My cherry was popped, my flower was plucked, my ripened peach was devoured, my vagina was penetrated, my youth was stolen, my virginity was lost during my sophomore year of college. I was twenty years old, and it was two days shy of Valentine’s Day. I’m going to use pseudonyms to protect the well-being of my past boyfriends. Let’s call my first boyfriend Gustov.
At the time we first had intercourse, he wasn’t my boyfriend. I know … tsk tsk. He was a very good friend of mine, though, and had been for over a year. He was a virgin too, so that made the experience of our first night all the more interesting. Prior to that, though, we had been fooling around for months. Touching here, groping there, you know how it goes … examining each other’s bodies for curiosity’s sake.
On the night it happened, it seemed like any other night. We were naked, for one thing, and were playing around in my bed in my dorm room. I suppose Gustov got tired of the playing aspect and wanted to go in for the real action. He got really still and really silent and whispered if I wanted to have sex with him. It was one of those surreal moments where I had to ask him again what he had just asked. Was I really going to give myself up to this guy? A lot of questions and worries ran through my head before I mumbled a mouse-like “Yes.” Yes? How could I possibly have acquiesced after being so patient for the past twenty years of my life?
When he, ahem … mounted me, I didn’t know what to expect. For some reason, I had completely forgotten about the pain that’s often associated with having intercourse for the first time. As he was getting ready to slide his member into my gaping hole, I abruptly grabbed his penis and said “WAIT!” He looked all confuzzled and quite eager to enter my dark lair. I’m not sure why I told him to wait. I think I was just scared. I held my breath and in he went! He wasn’t as gentle as I had hoped. No, actually, he wasn’t gentle at all.
The moment of penetration was a moment and a feeling a woman never forgets. I felt like my body was rebelling against the foreign object that had forced its way in, and the pain was excruciating. Maybe it seemed and felt worse for me because I have the lowest pain tolerance of all mankind. It felt like someone had lit a match to my vagina and was using a hot blade to carve its way from the inside out. It’s a good thing Gustov was a virgin because I swear he lasted less than a minute. Good for me too, because I held my breath during the whole thing …yes, the whole one minute of it. He failed to pull out before coming, so I had all this white goo blasted up my meow meow.
Afterwards, I felt like a kid who had never taken a Biology class. When I stood up from my bed, his “love juice,” if you will, came dribbling down my leg, and I was horrified. It was like a big wad of watery mucus oozing down my inner thunder thigh. I thought my vagina was drooling. I tried to walk around, but the pain was unbearable. I just climbed back into bed and moped for the next few hours, huddling in fetal position.
The next morning, I woke up with the realization of what I had just done. I let someone invade my private space. I had a minor panic attack, which then escalated into an actual panic attack from the fear of pregnancy. I was on the birth control pill, but as they say, they’re 99 percent effective. I immediately ran to Planned Parenthood to pick up a prescription for the morning after pill. The doctor told me it probably wasn’t necessary since I was on birth control, but I demanded it. She scratched her head at me like a confused baboon and handed me the prescription. After taking them, I felt safe, but my vagina still ached. Gosh, I’m never going to forget the pain. For that whole minute, I think I was just lying there like dead fish on a slab. I made no sound, no movement. It was traumatizing, but clearly, I’ve gotten over it and have learned to enjoy the pleasures of sex.