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The First Cut

So Deep. So Deep.

By Victoria LeePublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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It was my first love that screwed me, literally and emotionally. I was completely taken by him from the first time we sat next to each other in drama class.

He was cute, a bit frumpy with an awful bowl cut hairstyle, bright blue eyes and nice hands. I have a thing for guys with nice hands and nails, I am grossed out by guys who bite their nails down to the cuticle. He wasn’t overly attractive or anything, just a bit cute and most of all, funny. I liked funny. He made me laugh and that was worth quite a bit in my eyes. Our last names both started with “L” and so we ended up seated next to each other in freshman drama class. That day, I was smitten with David. I have always been quite the aggressor, and so it was me who made the first move by calling his phone number (which I got by flashing his cousin my left boob in the woods) and telling him that I “*69’d this number”. This was a lie, of course, and I am sure he knew that. But, we ended up talking and that led to dating. I was thrilled. I felt like I had won a prize.

Within months I had let him take my virginity, which was easy to give up once I was positive he was “the one.” At 15, aren’t you positive you know who “the one” is? No? Well, I sure did (insert sarcasm here). 20 years later, I am convinced there is no “one” but a bunch of “ones” that you run through until you find the least annoying person that won’t make you catch a case as you grow old with them. Do you think I’m jaded? Because I am.

That fleeting moment in his bedroom on the second floor of his family home was better than expected, but worse than depicted on TV. There was no magical moment where our bodies were perfectly aligned and our love making was cinematic. There was a moment of “can I put in just the tip” to “ow, ow, ow, David, that hurts, ow, ow, my hair, ow, okay I’m good, wait, ow, hang on, move to the left, okay, go ahead.” Super sexy, I know.

Over time, we got better at sex. I read some books, talked to older friends and figured out how to make it work for me. I already knew it worked for him, I just didn’t know how it was supposed to work for me. Until I did. One day, we were fooling around, we got around to the “go ahead and put it in” moment that was usually followed by breathy “oohs” and “ahhs” for his ego. But this time, I felt pressure building. I knew this feeling from my many alone sessions but never had I experienced it with David. Before I knew it, I was in la la land and gasping for air after a very vocal moment that shocked even him. The books worked and I had achieved an orgasm through sex. I was beyond ecstatic. And, in love.

Our sex life became my addiction. I wanted it anywhere, everywhere and all the time. Behind the curtain during drama club rehearsal, in the backseat of his Toyota Tercel, in the backseat of my Chevy Cavalier and in the backseat of his parent’s minivan. On his stairs, on everyone’s bed (as a challenge) and under the bleachers at school. It was constant and exciting and I loved every minute of it. I fell in love with him, but even more, I fell in love with sex.

Apparently, he fell in love with sex, too. Only, it wasn’t only with me. It was with my best friend, Cece. How did I find out, you ask? I saw her walking down the hall with his lime green Adidas shirt on. I knew it was his because there was a purple nail polish stain on the arm from Halloween when I dressed up as a zombie hooker. When I approached her, I asked her where she had been the night before when I called and her response was, “just met some friends.” When I inquired, as a best friend often does about her friend's whereabouts she replied, “met some guy, you don’t know him but we screwed all night. It was awesome.” It was later confirmed when I asked David where he had been the night before when I called and he replied, “just met some friends.” Later in life, way later, he owned up to screwing her for several months before I had dumped him. But I knew as soon as I saw her wearing his shirt; I had a feeling all along but at that moment, my heart hit the floor.

In the hallway, I would see him and my heart would ache. I realized that we had been dating for almost 4 years and graduation was coming and I had no idea what I wanted. I had planned to go to college at NYU and David was going with me. Now, I didn’t want him within 100 miles of me. Not because I hated him. Just the opposite. I missed him and I knew I was weak and would take him back. Besides a bad call one day next to the lockers when I let him kiss me, I stayed away. He tried to get me back but I knew it was for the best if I walked away and didn’t look back. I finished with a 3.5 GPA. Who knew more books and less sex would increase my GPA?

Walking away was exactly what I did. I scooped up the pieces of my broken heart and moved to New York City. It wasn’t until our 15 year high school reunion that I saw him again. That story is for another day. It’s definitely true what they say, “the first cut is the deepest”. This relationship was the start of a long line of disasters. Almost 4 years and my entire high school experience was full of David. I knew nothing else. I needed to learn how to be me, without him. He helped shape my feelings about men in the future and how I looked at relationships and sex. I needed to go out on my own and learn how to be independent and strong.

Almost 15 years later, when we locked eyes at the reunion and he asked me to sit and have a drink with him, he reshaped my feelings about men, relationships, and sex again.

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About the Creator

Victoria Lee

I’m a Florida girl who loves to cuddle with animals, eat pizza and try to figure out where life is going.

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