You can only lose it once right?
What if the first time was so bad you’d get a mulligan? What if the second time it wasn’t much better?
Seems a bit ridiculous that “you always remember your first” is so true; but how could it not be? Expectations high and results well… you fill in the blanks for yourself and I’ll spill my story below…
When it happened I wasn’t ready. I was too young and although the love story felt beautiful, it happened too soon. My friends didn’t believe me and as far as I know 30 years later they still don’t. Maybe because I played it off that I was proud, macho and all of that guy stuff. I told my story the way I wanted it to be rather than the way it was. The way it was would have been so much easier to believe; but what kid entering the 7th grade knows that right?
My parents used to send my brother and I to my grandparents house in Pennsylvania to spend the bulk of our summers there. Every summer I’d hate my parents for upending my life, dragging me away from my friends and depositing me in a small town where I only knew the kids down the street. Two sisters and their brother. There was a lot of freedom for my brother and I in those days; spent playing wiffle ball and exploring creeks and collecting rocks and being home by dark. As visitors from New York there was a mini celebrity status with the neighborhood kids simply because we were different, so there was never a lack of kids with whom to run wild. But the majority of time was spent with the girls because they were two doors down. The memories that stick out for purposes of this article are J naked behind the screen door as my brother and I peered in. I think M told us she was there. I have no idea why she was naked or why she was hiding in her kitchen when we looked or why M would have told us she was there at all.
Then the one that my brother didn’t know about. Me alone with M and J in their back yard where there was a little cubby. I’m going to guess that it was “doctor” that we were playing. My pants came down and I was instructed to get into the cubby. The girls then proceeded to explore me with blades of grass. This, was awesome. Lest you think my deflowering was to follow I’ll note that my grandmother came storming up with her face beet red and dragging me home was the next thing to happen; relegating the “what if” deep into fantasy land. Feel free to speculate on who ratted me out to my grandmother, and how this experience may have twisted me forever.
No the virginity losing was to come from a beautiful girl that showed up across the street one day. S and C appeared one day doing gymnastics and cheerleading cheers while C’s older brother J hung out on the porch. S was to be my first love… already was with that first look to be honest. The back yard and wiffle ball and the sisters two doors down became secondary to finding any excuse to be in the front yard now. New forts were built and underneath the front porch had to be explored. Thankfully one day J decided I needed a good beating and started a pine cone/apple fight. I kept up pretty well for a while and even got in a few shots. J won the fight but I won the sympathy of the girls.. who took me in to protect me from the mean giant J. That was all it took for me to start spending all my time across the street. Whenever the girls appeared any activity in which I was engaged with the sisters or my brother met a quick end and off I went.
I was being introduced at a very tender age to what goes on in small towns. We got a season pass for the town pool and started spending most of the day there. I learned to swim and dive in order to show off. Eventually I’d become a lifeguard in New York thanks to my love of water born in Wellsboro, PA. It wasn’t the first summer but eventually S and I were a summer and holiday couple. Stuffed animal Christmas gifts and bracelets and that heart split in two on chains. The summer nights became adventures. Sleeping bags on the front porch where I would wait till my brother fell asleep and then run as fast as I could to S’s house where we would stay in a recliner all night watching the clock over the TV to guess when I better run back home. I still buy my digital clocks as a reminder of those nights.
The next summer was more of the same, but the girls were a year older than I was already, and had been hanging around older yet J and his friends during those times when I wasn’t around. So 13 and 14 year olds were doing things that normally didn’t get experienced until 17 or 18 otherwise. In small towns you create your excitement. Like when there’s only one police car and you disable it (you not meaning me… those older hooligans) so you can race cars outside of town without fear of being caught. You drink. You become sexually active. Making out in a recliner becomes making out in a bed. The bed next to yours breaks and I for one am clueless why, but everyone seems to think it’s the funniest thing that has ever happened. I DID notice that there was a scramble to get clothes back on after the crash. It was without any discussion whatsoever at one of these parties where I found myself getting hot and heavy, and then naked… and then being guided… and then the screams.
She screamed because I hurt her, which apparently she knew all about but I sure as hell didn’t. I screamed because she screamed; but more immediately because she raked my back with what I had up to this point thought were VERY sexy long fingernails. She did not let me get up and run away which is what every fiber i my body was wanting. The matter of fact laughter from other rooms at the screams didn’t help either. It seemed an entire town knew what was going to happen that night. Everyone but me. The rest is a bit of a blur because I don’t remember completing the act. My body was young and apparently once started knew what to do. People also get pregnant in small towns and if this is the way things are done on a regular basis I can see why. Still getting dressed while emerging from the room, we were greeted with beers and cheers, and from the older guys I received a few slaps on my back. The wince I tried to stifle when they hit a raw spot actually got them looking at my back, and announcing that I was “branded with virgin marks.” The celebrity grew a bit that night, as I was considered one of them, based upon this intimate sharing of my intimate sharing.
HOWEVER, I never attended another of those parties and S and I were different after that. We didn’t talk about the experience. I had gone from petrified to embarrassed. She spent more time with the Pennsylvania people and I spent more time with New York people. There was no more sex. There were letters and plans and good intentions but it was often “have other plans” for both of us. We did get back together years later because through time and distance and me telling my story differently once I got home I ended up with a romanticized version of the whole ordeal. It felt like she was doing me a favor visiting me for a weekend of camping. That’s for another story where I’ll tell you about S saying “I’ve just met Mount Unbelievable and it’s twin peak.”
When I got home and told my friends what happened it wasn’t the version above. It was me bragging about virgin marks and acting like I was one of the older boys that was in on the whole thing. It was therefore; unbelievable. I was an ass.
There was no sex (and little exploration even) till I was 16 and in 10th grade. That’s when I lost my virginity for the second time. Which of course is another post.