I was at work the other day, casually minding my own business when someone came in who looked familiar. It took me a few minutes to figure it out but it finally came to me: I’d seen her face on Facebook; she was dating one of my ex-boyfriends now. My first ever boyfriend, in fact. Number 1.
She caught me looking at her and smiled in an almost quizzing manner, so I figured I’d just be honest about why.
“I’m so sorry, I think I know you from the Facebook world. Are you dating so-and-so?”
I didn’t give any clues as to who I was or why I was asking, but it was obviously a question that got her back up a little, as she responded with:
“Yes, and I’m three months pregnant with his baby.”
Alright, blimey. I’m not really sure why she felt the need to tell me *that* snippet of information as a blurt out of nowhere, especially as it wasn’t yet public knowledge, but I just smiled and congratulated her and carried on about my work. It felt like she’d been trying to mark her territory, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her why I wasn’t bothered about him in the slightest. I’d already been there, done that, got the t-shirt, many years ago. What would have been the point of telling her that? Plus, there was also a teeny-tiny part of me that relished the thought of her asking him about me. What would he say?
— NUMBER 1 —
He was my first ever boyfriend. My first ever proper love and lover. My first ever proper heartbreak. He was a lot of things, actually. We dated for around a year or so, which seemed like an eternity at that age, and I lost my virginity to him. There had been a few “bits n’ pieces” with boys before that point, but Number 1 was the big one — the one that you remember. (Usually not in a positive light.)
We’d been fooling around on the floor of his bedroom for a while, after school, when my mouth blurted out something I wasn’t entirely sure I actually meant.
“We should just do it. All of it.”
And we did.
Well, we tried.
Knowing absolutely nothing about sex, we made a complete mess of things. I wasn’t wet enough and that caused his frenulum to tear. There was blood absolutely everywhere, trickling out in quite a dramatic fashion, and we did not know what to do. There was even a point at which we seriously debated calling an ambulance.
Instead of doing that, we grabbed a towel, a fresh pair of underwear and clean trousers, and he threw everything blood-stained into a black bag, which we then later chucked into a skip. There was no way we could risk his parents seeing the big red stains and asking about them at laundry time, it looked like a murder scene.
When the bleeding eventually subsided, and it really did take quite a long time, we headed down the road to my parents’ house, as fast as his waddle would permit … which wasn’t very fast at all. My mother wouldn’t exactly be happy about what I’d been doing for the bloody scene to happen, but she was cooler than his mum. His mum would have blown an absolute gasket at what we’d been doing under her roof.
We did eventually get the hang of things. Sex, I mean, although we couldn’t for a while after our first bloody attempt. My first experience with sex was definitely far from the picture-perfect idea I’d had in my head — and probably his, too. A lot of our first sexual encounters were messy, awkward, and fumbling, and our first attempt at oral sex was the same. I’d asked him to tell me when he was going to climax if we even got there at all, but he didn’t. Instead, I got a throat-full of something I wasn’t ready for, gagged not very gracefully over him, and then feared giving head for many, many months to come.
Luckily, I got over it. Judging by the pregnant girlfriend, it seems he’s also having better luck with the whole sex thing now.
I wonder why she felt the need to tell me that, though?
And … if my first ever boyfriend is having a baby now, does that mean I should be thinking about it too?
What a blast from the past!