This week’s reader question is about my first time: “You talk a lot about sex. I’m curious, what was your first sexual experience?”
I couldn’t even begin to guess what my first “sexual experience” was. As with many children, when I was young, like too young to understand sex, I had two different girls I explored with. Not having sex. Like I said, this was when I was 6-10 years old.
But I’m not really going to count that. That wasn’t sex. It was childhood curiosity.
My first real “sexual experience” would have been the summer of 1994, between 7th and 8th grade. I was 13. And the boy was the son of my parents’ friend. He was 16 and we were all at our hunting camp for a long weekend.
I didn’t have sex with the boy. But he was my first real kiss. And we sure did make out. For hours. And he left hickies on my nipples. And I’m pretty sure he fingered me at least once, but I can’t be positive.
But I remember being embarrassed at my white, full brief undies, thinking they were soooo childlike. I haven’t worn a pair since.
If you want to know about my actual first time…
That would have been about 14 or 15 months later.
It was October 18th, 1995. I was 14, just a month shy of my 15th birthday and a freshman in high school (that’s 9th grade for my non-US readers). He was a senior (12th grade) and I was definitely in love.
I was babysitting and the people I was sitting for always allowed me to have friends over. They hired me just about every Friday and Saturday night and I’m assuming they figured that was how they could keep me coming back.
So it was me and a friend. And then my boyfriend and his friend. The friends went somewhere (I couldn’t tell you where) and my boyfriend and I started making out.
And then the heavy petting started.
And I remember somewhat playing a game with him because he wouldn’t put his hands in my pants and I wanted him to, but he was trying to be “a good boy,” I’m sure. I was definitely NOT trying to be a good girl. So I wouldn’t let him kiss me, instead rubbing on him and tempting him.
I remember us being on the floor in the living room, Disney’s the Fox and the Hound in the background.
And then we were on the couch. And then he was asking me if I was sure.
And I nodded yes.
And then we were doing it. Still fully dressed and still in the living room.
Like most first times, it was eh at best.
I didn’t bleed. But I’d been masturbating for about two years. I’d also spent my life riding horses and was a cheerleader, so it wasn’t surprising to me.
About halfway through, our friends came back in the room. The dude with a giant zucchini sticking out of the zipper of his pants.
We yelled at them and they left.
He finished and went to dispose of the condom and, while excited that I’d officially lost my virginity, I remember thinking:
Something was missing.
Yeah. Like privacy. I never even saw his body. Not his chest. Not his abs or his ass. Not even his dick.
And an orgasm. I didn’t get off. Not that time or any time I had sex with that boy, which was probably five or six times over the next few months. I think we broke up in January of 1996.
I knew I could orgasm. As I mentioned, I’d been masturbating for awhile. But I just didn’t have the knowhow to make it happen during sex. Or the confidence to touch myself while it was all going on.
My first orgasm during sex wouldn’t happen for a few more months. Not from my next male partner (who sucked my clit so damn hard it made me tear up from pain), but from my first female lover.
So, like many young women and men, my first time wasn’t horrible, but it was nothing to write home about (a cliché that means it was just mediocre).