Most people I know have dabbled in illicit substances. Smoked the happy weed, sniffed the nose candy, and ingested the love pills, whatever the term kids are using these days. It’s funny how the terms change but the practices remain with each new generation thinking they invented a new kind of rebellion. It’s like the word bonk or the even more offensive boink. My parents bonked, their parents shagged, my generation is somehow more puritan and over-sexed than our predecessors. We ‘get intimate’ and ‘hook-up’. It seems like a deceptively polite way to describe letting a stranger plow you from behind in an alleyway behind a club, but language is strange like that.
I’m no Anthony Kelidis or Keith Richards but I have had a low key dabble in my time. I’m no ‘my body is a temple’ type, but no one is calling me Sniffany to my face either. I was quite old to join the ‘getting intimate’ party. I was a 19-year-old virgin, not exactly a 40-year-old virgin, but to a horny 19-year-old it felt dangerously close to the same thing. Sex is everywhere, but at the same time it’s not. It’s in your face everywhere you turn, but at the same time people who have been celibate for 5 years or more either voluntarily or involuntarily is definitely on the rise. To a 19-year-old it feels like everyone is doing it and there’s a certain shame attached to being someone no-one has never rubbed naughty bits with another person.
I was working in a cinema, Lafonda-Green arranged for the popping of my booty cherry. LG worked with a man named Terrie. To my 19-year-old self-Terrie was a more worldly man than me, a man of experience, the ideal person to relieve me of my virginity and to induct me into the world of sexy shenanigans. In hindsight, Terrie was a 25-year-old still living with his parents in middle-class splendour in the bible belt, working for a popcorn shop, and deflowering awkward young virgins like myself in his spare time. To clear up any confusion my tendency towards hyperbole may have created, I’m not saying Terrie chased barely legals, I’m saying he wasn’t the debonair man of the world I thought him to be at the time, he was basically me a couple of years older. Thanks to the machinations of LG Terrie and I exchanged numbers and after some light saucy texting I was ready to sacrifice my cherry to the gods of peen. Like most cherry popping stories home was not an option. The idea of either of us bringing a guy home to our parents houses and shagging in our childhood beds before doing the walk of shame past the traumatised faces of our middle-class conservative parents who just listed to the awkward grunting’s of their son negotiating arse sex for the very first time while they enjoyed their evening coco, just didn’t feel right. I love my family, but we are not one of those share everything families, and it didn’t feel right to peripherally include them in my sex life. So, we did it in my car, a Nissan Maxima I still remember fondly, in the local lover’s lane just a few streets over from the police station. I bet you weren’t expecting such a 1950’s turn of events from the man you have come to see as a plucky modern hero making his way in the world his own way, but yeah I lost my virginity the same way your mum probably did. There may have been more anal stuff involved for me, I don’t know, I don’t know your mum. I picked Terrie up under the cloak of darkness once his parents were snoring in front of the TV and drove to what I now realise was a disturbingly open spot where perverts were probably hiding in the bushes hoping to spot some teen girl being groped by her boyfriend. That night the perverts probably got the same shock I get when I turn on the TV and its SBS and there is a Latin housewife sitting on the toilet, you know it happens in real life but you are just not used to seeing it casually appear before you.
My only thought at the time was I had to move heaven and earth to get this one, I was far too old to still be a virgin. I really didn’t know what to expect. This was still the early days of the internet, and porn was pretty much limited to photos and internet chat room stuff. Nothing like the overwhelming amount of hardcore graphic stuff spanning every possible preference and scenario that is available at the click of a mouse completely free these days.
I cannot emphasise this enough to my younger readers who have never known a world without freely accessible internet porn of every description. I was a gay man, who was pretty sure something was going to go up my butt, but had no idea how the mechanics of this were going to happen. Yeah there was sex ed at school, but they sure as fuck were not discussing the how too’s of inserting things in your rectum. It’s quite frankly surprising to me that hetero’s ever worked out how to procreate before porn was so available, what I saw in sex ed was worse than fucking IKEA instructions. Shaft A goes into Slot B, but from what I could discern females were in possession of a couple of unclearly marked slots which could have been slot B, and anyone who has ever tried to put on a wetsuit can tell you that stuff that is a tight fit doesn’t just insert smoothly. No child of the porn generation will ever be shocked the way my generation was to find cum draining back out of them. Yes, what goes up must come down, but that was never clearly explained in any sex ed class I attended.
Anyhooo we got to the carpark and found a quiet spot and turned the internal lights off so we were not spot-lit by that little light that never seems bright enough when you are searching for your keys, but seems like a floodlight when your cock is exposed. It was summer time, so removing our clothes was rather pleasant on many fronts. I had no idea what I was doing and I didn’t really enjoy it that much, but I had committed to seeing this through, and I did. Terrie showed me the ins and the outs of the ins and the outs of gay sex. I’m sure it was just as awkward for him as it was for me, but nothing that scared either of us for life. I have had plenty of sexual escapades since then, and so has Terrie so it certainly didn’t put either of us off.
Car sex is tricky at the best of times, but gay car sex when you are a 6ft 4 virgin being deflowered by a man with very little more experience than a virgin is awkward ramped up to 11. Terrie was sweet, and I have no regrets, but definitely falls under the category of erotic comedy. All in all, my cherry popping was something to be endured, not enjoyed. The enjoyment came later when I got to proudly relay my newfound no-virgin status to my friends. Most of them were still virgins, and for a time I was like a god among my friends, a worldly hero who had been places they had never been and could regale them with tales of things they hoped to one day experience for themselves. I would go for drives with my friends telling them the story with them cheering me on, until I got to the part where they were sitting right there exactly where it happened and I hadn’t cleaned the seat. People are pretty much always grossed out and disgusted to find they are sitting right where you spermed things up, and they get a bit angry when they realise there might be wang juice particles from sex, they didn’t have clinging to their new trousers. It was a great time in our lives and new and exciting experiences just kept coming. I started to sleep around, I started to dabble in drugs. We would hit up festivals, get stoned, drink ourselves shitfaced. I had never thought about mixing sex and drugs, the day I discovered drugs heightened everything especially sex, was in hindsight the start of a downward spiral for me. One of my university friends introduced me to ecstasy, it’s not called the love drug for nothing. I was euphoric, I loved everyone and everything, life vibrated on a whole new level for me, and everything I touched felt imbued with meaning and joy. I would take MDMA at festivals and concerts and life felt good and free and happy. While I restricted it to festivals and concerts it felt like I was in control.