Love & Sex

Everyone I’ve Ever Had Sex With

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"We decided, as 'mature adults,' that raucous drunk sex was the solution to all our problems…"

Want to catalog your sex life for Nerve? Send your complete list of bedpost notches, along with your age and location, to Don't worry — we won't print your name.


Dan and I were each other's first loves, tender romantics at fourteen years old. A hormonal freshman, I'd sit in Earth Sciences closing my eyes and envisioning our fingerblasting session from the day before. I'd recently been traumatized by my father passing away from cancer, and my mother was too distraught to notice that Dan and I had been secretly hooking up in my bedroom while she was home. Looking back, a lot of it was very romantic and sweet; at one point, he even gave me a ring and asked me to marry him. The first time we actually had genital-to-genital contact, it was quick and unsatisfying. We broke up after a year and a half of dating, in a very high-school-drama way, but the few times we actually had sex weren't the worst experiences of my life.


Funny and uncannily in-tune with my feelings, Cody was the catalyst for the end of my relationship with Dan. We were best friends, and we'd gotten into the habit of lying in his bed together, listening to Third Eye Blind (Blue), holding hands. His was the second dick I'd ever seen in my life, and the first one that I noted had an angular quality to it. The sex wasn't spectacular; despite his seeming enthusiasm, he lacked gusto and the ability to stay performance-ready. (Years later, I learned that had something to do with the fact that he, well, didn't like ladies.) Our friendship suffered after a few months, and the sex stopped.


For a few months, Gray and I navigated each other's bodies on his bottom bunk. Gray was a loveable jock, through and through — he wrestled throughout his senior year of high school and had big plans to join the Marines. He was genetically gifted to the point where I spent a lot of time alternating between extreme pleasure and extreme pain. It ended when he left for the Marines and, like the coldhearted bitch I am, I fell in love with someone else.


I met Nick, a post-Dashboard Confessional wannabe rocker, while we were decked out in scrubs working at a doctor's office. As seniors in high school, we had a lot of pheromones to deal with. He was the first person who made my heart drop to my stomach every time he looked at me; he was also the first person to tell me he "didn't like going down on me." While the sex itself was good (basically because I was totally head over heels for him), his reactions to my ministrations to him in the oral department gave me complexes for years to come — his lack of enthusiasm for my work made me think that a) my mouth was to blame, b) my body was to blame, and c), I was completely undesirable. Especially after he cheated on me. Several times.


After Jon and I met through mutual friends, I didn't even consider sleeping with him for a full year. He was too young, too immature. I had turned twenty-one and had been counting ceiling tiles during sexual encounters with Nick. Jon was an eighteen-year-old high school dropout living on a mattress in a mutual friend's basement. After several weeks of aggressive wooing on his part and a few very strong drinks courtesy of Smirnoff, I slept with Jon on our friend's creaky futon, with Death Cab For Cutie's "Directions" playing in the background. It was startlingly good — good enough to hook me for a few years until I realized his lack of ambition (and disdain for showers and teeth brushing) no longer gelled with my graduate-school lifestyle.

Nick, cont'd

Same one as above; five years after our breakup, we were "friends," occasionally meeting up when I came home from grad school to visit my family. One weekend, he wanted to visit me up north in my new place. We proceeded to get drunk and "hash out our differences." In other words, we discussed the circumstances of our breakup and decided, as "mature adults," that raucous drunk sex was the solution to all our problems. Waking up the next morning, I was deflated to realize that a) the sex had not improved, b) where I was once infatuated I was now merely annoyed and slightly grossed out, and c) he had brought his entire DJ-ing equipment up to my apartment to… DJ for my cat (?). My roommates mocked me for months. It was the final time we ever had sex, and I'd like to keep it that way.


The first person I boned without ever really knowing his last name. Acting on a dare from my two male compatriots, I left my number for our waiter at an Outback Steakhouse. Surprisingly, he called a few hours later and took me on a date in downtown New Haven. Affectionately dubbed "Outback Joe" by my friends, he was the first NSA sex partner I ever had. It was freeing — and aggressively good. Things started getting weird when our sexual experiences turned into him manically chatting my ear off until 5:00 a.m., despite the fact that I had a 9:00 a.m. class. Then came the confession that he was severely bipolar… and had stopped his medications. After two weeks of blissful boning, he texted me out of the blue to tell me he was moving to Texas and asked to come say goodbye — which turned into Custer's Last Stand, sexually speaking. But the sex had become blah, and I was happy to part ways. Months later, I found out he was bartending at our local Friday's. So much for Texas.


First (and last) bar pickup was a handsome man in a button-up oxford and khakis, standing outside a bar with his friends. I happened to be at this bar for a friend's twenty-fifth birthday celebration. I went outside, caught his eye, and immediately thought, "I'm going to go fuck that guy. Maybe not tonight, but I can do this." We talked the rest of the evening, and three nights later, he ended up in my bedroom. James's dick-to-body type ratio was extreme, for the better. He had been a soccer player in college, so he was lean and muscular. When his pants came off, I was pleasantly surprised. He was initially a welcome distraction from studying, but after a few weeks, I was over his aggressive sexting and knew I didn't want to pursue a real relationship with him. It ended the way such affairs must — with me moving out of the state and giving bitchy responses to his textual booty calls.

The One

After stumbling through my teens and twenties, through a series of bad dates and sexual experiences ranging from the good to the bad to the just plain "ugh don't touch me," I found everything I ever looked for in a man, in the form of The One. Hysterically funny, kind, and surprisingly nurturing, he's become the one person who's balanced out all my neuroses and insecurities perfectly. Needless to say, the sex is spectacular and only continuing to be the best I've ever had.

Want to catalog your sex life for Nerve? Send your complete list of bedpost notches, along with your age and location, to Don't worry — we won't print your name.