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Below the Belt

A tale of two first times

It’s a new semester, a fresh start. Maybe it’s another chance to tell that person you’ve been Facebook stalking how you really feel. Or maybe, if your summer was a disappointing repeat of you showing your “o-face” to the ceiling while listening to your roommates’ headboard slam into your wall, you have another chance to lose your v-card.

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Tombstone, full frame over grass reading, "Virgin"

By Xtina (Contributor)

Tombstone, full frame over grass reading, "Virgin"

Image credit: Quinn Dombrowski / Flickr

Welcome back, readers. It’s a new semester, a fresh start. Maybe it’s another chance to tell that person you’ve been Facebook stalking how you really feel. Or maybe, if your summer was a disappointing repeat of you showing your “o-face” to the ceiling while listening to your roommates’ headboard slam into your wall, you have another chance to lose your v-card. If this is the case, let me pave the way with an uncensored account of my first times. I say “first times” because I believe sex with a male partner is very different from sex with a female partner. Yes, readers, I have enjoyed both kitten and rooster. Let me begin with the latter, as this was what came first.

He was my best friend. He and I had been spending every weekend together for a couple of years by that point. Our parents let us have sleepovers because we were like brother and sister. Little did they know that one February evening, after talking about how dumb it was that we were way too old to be virgins, we clumsily undressed each other and did it right there on my Strawberry Shortcake duvet while my cat watched in horror. There was a lot of twisting, ouch, and awkward bending — yikes — and unattractive reaching for the lube that had fallen between the bed and the wall. It turns out that we really were like brother and sister and should never have attempted to cross this necessary boundary. To say there was no chemistry was like saying Miley Cyrus has made some poor choices. Anyway, it was bad. And we both knew it. We still had sleepovers after this, but we were never as close. We soon began dating other people and stopped spending time any time together at all: a tragedy caused by bad sex.

My first time with a woman was a lot less awkward. I should have been nervous — she was much older than me, and a professor (calm down, not mine). Maybe it was the handful of extra years I had spent rubbing up against people since my failed attempt with my besty. Or maybe it was that I finally had some anatomy in front of me that I understood. But when it came time to turn down the lights and turn up the pheromones, let’s just say I got an A. We ended up on her desk at an office she kept in the city. The blinds were open and the windows faced a city street. I thought we should close them, but she must have thrived on the danger of it all because she wouldn’t let me. She was kind of crazy, now that I think about it. Mostly in a good way, though. She was a dedicated, patient, and untiring instructor, and I was a star student. This wonderfully taboo and artful dalliance was never witnessed by passersby, thankfully. I’m sure it wasn’t as memorable for her, and I’m positive she was “going easy on me” because of my obvious lack of experience with the ladies, but it was a simultaneously mind-blowing and eye-opening experience for me.

So there it is — my first times. I hope this has given you insight to your sexual situation and a road map to success. Or perhaps just an idea of what not to do. But if next summer comes along and you are still “playing that old trombone” or “double-clicking the replay button,” remember: it’s okay. Take your time. This is one deadline that doesn’t exist in university. Just think of all the extra room in your brain that can be focused on maintaining your GPA and not your sex life.

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