Popping your cherry, losing your innocence, de-flowering; what ever you call it, your first time is a big deal. My first time was a huge deal to me, and unfortunately is something I wish I could forget. It was so excruciatingly awkward and ridiculous that I’ve filed it in the deep recesses of my brain where it is sealed and dead bolted.
After watching countless romance movies and listening to the only girl in my Grade 8 class who had, had sex “at least 10 times” proclaiming how “incredible” it was, I was convinced that my first time would be something dreams were made of. I day dreamed about it over and over again in my head. I had every last detail planned down to what type of underwear I would be wearing. I had everything except for the most important part; who the love of my life would be.
It would be exactly like the movies… I didn’t see it happening any other way.
I was 15 years old when I met the love of my life and we (well, mostly me) fell madly in love for two whole weeks. I was stunned one night when he msn’ed me at home telling me he didn’t think our relationship would work because I lived too far away, and we wouldn’t get to see each other after school. I was devastated and cursed my life in hick ville. I was desperate and would do anything to get him back.
So, ignoring the pedestal that I had put my sex dream on, I told him I wanted to “make love” with him. (Seriously, who calls it making love these days?) Being that he was 16, and full of hormones, he agreed.
The date and time were set. The plan was to go to his house after school on the Friday of Semi-Formal and do the dirty deed. I felt oddly nervous and uneasy, not at all how I thought I would feel when I pictured it in my head.
D-Day finally came, and I couldn’t concentrate at all during school. My mouth was dry and I had that weird knot in the pit of my stomach. When 3:30pm rolled around I waited timidly at the front entrance of the school for my Romeo so we could walk to his house. He showed up right on time and we walked in dead silence down the street. After what seemed like an hour we finally got to his house. As we walked down the stairs to his room he muttered something about the cleaning lady not showing up that day and his room would be messy, but I could care less.
‘Why wasn’t I excited?’ I wondered, trying to ignore the flip flops in my stomach and the weird buzzing sound in my head that somehow seemed to block out all sounds.
The time finally came and we awkwardly discarded our clothes, careful not to stare too hard at the other’s body parts. I won’t give you the details of our five whole minutes of love making, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that after what I thought would be the most mind blowing, insane experience of my life to date, I lay there in bed, staring up at the dots on the ceiling with tears welling up in my eyes. These were not tears of joy, or the immense love that I felt for my partner, but tears of sadness and humiliation. It wasn’t until after we had sex I realized that I had given myself to someone who didn’t really care for me, and that my carefully planned and detailed dream was washed down the drain.
If only I could tell my 15 year old self what I know now. I would tell her that sex can’t be planned to the last detail… because if you plan it, you will be disappointed. Sex is supposed to be a wonderful, mind-blowing experience, but don’t expect that to happen on the very first time. It can eventually become great, but it doesn’t truly become that that way until you’re with someone you love with every inch of your body. I’m not saying you have to wait until you are married… just ask yourself why you want to do it. Is it really love?
I would tell her to wait. Be patient. Don’t give it up to someone to just try and win him back or make him love you. You will regret it in the future.
The reality is, I can’t go back in time and tell my 15 year old self what I know now. I can however break out the Barbie and Ken doll and have the sex conversation with my daughter, and hope that when she gets to be 15 years old she will make a better decision then I did.
Butterflies and Hurricanes: Muse
Cheers,
M
