First Sexual Experience

I had my very first sexual experience some time during my junior year of high school. I honestly can’t even remember making out with a girl before that. It started off with me picking up my date. We’ll call her Jess. Of course I had flowers and Jess’s favorite song playing for the ride. Any time I would pick a girl up for an official date, I always had her favorite song playing. I just wanted the girls to be happy; it honestly had nothing to do with getting in their pants. Shit even if I got there, I wasn’t even sure what to do. Let me tell you these girls ate it up. To them, I was the sweetest guy on the planet.

Back to my first sexual experience.

I don’t even remember dinner. Now before you judge, listen to this experience. You’re not even going to remember your name after this story; it’s that bad.

After dinner we went back to my house to hang out in my parent’s finished basement. My mom has always been super cool, my dad just goes with the flow, and my siblings were instructed to stay out of the basement. We were pretty much left alone.

We spent a little time watching TV then we started making out. I thought to myself, cool I’m not too bad at this. It was not exactly how I had imagined a french kiss would be, but then again what did I know? Of course with making out comes fondling. I knew that much. My hands went right to the fun bags.

First red flag.

Boobs are squishy. Honestly, I almost stopped right there. I was totally expecting them to be firm. I’m not talking concrete rocks, just something I could actually squeeze. She was laying there having the make out session of her life (yeah right) and I’m laying there trying to figure out why boobs were squishy and why no one told me.

At that moment I became an official spokesperson for fake breasts.

Fine. Boobs are squishy; I can manage. I was preparing to round second and rock it out on third base. For those of you not familiar, third base is the finger bang. As raunchy as the name sounds, it’s completely accurate.

At that point she was nice and excited, if you know what I mean. I’m new to this so I just did what came naturally. I had seen enough of the Spice channel to know what was up.

Houston, we have another problem.

Let me preface this with telling you that I have some of the largest hands on the planet. If I were strong enough, I could probably palm a VW bug. Really big hands. Sounds great, huh girls? Well once I got older and learned how to use them, it was great. First time sexual experience, no so much.

I touched her cervix. I’m in 11th grade, I don’t even know what a cervix is. I was convinced it was cancer; I mean, what else could it be? I was just supposed to have a nice dinner and maybe some making out. There I am trying to figure out if I should break this life altering news to her.

Let’s recap. So far we have squishy boobs and a ball of cancer. Can’t get much worse huh? Think again.

I figure if I’m poking it, I might as well stop touching the ball and take a shot at licking. What can go wrong? At least I won’t be touching the ball.

Big mistake. Honestly, she had what I would call the gamiest most sour vagina, ever. She even asked me if it was bad, like she knew. Of course I lied. But my immediate thought was, battery acid. And unfortunately, so became her nickname. No, not in front of anyone, just my close friends. I know it was mean. She never found out about the name, I don’t think. But hey, this was my first time and it was her fault for neglecting to shower for a month.

Ok, so this has to be the end of the misery. How can this possibly get any worse? Well, it was my turn. I was going to get my very first blow job.

But there was a stipulation. Oh great, rules. Before any blowing commenced, she told me that while she was giving me the blow job she couldn’t look at me, and I wasn’t allowed to see her face. Like I’m getting a blow job from mother Teresa and she doesn’t want a human being witness her sin. That type of rule.

I figured why the hell not. Let’s face it, I didn’t have many options. It wasn’t like I had a line of girls outside excited to give me a blow job, so I went with it. The first thing she asked for was a cover. Man, she’s serious about this not looking thing. Unfortunately, really unfortunate, the only cover I had was an afghan. We’re talking the afghan Grandma crocheted that will make you sweat on the North Pole. Yeah, I think you know where this is going.

This is also when I realized that I am the exact opposite of a two pump chump. I’m more like a marathon runner from Kenya. So my dinner date has squishy boobs, a sour vagina with a possible ball of caner, and she’s underneath what is essentially a heat lamp giving me my very first blow job. The poor girl kept emerging from under the blanket asking if I was close. That’s when I learned it’s kind of hard to focus when your partner is completely uncomfortable and sweating while trying to provide you pleasure.

So I finally finish. I’m mortified by all the previous events and discoveries. This CAN’T be the way it works. I was prepared to become gay or a priest. Not that there’s much of a difference.

We clothed and composed ourselves. She needs a shower and chemo. I need a gallon of mouth wash and a memory messer-uper from the MIB. I asked if she wanted to go home. I had no idea what to even do with myself at this point let alone her. No cuddling, no nothing. I was pretty sure that with the ball in her vagina the right thing would be to take her to a hospital; but I settled on her house.

Next day we met at my locker. I was like “I don’t want to go out with you anymore.” She walked/ran away crying. Sure I felt bad. I know it was mean and all, but let’s be honest; I was the real victim here.