No reason to beat around the bush here. Let’s get to the juicy stuff.
Sex is this ridiculous thing that, as a child, you have no idea will have such a massive impact on your entire life. It’s a part of human nature that can throw every other bit of brain function out the window. I wish I was one of those people that could just put it aside and not think about it. These days, sometimes, I can..but I wasn’t always that way.
I’ve always been a very sexual person.
As soon as I learned how to masturbate it was on. How did I not know something free and alone could feel so wonderful? It was such a perfect escape from everything. Just me and these racy thoughts of how magical I imagined it would be. That silly little lonesome hopeless romantic inside me tied it all in to the closest I thought I would feel to love. (Oh to be young and angsty) As a social outcast, and a plump one at that, my self esteem was floating pretty low and as the best friend to the girl all the boys wanted to be with, I rode the third wheel on a daily basis. I would always become best friends with her boyfriends but there was never a sliver of doubt in my mind that everyone found me just as unattractive as I did.
Depression has a funny way of making you not care about anything.
Freshly seventeen and heartbroken, I went with my best friend to see another friend. He had loud music and alcohol – the perfect cure for an evening of blues. Honestly I think she was tired of hearing me complain. I should have been more vocal about it that night, in retrospect. If she had told me to go lay in the middle of the road I would have. This being my frame of mind, you can imagine that getting incredibly drunk and being told that you should let this guy take your virginity didn’t seem like a big deal at all. I don’t hold it against her. She was young and drunk as well.
It was terrible. This strange guy I didn’t know well at all was laying on top of me. The most I had ever done up until that point was a kiss on the lips. I froze up and just kept my focus on the screensaver dancing to the music behind him. I was drunk so I felt no pain and it didn’t last very long. I remember my reaction being “That’s it?” I felt like losing your virginity was supposed to be this big deal and this is how I lost mine? Bullshit. I want a refund.
I guess losing it in such an anticlimactic way made it not a big deal at all to me. There was no way that was it. People were fanatics for sex! There had to be better out there. I wanted to feel what I could do alone with someone else. I craved a connection.
A connection took a long while to achieve but from then on sex itself became a challenge, a victory, something I could escape to when I didn’t want to face reality. I was going through a very deep depression at the time so for some reason I clung to it as a means of stability and refuge. Even if someone only wanted me for sex, it was a way of being wanted – something I never felt.
There was this boy in school. The new kid. Quiet, handsome, big hands (hello discovering my turn on!) and he had that rebellious look I found so enticing back then. Neither me or my friend new his name at first so we called him the Greek god. Her first words were “I’m so going to date him.” My first words were “I’d hit it, but I don’t think I would date him.” True to our words, (Shit, I don’t want to use names but this is hard. From now on, my best friend will be referred to as Lola) Lola started talking to him and they became an item. Now, keep in mind that we were teenagers. Relationships didn’t last. People “dated” those that they found attractive until they discovered that they had the personality of wet paper and then would move on. So, naturally, after they had been together a few weeks Lola found another boy who blipped her radar. Of course, I had become friends with Greek god in that time, being the constant third wheel and all. Lola was torn. She wanted to be with her new toy so badly but wasn’t ready to drop her pretty piece of arm meat. Her solution? Make out night. Yes, yes, because who has the patience to see which way a bottle will stop? The only guaranteed way to smooch your crush is to make sure that everyone kisses everyone. She succeeded in getting to kiss her new interest and I got a taste of that Greek god I was so curious about. Afterward she asked Greek god who the better kisser between her and I was. His answer, point blank, was me. She was furious. I was elated. It was ON. Later they split. Lola got her new boy and I got a New Years night of hot pent up teenage hormone parade to the sounds of Silence of the Lambs playing in the background. It was a turning point for my sexuality. I scored this fine ass hunk of meat and it sure as hell was more pleasurable than the first time. A whole new world opened up to me. I started to emerge from my depression. Meager as it was, this little bit of attention helped my self esteem heal and I climbed that rope as far up as I could take it.
Then my father and little brother suddenly died in a plane crash. Everything stopped. My rope was cut. The two people I felt closest to in my family, the father I had just begun to build a close relationship with, the little brother who would steal my CDs and dye his hair black when I dyed mine, the biggest thought that pulled me through my depression – That I still had a family who loved me – was crushed.
My mother and I couldn’t talk. The pain was too great and we couldn’t communicate with each other. She started going to massage school at night and I discovered the power of the internet chat room. I was, admittedly, quite irresponsible. I would meet up with random guys, mostly my age, and fool around. I had this hunger for it, like it would fill the hole in my heart. Of course it never worked but for a brief moment I could escape reality and feel the warm touch of another human being. It was all fun and games until my birthday that year. Despite this itch, most of my friends were male. I’ve always been a tomboy and I can easily differentiate between friend and love interest. Therefore, many of the attendees to my sleepover were boys. There was one there who I worked with at a haunted house that year. He had light purple hair and dark tan skin and I thought he was just the cutest. Of course Lola had told him my feelings. He replied that he had a girlfriend and I accepted it. Cool. No problem, bro. I was really, truly okay with it. Apparently his take on it was a bit different. That night, he slept in my brother’s old room, away from the rest of the group since he wasn’t a usual member of our “crew.” He asked me to come say good night so I went to the room. Before I could tell what was happening he had his arm around me, his tongue down my throat, and his hand down my pants. In complete shock, I pushed him away. He told me to come back later for my present. Disoriented, I ambled back to the living room and curled up with Greek god on the couch, to my comfort zone, someone who had become a friend that I trusted. I didn’t talk to purple hair again after that and definitely didn’t tell anyone about the incident. Nobody wanted to hear that about me. Down into the jar of unspoken experiences.
After that I decided that it was probably a pretty good idea for me to have a steady boyfriend. I could avoid those situations if I weren’t available. I’d have one person to be with and not have to worry about anyone else. After all, I had my first serious “love” by this time. Justin number one. (And ya know what, yeah. That’s his real name. This fucking name has haunted me. It deserves to be outted. Damn Justins.)
Anyway, this about sums up the beginning – in as much detail as I felt was necessary. Not bad for a spring board.