I was 19 when I kissed a boy for the first time. He was the brother of my next door dorm neighbor. Scotts’ brother was visiting for the weekend and somehow we ended up in my friend Eric’s dorm room downing Jim Beam with Coke backs, listening to Pearl Jam, Bad Brains and The Red Hot Chilli Peppers all night talking about the glory days of High School and our bright young futures after college. I found myself, at the end of the night, flung in this very tall persons arms and pressed tightly against his body slowly dancing to Sade’s Love Deluxe {excellent make out CD, by the way, even today} and we ended up kissing for 5 hours straight. Standing there in the middle of Eric’s dorm room, Eric passed out on the bottom bunk— a trash can next to him, his foot on the floor to calibrate his inner ear…as he snores quietly to the heady, sexy, slow thump of No Ordinary Love.
I was so nervous. i had no idea what to do with my hands, how to position my neck, we bashed teeth atleast a dozen times, but it took absolutely no time to get into the swing of things and ride without the training wheels. Wierdly enough, I had my friends voices in my head…
kiss with your whole body,
don’t be self conscious, do you.
It’s never about him but about you,
use him the way he’s using you,
let it be your fairy tale, it only happens once…
I felt like I was stuttering against his weight, I shook for a very long time and he held me so sweetly and I was caught up in this cradle of flannell and Men’s Obsession and spit and hot breath and Jim Beam and I just surrendered to the moment. Eric’s faint snore in the background, more than likely him peeking with one eye opened and me reaching my fumbling arms up to his neckless mass trying to find comfort in his desire for me.
That was the more difficult part, my feeling insignificant under someone elses gaze. I always felt unworthy of their attraction, if not unworthy then untrusting of it. I couldn’t believe that someone else would ever find me, the ugly girl from Bayside Middle School, pretty, let alone-kissable.
This event was quite portentous, as my life has unfolded — with each untried thing finally consummated one could say Pandora’s box was opened and each successive experience I had became more and more involved or advanced or serious.
It took me a very long time to come to a point where sex was okay for me. The journey was long and winding and I still can’t pinpoint the exact reasoning behind my choices…all I know is that there were a slew of different reasons; none of which had to do with religion or deep dark secrets or sexual ambiguity. I have always wanted to be a sexually open and expressive person. I have always wanted to be free and ballsy and less uptight and I think that in my pursuit for those ideals I needed the time to figure out who I was before surrendering to another sexually. My friends always asked what are you waiting for? My boyfriends always asked can I just put the tip in? My parents at some point even questioned me, probably even my sexuality.
I don’t know at a certain point it did become a point of contention with everyone…Is she gay, was she sexually abused, what is her deal? And at a certain point even I questioned myself and why it took so long…But it’s perfectly logical for me. I had waited too long for someone that I truly respected enough to do it with. Period. By the time someone came along that I had actually liked, trusted, respected and would want to see the next morning without kicking myself and jumping out of the nearest window…I was 32.
I do know that the reasons I gave throughout the years have all been valid…
“You’re just not good enough.”
“I want to be in love.”
“I have been frivolous with many things in my life; losing my virginity will not be one of them.”
“It’s the only thing I have left.”
“It makes the conversation more interesting.”
“It’s a great barometer for weaning out the “dick-wads””
“What do I know about sex?”
I have had a cast of characters traipse in and out and sometimes back in to my life and the trip has been wild and heady and fun and amazing…I remember that I was in love—madly, crazy head over heels in love with my best friend Ed who was this cool combination of “suburbanite, frat boy and wannabe hip-hopper viva la raza!” type. I thought he was cool anyway. I was 18 when we met at Northern Illinois University in front of the Fraternity house he belonged to. My friends and I were trawling the streets of fraternity row looking for free booze and stumbled upon three handsome drunk idiots that became life-long friends…well at least for a decade. I hated Ed when I first met him, he was a frat boy and I despised them…they had a way of turning a location into date-rape central and sharing insipid glances with one another that I always suspected to be code for “Attack!”
I fell in love with him two years later when he suddenly called me out of the blue two years after me dropping out of college to pursue Hollywood Dreams. He invited me to a party and I showed up a little less shy than I had been when we first met. I’ll leave that story for another day.
Needless to say, I have had some adventures…and I want more, I feel like such a dilletante such a dammned, green late bloomer but I also feel so empowered to be able to make the choices that I have and will/ Because, I guess it’s not neccessarily about being a thirty two year old virgin that has been so unbelievable and amazing it iwas the journey.
The journey of becoming…and the beautiful thing about that is that it will never end,
will it?
The picture in the header is of me and Wheat Toast just 7 days before the “deed”…
If you want to read a little more about being a thirty-something virgin check out The Dilletantes Ball on The Reason page of this blog.
