Touched For the Very First Time

I have gone back and forth about posting the story of losing my virginity. Not because it was such an extremely personal, intimate moment I feel the need to keep it private, but because I did not want to offend the other person if he ever read this. I know he would not be happy I was writing about this on the interwebs.

Yet, this story is too comical and too important to my own personal narrative as a person not to share. Plus, I am kind of over making sure I do not hurt some one's feelings who so blatantly hurt mine.

So, here is the story of me being touched for the very first time.

I never really thought of my virginity as a precious flower or jewel or an other material good. I did not think I was going to hell for having sex before marriage. I did not buy into that whole staying pure for my future husband. If I were to stay pure, it would be for myself, thank you very much, not some man.

Yet, I wasn't willing to just have sex to have sex. I mean, of course my hormones had me thinking that that really wouldn't be too bad. I am a normal woman with normal lusty needs. I didn't necessarily build it up either, thinking it would be the most important moment of my whole life. I also did not ever think it would happen to be uber romantic with candles, soft jazz music, claims of deep love, or anything cheesy like that. That just would have been weird.

I did, however, know that I wanted to be in a committed relationship because I have issues with letting people get close to me emotionally and physically, so I knew it had to be someone I was sure cared about me at least on some level. Also I knew that I wanted it to be a part of a connection. Obviously it was a connection of penis to vagina. I just wanted it to be an extension of the connection I had already built with someone. Most of all, I wanted to be sure I was mature enough to deal with it.

To sum that all up...I had some standards.

Enter (is that a bad word choice or what) my first serious boyfriend. It is NoIQ discussed earlier. We had been dating for a while, broken up, then gotten back together. We were both virgins. He had done a little more than me, but we were both pretty inexperienced sexually speaking. He said that he wanted to wait until marriage to have sex, he was super Catholic, and that didn't really bother me.

I never really pushed the whole sex issue with him. We just progressed I guess. Like, when you hit a grand slam. You have to round the bases before you get to home. So we rounded the bases. First, Second, Third, Home. We just naturally worked our way up to the big night.

I remember we had been watching tv before. It was at my apartment. We got done watching a show then moved to my bedroom. We started the usual hanky panky and worked our way to the point of no return, or others might refer to it as just the tip. It just happened after that. I mean, you get to a certain point when it's like, why not? Or at least for me it was like that.

For me, I really liked this guy. I was pretty convinced I loved him. He made me happy and I was so happy to be with him. I had no qualms of doing it with him. He was sweet and caring and it just felt right for me. I thought he probably felt the same way since we started to go at it.

It wasn't uber special or anything. It didn't hurt too bad and after getting use to it, it was kind of enjoyable. I thought as first times go, this wasn't too bad at all.

Well, then something horrible happened. He started to cry while we were having sex. Seriously, no joke. After about five minutes he just breaks down. I wish I could say they were tears of pure ecstasy because I was a natural porn star fucking his brains out, but that was so not the case. They were salty tears of regret.

That brought the baby making session to a halt. He was quietly sobbing while I got dressed. He did that for awhile. I kept asking what was wrong, but he just wouldn't say. So then he announces he was leaving. As he leaves, he informs me that this is between me, him and God. I shouldn't tell anyone about it. He left without a kiss or hug, with tears still in his eyes.

Now, I know why he was so upset. Obviously he felt guilty for having sex with me. He had thought for so long he was going to wait until marriage. I got that.

But....that fucking hurt my feelings. I mean, I thought we were doing something that was an extension of how we felt for each other, building our connection. He was crying about it, feeling guilty. Which made me feel horrible and guilty. Like I had pushed him to do it or something. Like somehow I was Eve forcing him to bite the Forbidden Apple. Plus he kept acting like he wished it never happened.

It was my first time, too. I had feelings invested in this situation just as much as he did. Him crying sent a couple of messages to me: A) He did not want to be with me like that; he was rejecting me, B) He never wanted to be with me, C) I was a horrible person, and D) I was worthless.

Until recently, I had carried around a lot of guilt about that night and carried around a lot of those feelings when it comes to sex.

Now I just think of how comical it was. I mean, really. Of all the things to happen on a night like that, this is what happens. He cries and tells me to keep it a sacred secret between God and us. I was so not down for playing the Holy Spirit in his little Trinity.

What this has taught me though is that when it comes to sex and love, there is always that chance you will be humiliated, hurt, and crushed. But that chance for error leaves room for great stories and learning experiences.

It is also comforting to think of such things after you break up with the guy.