Love & Sex

My First Time

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My First Time

Illustration by Thomas Pitilli

Female • 15 years old • North Carolina

I had just moved to North Carolina, leaving my old life in Miami behind. I’d been dragged there by my mother, who was trying to get married to a hillbilly weirdo. My life in Miami was normal in my eyes, but when I got to North Carolina, in the mountains, nothing was what it seemed.

In Miami I’d been just like everyone else, except I was shy, especially around guys. In middle school, people were hooking up, going out, being sexual teenagers, while I was in the corner with my hands folded across my chest. I was self-conscious about my body, since I’d developed way faster than all the other girls in my age group, and the admiration I got from the boys just made me want to die. In eighth grade, I had finally found a boyfriend. He was my first kiss, my first hand-holding experience. Just when I thought he’d be the one, my mom announced that we were moving to North Carolina.

One day the two of us went for a walk down the dirt road leading from my house.

As winter set in in North Carolina, I got more depressed, and my mom seemed more and more concerned about me. My mom’s future hillbilly husband had a landscaping business, and my mom suggested that my boyfriend from home move in with us to help out. I was a little uncomfortable with the idea, but I got him up there with me. My bed was two futons stacked on top of each other, so at night my mom would make him sleep on one while I slept on the other. He was way more experienced in sex than I was, but we never did anything because I was always too afraid she’d walk in on us.

One day the two of us went for a walk down the dirt road leading from my house. We came upon a little old church, about the size of three vans parked side by side. Connected to the church was a small graveyard with about twenty tombstones. We went behind the church to check it out, finding clean gravel in the back, with a wooden bench and an overhang that collected the snow and leaves.

Hidden away behind the church, we started making out. I pulled his sweatpants band away and reached inside. It was warm, inviting; his dick was hard and swollen despite the freezing weather. I was scared. He slipped an ice-cold hand up my shirt, and I shuddered and pulled away, but he grabbed me closer.

I don’t know how it transitioned to me bending over the bench, but my sweatpants were down just below my ass. He fumbled with something for a second (I guessed a condom, which I hadn’t known he was carrying), and then before I could brace myself I felt a sharp pain and then a warm filling thrust. This was not so bad. The cold breeze nipping at my thighs and ass contrasted with the warm feeling of him was perfect — shocking and exciting. For a brief second I thought of the invisible audience we might have had. I felt a little guilt, but I was relieved it had happened. I was a shy girl, but that day I broke out of my shell (or sweatpants).