My First Sexual Experience

"The first time I had sex, it was great! It was a beautiful experience! A very moving experience! I just wish that someone had been there to enjoy it with me!" -Rodney Dangerfield; "Rappin' Rodney"

"Wherever there is degeneration and apathy, there also is sexual perversion, cold depravity, miscarriage, premature old age, grumbling youth, there is a decline in the arts, indifference to science, and injustice in all its forms." -Anton Chekov

"There are two things people want more than sex and money -- recognition and praise." -Mary Kay Ash.

The first time you had sex, was it any good? I've often heard people tell how their first time was terrible. A statement that is usually followed by regret that they hadn't waited, or at least picked someone else.

It is the kind of topic that might come up late in the evening after a few beers, and you've settled into some comfy chairs as the radio plays quietly in the background. I've had this conversation with a friend of mine.

"How was your first time Carl?" I asked.

"Mine? Well mine was purdy terrible. I was fourteen and we did it in her daddy's tool shed. She hit me in the face with her elbow and busted out this front toof. I've had to wear a partial plate ever since...but the sex was purdy good," Carl says with mismatched grin. "How 'bout you Doc? How was yours?"

"Mine was magical!" I admitted, because it was.

Now somewhere I have read that an astronomical amount of people had sex on their prom night. The figures elude me, but let's just say it was a very high number. Perhaps you were one of them? Maybe it is the youthful expectation of a night of romance, a sense of a rite of passage, or just plain old friskiness, but apparently a lot of people have parted ways with their virginity after prom.

I was eighteen, and had selected my date with extreme care. She had to be funny, and fun to be with. She had to be intelligent, outgoing, well-spoken and stunningly beautiful, but in the end the choice was easy. I picked from what the football team left. At one point I had added to my list of criteria that she should have "loose morals", but I quickly crossed it out. Who was I kidding? I wanted a date with no morals!

Her name was Curling Iron, as it had been suggested that she had once been caught masturbating with one. If it had been plugged in or turned on at the time was a matter of some speculation amongst the gossips. While most would consider this horrible rumor to be an obvious detraction from a prom date, I considered it a plus. Should the rumor prove true I reasoned, then she is only demonstrating that she has the same raging hormones that I do and is willing to do something about them. I knew the rumors to be false however, and she was simply being slandered by others because she did her own thing and refused to be part of the crowd. Besides, she didn't need a curling iron. Her hair couldn't have been more curly, and it didn't hurt at all that she was a wonderful dancer with a large rack.

I double-dated with my buddy Jason and his girlfriend Carmella. She was a nice country girl with long, dark hair and bad acne but she could tell a good joke or Indian wrestle you to the floor like a calf at branding time. She wasn't much in the dancing department, but Jason didn't bring her to dance with. He drove his mother's Cougar and we picked up our dates in style. The rented tuxes were scratchy and tended to pinch in all the wrong places, but we looked the part of dapper second-rate waiters as we drove down dirt roads to pick up our dates.

We had a sumptuous feast at our local Burger King and headed to the prom. We went in, danced, photos were taken, tepid punch was sipped and we left. We went to my house where romance was about to ensue.

We teased them with promises of the fun to come. Little did they know what was in store for them. Jason and I enticed them with a very sexually charged euchre game, best three out of five. Curling Iron and I lost, but my parents were in bed at this hour, so we decided that we would go upstairs to "listen to some music". I turned on the Hi-Fi in my room but Jason and Carmella decided that they wanted to listen to another station in my sister's bedroom. They left in some haste.

Now my bedroom had been carefully decorated to imply that I was a man of culture and good taste and was therefore a woman trap to begin with, or at least as best as I could replicate from the Style sections of Playboy.

Curling Iron and I sat on my loveseat and held hands as we watched the lights of the equaliser quiver. We kissed. We kissed with a passion that was new to both of us. We reached for each other and held on as if the the world were spiraling out of control and we were the only anchor left to cling to. The lights dimmed.

I wish I'd known then what I do now. It would have smoothed a few rough patches. All the theory you've gathered from books does not prepare you for the momentous occasion that is about to transpire, even if the book was one that your parents had borrowed from the church library. Regardless, you are ill prepared.

She lunges for me with the vigor of a long-denied alley cat and I try to summon every trick I can think of from my one page book. I try to think of erotic Greek vases as I attempt my clumsy version of foreplay, and she grits her teeth. At some point I am out of breathe and sweaty and she looks me in the eye and smiles as she says, "Is that it?"

"No," I lied, "there is lots more!"

I did manage to make her scream her mother's name, but she was on the telephone looking for a ride.

Live and learn, that's my motto.

Carl looked me in the eye and said, "You're fulla shit..."

Doc