Primitive or basic, complicated or kinky, provocative or simplistic-
This monumental, milestone moment in a person's life a high percent of the time is achieved before one exits their teenage years.
No matter how informed you may be the first time I believe is still laced with some thread of dread and fear of the unknown for most parties involved. While we may know the mechanics of what is about to happen, we still have no idea how each party is going to perform and, therefore, have no idea how it will feel physically, how we will feel emotionally during and after, nor will we know until that moment or afterwards whether mentally we were ready.
I personally do not think that young people are taught the plethora of complexities that transpire once they have given themselves to another. I also do not suspect that they are cognizant of the fact that every time they have sex they dispense or transfer a parcel of themselves to the other person. A fragment of them is gone forever. Hence, people in the sex industry are often described as "broken," "shattered," and "in ruin." They have given away, sold, traded, had ripped from them them so many fragments of themselves often there is just nothing left to give. All that exists is the desolate shell of a being that once thrived.
First times do not always happen young. The rare unicorns that wait still exist.
I, was that rare unicorn. Mostly due to the fact that these matters and other basics I should have known were not spoken of in my home; a home that was a fundamental, extremely right wing, Pentecostal household where from the pew I had it drilled into me that premarital sex would send me straight to hell, amongst other sins. Never mind the diseases, mental and emotional anguish one would suffer not being ready because they were too young to handle responsibility and decision-making of this magnitude. Then, of course, they drilled into us the ramifications and shame of being an unwed teen mother--oh the sin; oh the shame it would bring to the family. That bundled with a handful of loving, older, adults that came into my life as a young adult taught me incessantly that staying pure until marriage made one the crème de la crème, and so I waited.
Honestly, I really did not want anything to do with what little I knew about that ugly appendage men usually think with. The older I grew, the more petrified I became of my first time and the more of a oddball I felt I was. By my thirties I was sure my vagina was filled with think, dank cobwebs and likened to some undiscovered cave awaiting its great discovery and excavation by some eager archeologist. With each passing day, I swear I could feel what was left of my eggs hard-boiling inside my aging, virginal body.
I was taught for decades this was to be celebrated and something to wear like a badge of honor and for me it was the opposite. I was ashamed. I hated that I was in my thirties and still clueless not to mention I still had not really even seen pictures of penises let alone had one up close and personal. Yes, I knew what it looked like and NO, I STILL wanted NOTHING to do with it.
Don't you dare accuse me of, question me about or insinuate that I might be gay! Because HELL NO...Ewwww...
I was just as ignorant as I was brought up to be and most evangelicals claiming to be Christians are today. All I could think of was how girls had sex; knowing of one way off the top of my head I was not about to let anyone think I was tasting some chicks nether-regions...Nope, not me, never.
Well, you know what they say about "never say never?"
My first time, I was 37. It was memorable, but not in the way you're probably thinking--not even close.
You see, there was no Prince or Princess that swept me off my feet, no fairytale wedding, no magical honeymoon where my virginal self, this prized possession was treasured like the gem I had been taught I was.
My first time was a bitch.
A ride to the hospital.
A police report.
A rape kit.
Seven years later when I met a woman online, came out and realized I was gay, all the thoughts about that ugly appendage and how I had always been repulsed by it finally made sense.
Why, I have always been intrigued and beguiled by women finally made sense. Why, for as long as I can remember I have loved and admired women, but from afar because it was deemed a "sin" that I would go to hell for. Though I could not or would not admit it, for various reasons in my younger years, I can now say that women have in the past, do in the present and will continue to bring me great joy.
I love the silkiness of their skin, the softness of their touch, the many lovely scents they adorn themselves with, their many varying fashions and trends. I love their warmth, their embraces and their love of nurturing others. I love the way they move and the wonder and amazement of their bodies as they allow themselves to be human incubators of new life, carrying and delivering other tiny humans into this maddening world, then sustaining that new life by feeding them from the abundance of their breasts. I often gaze upon them as the fabulous works of art that they are and the alluring sight they are to behold.
So, the first time...what awaits?
soft touches, breathlessness, soft kisses
slowly, explicitly moving together as one
unearthing her, inhaling her, savoring her
hot, unrestrained, intense, fierce.
Is this really what awaits your first time with her?
If you are fortuitous enough it is.