts for a successful climax. Five.
Attempt number one: The boy and I were outside on his trampoline. It seemed like an exciting and unusual idea, and it was a lovely spring day in May. We were equipped with a blanket and a condom, however we weren’t prepared for his older brother to come home. While he didn’t see anything after pulling into the driveway in his SUV, he thought it would be funny to snap some very low-resolution photographs on his mobile phone of two people awkwardly wrapped on a blanket on a trampoline. Who wouldn’t take the photo opportunity, I suppose? Needless to say, my sex partner and I ventured inside to his bedroom.
Attempt number two: we relocated to his bed inside (a slightly more conventional and private location). After the first attempt we had already wasted one condom. Unfortunately, we had some “technical difficulties” with getting a new condom on after about two minutes of foreplay, thus another attempt was failed.
I wish I could say we were feeling strong and immediately tried again, but we actually decided on taking a break after so much failure. For about five minutes we played with his cat in the backyard and talked about The Beach Boys.
Attempt number three: After a bit of our mental and physical stamina was regained, we returned to the bedroom with high hopes. After some impatient and slightly rushed, handsy foreplay, he dove right in. Literally. While my cookie had hardly seen the light of day (nevertheless large foreign objects), I winced in pain and let out a few loud profanities and whines. In his words, he didn’t want my first time to “sound like I was being attacked,” and he backed off for a bit. Yet another condom was thrown in with the rubbish.
Attempt number four: Alas, this failure couldn’t be blamed on me. Intense lubrication initially seemed like a good idea, but we couldn’t get the little guy to stay in.
Attempt number five: This was the final and most perfectly executed attempt of the day; lucky number five! While it was mildly excruciating and as I endured approximately 20 minutes of pain, the time was ticking and I was trying to count exactly how many seconds of pain and thrusts were being taken in by my kitty cage.
However, after twelve sweaty gazes, eleven primate-like moans, ten lip nibbles, nine trying-to-be-sexy smiles, eight pained blanket grabs, seven hair tugs to stay entertained, six shoulder squeezes in hopes for a massage later, five small pain-stifling grunts, four eyebrow wrinkles, three heart-rate regulating breaths, two times wondering what I would be having for dinner later, and ONE climactic orgasm (on his end, because a girl having an orgasm her first time is definitely a myth), the cherry was popped and I was DEFLOWERED.
I wish I could say that I stayed to cuddle afterwards, but as this was mid-end of my junior year of high school, and I had to meet with my SAT Math tutor (Yay, more numbers!), I left the house as he was making waffles and as five used condoms sat in the trash. I gave him an affectionate goodbye kiss and waddled to my car. Although simultaneously feeling satisfied yet slightly paralyzed from the waist down, that sort of felt like the longest afternoon of my life.