The First Time
⚠️ Warning: This blog post features physical injury and blood.
The first time I had sex was a bloody nightmare… literally. If you’re on the squeamish side, you might want to skip this dating and sex blog post, because it literally involves injury to the dick. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!
Let’s Do It
It all started well enough – lots of heavy breathing, endless kissing, hands roaming, clothes coming off, writhing around, yadda yadda yadda.
“Let’s just do it,” I said.
He pulled away from our kiss. “What? Really?”
“Yes,” I confirmed. “Let’s do it.”
We scrambled to close the curtains and throw off any remaining clothes, then rolled a condom on his dick together, tearing it, disposing of it, then much more carefully applying the second.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Ready.”
Uh-Oh
One thrust. That’s as far as we got. One thrust. He whacked it in, and we both felt something wrong immediately.
Yanking ourselves apart and turning on the lights, the scene hit us like a literal horror movie. There was blood everywhere – and I mean *everywhere*. It was on him, on me, in me, on his hands, on my hands, all over the bed, everywhere.
“What the fuck?” we yelled in unison, desperately trying to find the source.
I was sore (as you’d expect,) but not in pain.
That’s when he yelped in pain.
He was the source.
We had broken his banjo string. Frenulum. Whatever you want to call it. It was broken, and it was bleeding profusely.
Oh, boy.
Help!
We rushed to put some clothes on, then, with a towel shoved down the front of his trousers, we waddled to the only person I trusted to help us: my poor mother.
That woman deserves a medal for the shit she’s had to put up with from me over the years.
She was every bit the superhero we needed at that moment, asking what had happened, then piecing everything together – all to avoid looking down the front of my boyfriend’s pants. (Not quite the way I’d planned to tell her about losing my virginity, but there ya go.)
“You’ve probably torn the bit that connects your… um… foreskin… to the… um… main bit,” she stuttered.
An hour later, bleeding stopped, everything all cleared away, and my boyfriend now wearing my dad’s clothes from the waist down, he finally felt brave enough to head back to his house. We threw his claret-covered clothes away.
The first time = the last time?
We waited for a while before attempting to have sex again… obviously. I think we were both a little traumatised by the event. I certainly wasn’t in a hurry to repeat that particular mistake.
Lessons were learned that day, though. Like, the importance of lubricant and/or preheating the oven (my body) before shoving in the turkey (his dick.)
We did have successful, non-injuring sex eventually. Thankfully. I don’t remember much of it. It’s hardly surprising when the first time was like that.
I bet that memory is as vivid in his mind as it is in mine. It was an absolutely unforgettable first-time experience… for all the wrong reasons.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Number 2: Goth Boy.
Thanks so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Do you fancy reading about more sex fails today? You’ll find lots of those right here.
If you’re in the market for something a little more successful, I’d like to point you in the following directions:
- True Sex Stories (successful ones)
- Erotic Fiction
- Audio Erotica + JOI
