Once my virginity was laid to rest, buried, and mourned, it was time for me to move on. I was determined to figure out what all the hype surrounding sex was all about. And not just for me, but for my vagina- after such a tragic loss, it was the least I could do. How does one set out on such a journey, you ask? It was time for a road trip, just me and my vagina, two pals looking for some penis. We didn’t have to look very far; hailing down a penis was a snap. My hand barely made it up over my head and already penises were lining up from all directions.
Sadly, I've been faking it my entire sexual journey. Except when I get the job done on my own, of course ;) But no guy has ever been able to legitimately get my rocks off, even though they'd beg to differ. But I know I'm not the only young women that has been living in this annoying reality. For those of you that can relate, let's reflect and applaud ourselves on our wonderful acting skills over the years.
It’s not often that Holly and I had lunch free at the same time. We were always too busy during the day. It was infinitely easier to see each other during the day than at night, when I always had to have “meetings” scheduled or some other nonsense emergency. And that was only when she could get away from her boyfriend for a “girl’s night.” For us, “under the cover of darkness” was always the biggest risk.
Virginity: The state or condition of being pure, fresh, or unused. Great definition — not sure how I’d like to describe the pinnacle moment of losing my virginity now that it technically meant I was contaminated, burnt out, blown, depleted, and worn. I was now nothing more but an expended hand-me-down. I lost my virginity, and that makes me damaged goods all of a sudden? I prefer to think of myself as an antique. You know, like a time-honored, skilled veteran. Screw Webster and his dumb dictionary. How typical, doesn’t even know me and already trying to judge me. What gives him the right to appraise me anyhow? Damaged goods, my foot! No one has the right to judge us, nor define us. We define ourselves, and most of the time we are our biggest critics. We know who we are better than anyone else, why do we go out of our way to prove to others that which we already know? I know I’m not damaged goods, but perhaps I felt that way because I lost my virginity pre-maturely and not in the most pleasant of ways. The easiest way of dealing with things is to turn the other way, to bury the memories far away, so as never to deal with them again. The problem is when things are buried alive, they haunt you for eternity. No matter how much time passed, those demons plagued me in some way or another, without me even knowing it, subconsciously. They made their way into every relationship I had, skewed my reality, and took over the reigns of my mind, leaving me powerless in my own skin.
It's funny how life works out. I was in the middle of writing a post about my old friend, detailing the first time we met, on through to us hooking up. However, that is not how this post will go. Yes, I have been jilted. Yes, I was upset all of this initially happened, but I am not now and just want to share my hilarious first-time story.
Have no fear minute men, Mars Brown is here to save you or at least understand. I've been in the very unfortunate situation of blowing my load too quick. Are you lost? Ok. I've been in the very embarrassing moment of saying to myself, "Oh god please, no! I don't want to cum yet!" Are you found now? Are we on the same page now, fellas? Ok good. Ejaculating too quick can be one of those things where you just might not ever see her again and you're going to have to live with that. It has happened to me countless times, well not really; but it has happened. For me, I've ejaculated pretty quickly in a few situations. I'm the type of person where I don't mind taking an "L" to learn something new about myself.
Rarely in this world do we encounter a visionary with a mind so imaginative and a vision so raw that it makes us drop down onto our knees — to peel disgusting processed meats and cheeses off the strip club's stage. It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have been one of the dancers that were doing the same thing, but to their bare asses as opposed to being the underappreciated drink fetching, floor scrubbing titty-bar waitress. As many other young larva of the adult entertainment industry I was about to undergo a metamorphosis, my catalyst being an innovative new activity so brilliantly titled The Bare Ass Bologna Toss.
Growing up could be tough and often times embarrassing. Learning about sex, love, friendship and life in general. Sometimes the best way to learn is by screwing up and humiliating yourself. One of my very first sexual experience is a perfect example of just that. When I was a freshman in high school I was a young punk rock kid. After school I'd hang out in the commerce center, a local shopping center, near an arcade we claimed for ourselves. One weekend night we had a party we all went to and I met a young woman about a year younger than I at the time. She was what we would consider a scenester. To give you an idea of what she looked like take a look at this.
Everyone makes up a story, and usually it’s not rocket science to tell when a story is fiction because of these outrageous events that are written in.
Let’s be honest, unless you are a rampant teenager trying the Kama Sutra with a boyfriend you call big daddy, you have dealt with these awkward situations. The ones that you won't even tell your best friend who has seen you piss in an alley whilst eating the remnants of a kebab. But don’t worry I'm here to confirm what we all tell ourselves anyway, it really does happen to everyone! So let's jump into the world of sordid secrets and get down and dirty with the truth about sex.
This was probably a month after Harley Davidson and after a couple less eventful dates that led to nothing but were also just not interesting enough to share. At this point, I had given up on dating apps. Two days later, I was working at this wedding as a favour to my sister's friend, who was getting married. I agreed to it mainly because I got some extra cash, which is always preferable, and I got to work with my best friend. Plus once we were finished cooking and handing out all the food, we were allowed to join the party. So around 1 AM we had some catching up to do. We started drinking from the keg and smoked some pot and about an hour or so later my light weight ass was good and drunk. I decided that I wanted to go and flirt with this guy that I had been somewhat flirting with the whole night, so I peeled away from my friend, leaving him with his sister. I never did find him that night... Because I kind of got distracted. You see, before I started my search, I decided I wanted to fill up my cup and made my way to the keg. That was when I saw Hershey (this nickname will be explained at a later date) pouring the worst cup of beer ever! I swear, his cup was ninety percent foam and because of who I am as a person, I couldn't help but poke fun at the poor pour. He insisted that it wasn't actually him but the keg, so I made him prove it by pouring me a drink. Turns out the keg's pump was fucked.
I've grown accustomed to naming the men in my phone something fun or relating to the encounters we've had. This is just something amusing for myself that these guys will probably never be privy to. Plus, it reminds me of why I stopped wishing to speak to them. For example, Minute Man is forever saved as 30 Seconds... So I can relive that memory anytime I swipe passed his name.