The Second Time

We had to be quick; the second time we had sex. There wasn’t a lot of time, so, to be blunt, we affirmed our decision and got down to business as quickly as we could.

“I’m nervous,” I whispered to him, my hands hovering over his boxers. It was hardly any wonder; we hadn’t exactly set ourselves a great precedent.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked, his hands also hovering over my underwear.

We ummed and ahhed for a while. Did I want to stop? Did he want stop? How did I feel? He hadn’t pressured me at all, ever. The whole thing, all of our fooling around, had been discussed and planned. We got (aka I stole) condoms. We worked out when we’d have time alone. We actually talked about the whole thing. I’d already been on the contraceptive pill for a few years due to bad periods, but we wanted to use condoms anyway, just in case. We definitely did not want a baby. It was properly, perfectly planned. Almost like like we were proper adults, or something.

A few minutes later, consent given, nods nodded, we continued… but we never quite got around to taking my underwear off – a thong. Instead, we’d just whipped them to the side.

And that’s what we kept doing…

For the rest of our relationship…

We simply never took my underwear off.

The third time, fourth time, fifth time, all the rest of the times… we just whipped my undies to the side.

Side note: he thought going down on a girl was “gross,” so we’d never even contemplated that. I’m not sure that I can recall a single time that he ever fingered me, either. I thought it was all normal, of course. I mean, it was my first relationship, and my first sexual relationship. I didn’t know any better. Everyone’s [sexual] relationship was like that, right?

Looking back, all I can think is, what a selfish prick.

The thing is, though, you don’t realise that those things are weird until you do the weird things in front of someone who isn’t weird, and they look at you like, are you even from this planet?!

Porn wasn’t an easily accessible thing back then. I couldn’t exactly learn (rightly or wrongly) about sex from porn. I’d had precisely two interactions with porn at that point – a very old Playboy magazine that me and my friend found as we snooped through his parents’ bedside drawers, and a very old VHS (yes: VHS!) depicting some sort of sex party scene around a pool, discovered in one of my Pops’ old suitcases. (Sorry, Pops.)

Neither of those things depicted real sex.

They barely depicted sex at all, in all honesty.

So, off I went, wholeheartedly believing that all men thought coochies were “gross,” it was basically normal to never take my underwear off during sex, and orgasms were a mystery. Or a misnomer. Or maybe even a myth.

Holy shit, did I have some stuff to learn. (So much, lols.)

The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: That Time My Drink Was Spiked.