Print Edition: September 17, 2014
A lot of us put virginity on a pedestal. We’re nervous or excited for our “first time,” even if we’re not entirely clear on what that entails. Will it hurt? Will I be able to get it up? How will I feel after it’s all said and done?
No two first times are the same, which some UFV students were happy to help illustrate. Below are their stories: what went right, what went wrong, and what we’ll always remember about our first times.
Some were good experiences, and some were bad, and more than a few were awkward. But no matter how you lose your virginity, rest assured that you’re in good company.
If you’re thinking about losing your virginity, a few words to the wise: There’s no right way and no wrong way to go about it — and remember that no matter how awkwardly it goes, you’ll have plenty of time to get it right eventually.
And remember that it all comes down to you: what are you comfortable with? What do you want out of it? Make enthusiastic and continuous consent part of the experience. Say no if it feels wrong.
But say yes if it feels right.
I waited until I was 19 to start dating, because I was under the impression all the boys in high school were too immature. Joke’s on me, I guess.
My first was a short, dark-haired, and dark-skinned boy, and we had only met a week before we started kissing. He was charming and, looking back, a total player. A smooth talker — and good with his hands.
My roommate left us on the couch in the living room one night.
I was horny.
I decided privately the night before that I wanted to have sex with him. I’d practiced with a dildo and was convinced it wouldn’t hurt.
After an hour of playing coy and building up the courage to tell him what I wanted, I ended up writing my desire and intentions down on a sticky note and handing it to him, face red and hands shaking. He read it, laughed and proceeded to take off my clothes.
Romance is the thing virgins dream of, and when we were naked with his body on top of mine, there was no romance to speak of; only fumbling. He positioned the head of his wide penis at the entrance between my thighs, and we realized there was no way it was going to squeeze inside me unless we used lubrication.
Well, as a virgin, I had none, but thank God for Lubriderm hand lotion.
Happy and handsy
The first time I had sex was with a red-haired, freckle-faced girl from my high school class. We were friends before, and felt like experimenting after sheepishly admitting that we liked the way each other’s asses looked in skinny jeans.
We had gone camping with our families, slept over at each other’s houses, and nothing had happened before, but one afternoon she and I sat down on her bed to play video games and things got a little handsy. It was playful at first, but I, being a little more forward and high on happiness, pushed my face into her breasts. I expected to be shoved away. Instead, she fondled me back and blurted, “I’m the doctor.”
We quickly stripped each other down to bras and underwear. Mine were a pair of wide, boy shorts I called “granny panties,” but she didn’t seem to care. It took a long time for us to build the courage to touch each other between the legs. And even longer to use our tongues, and insert our fingers.
Her hands were long and slender, and to be frank, sometimes I couldn’t even tell if her fingers were inside of me.
But I’ll never forget the fake nails. Silver sparkly nail polish, and the idea of the square ends scratching on the inside still makes me shiver with desire.
An end to friendship
We were sitting on my sofa and I was lonely.
I’d had a hard year trying to forget I shouldn’t want him anymore. We’d been drinking. The television was on, playing nothing important.
I don’t know who moved closer first, but I leaned against him for a while, just for comfort — I didn’t intend to start anything else.
He guided my hand to the crotch of his jeans. I felt numb — I didn’t really know why I was participating. He reached over to rub me in the same place. That lasted a few minutes, then he fumbled with the button.
We weren’t even looking at each other. It didn’t feel right. Through everything, I suddenly thought that I shouldn’t have tried to be friends again, shouldn’t have been alone with him.
I withdrew. After he left I never spoke to him again, and I’m glad.
The first “no”
One night a friend and I went to a stranger’s apartment: we were drinking at the Phoenix, she liked someone she met there, and she was naïve about what he meant by after-party.
I had a bad feeling. She had a good feeling. I knew how stupid it all was.
My friend and her new man started making out right away. At 21, his friend was my first kiss. It was awkward and sloppy. But when Heather looked over to see if I was okay, I nodded; I didn’t want to ruin her night. She and Dave moved into the bedroom.
I said I had to go to the bathroom, to escape. He followed me in, nudged me up against the towel bar, pulled down my shirt and bra, and sucked on one of my breasts. I remember looking in the mirror, feeling a kind of shocked numbness. I hadn’t realized it could happen so quickly until he was fumbling with my belt buckle.
It took me that long to say no.
Thrust into new territory
People often lie about the first time they had sex, and books and films certainly do not provide an accurate depiction.
When I had sex for the first time, it was nothing like I had imagined.
It was awkward. We stared at each other, and afterwards we stared a lot more.
We had planned the moment; we knew the house was going to be empty, and we had a condom. I was excited and couldn’t believe I was about to lose my virginity.
No one tells you that when it’s the first time, a guy doesn’t just find the mark and slide in. He bumped around because this was new territory for him, too, and then after some awkward moments I helped him.
And then it was over. Three thrusts and done.
I remember laying there for a moment afterwards and thinking, I lost my virginity and I don’t feel any different … and damn he is hot.
Is it in yet?
He got in my car, and our intentions for the night made our hearts race.
We fed our parents alibis, which made it even more exhilarating. We drove to the most deserted place we could find and parked, aching to explore each other as we climbed into the back of my car.
We feverishly tore at each other’s clothes, kissing passionately and breathing more heavily with each article of clothing we removed from each other.
Finally he laid me down and kissed me, pushing himself between my legs and started thrusting. It felt like he was dry humping me, so I looked him in the eyes and asked if it was in. Apparently it was.
Awkward silence ensued, but we still had sex for hours.
The best laid plans
Even though we were horny 17-year-olds, we planned our first time meticulously. I started taking the pill a month in advance. We researched the most effective types of condoms, read books on sex, and even shopped for squishy, spiky, exotic-looking toys we had no idea how to use. We made sure the house was guaranteed to be empty that day. It was going to be perfect.
And it was. When the day finally came, it went just as romantically as we’d planned it — slow and sweet with candlelight, soft music, and pretty underwear. But there was one thing neither of us had expected.
When we came downstairs after a window-rattlingly loud finale, we found my boyfriend’s best friend sitting in the living room, laughing his ass off. He had let himself into the house before realizing what we were up to — and then had sat downstairs for the last half-hour, listening to us finish.
The moral of the story? You can’t plan perfection — but if it goes wrong, at least you’ll have a funny story to tell years later.
Things had been rough for a while, so I rode my bike to his house at 2 a.m. and crawled in through his window.
I wasn’t planning on having sex — it just kind of happened when our clothes were off and there was nothing else left to do.
All I really remember is that my socks were still on and music was playing.
It was his last night at home before he went camping for two weeks, so I rode back home that morning thinking, Well, it’s done now.
Two weeks later, his parents called for a “meeting” with my parents — they had read through our texts.
So we sat in the living room (where I used to watch movies and play Lego with his little brothers) and “discussed” what happened.
I avoided my father for the whole summer after that because I felt so ashamed.
I cried after intimacy with any partner after that, listening to that little voice that said everyone would think I was a slut.
I took a break from relationships, and let myself be busy with school and music. Later, when I found a person I loved and who loved me, it got easier.
Hot summer sex
The first time I had sex wasn’t exactly well-planned.
Both of us had just gotten out of long-distance relationships and had enough sexual frustration to power a small city. Subtlety wasn’t exactly first on the agenda.
His roommate and a friend were in the next room, watching a movie. Soon cuddling turned into making out, and making out turned into some hot and heavy action. Next thing I knew I was on top of him.
I. Wanted. Sex.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. We could hear the movie playing in the other room — Lucky Number Slevin, I think. I nodded urgently, and he grabbed a condom from a desk drawer hurriedly, like he was afraid I’d change my mind. I impatiently watched him roll it on, and then finally he was inside me with an easy flick.
His sheets were in the wash, and he’d thrown a sleeping bag over his mattress. Both of us were sweating buckets in the summer heat. We bucked and thrust against the flannel. Part of me wondered if we were going to get rug burns. Another part of me wondered how long sex was supposed to take.
The rest of me was having an awesome time.
I could feel we were getting to the climax and we started going faster, almost desperate in our motions. In our hurry neither of us noticed that the ending credit music was playing in the living room outside.
Someone started opening the door.
“Busy!” my partner shouted, a note of terror in his voice. The door slammed shut, and we both came at the same time.
When I finally left the room, I found his roommate had left a sock on the door.