Love & Sex

My First Time: Female, 16, Louisiana

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Female, 16, Louisiana

I loved the idea of Alan more than anything. Tall, dark, and handsome, he was the object of my first teenage puppy love. We met at a block party at the end of a long, hot Louisiana summer. The air was soggy, my makeup gathered blackly under my eyes, and every boy in sight was shirtless. Sweat rolled down my back as I danced shamelessly on top of the speakers blaring dirty hip-hop. No other white girls could pop it quite like I could in my short khaki shorts. That's possibly why I attracted someone half-black. I'd always been attracted to his beautiful skin tone when I saw him walking down the halls in my high school. I also liked how he looked in his letterman's jacket, though perhaps not how he looked in the wrestling unitard he wore to get that letterman's jacket.

After a long, awkward phase as a lanky redhead with braces and pimples, I'd somehow managed to blossom.

After dancing provocatively with me for a few songs, he handed me his phone, gesturing for me to put my number in. I was a bit confused and taken aback; this was one of the first times that had happened to me. After a long, awkward phase as a lanky redhead with braces and pimples, I'd somehow managed to blossom and successfully radiate the sexuality I'd always felt inside. I was never a timid child and I'd been sexual from a young age. But it wasn't until I grew a nice pair of boobs that guys started looking past my height and (perhaps unfounded) confidence, and actually showing interest in me. Alan was one of the first.

I'll always give him credit for giving me the quintessential high-school experience. He had a car — a little green Mazda truck with a stick shift. I'll never forget the manic anticipation and excitement I felt as I waited to see that truck pull into my driveway. I'd run out barefoot and launch myself on to him, legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on my ass. We'd meet up at football games, he'd visit me at work, and we double-dated with his best friend and his horrible girlfriend of the time. I'd go to his wrestling meets. And we'd drive around town looking for dark parking lots to hook up in.

Actually, my most defining memories of Alan involve all the sneaking around we did. As soon as my household was asleep, I'd pop off my window screen, and he would creep around to my bedroom window and awkwardly hoist himself through. Then we'd fool around till the wee hours of the morning. I was delightfully surprised at how effectively he could turn me on and make me beg for more.

I wanted to hold off on sex. I can't even remember why — maybe for propriety. I'd always been knowledgeable about sex and not afraid of it. Knowing my body as well as I did, I wasn't expecting any pain or blood, even taking into account how well endowed he was. I just wanted to make sure I wasn't an emotional wreck like I heard some girls could be after their first time.

In the end, I totally cheated. During one particularly heated hookup in the darkness of my bedroom, I let hormones get the best of me. I'll never forget the sound he made as I suddenly slid onto him and stayed there for a few seconds. Then I dismounted hurriedly and curled into a ball of apprehension at what I'd just done. He was very supportive and insisted we'd done nothing wrong. When I asked how it felt, he replied, "Um… warm," which I got a kick out of.

Did I lose it in that moment? At the time it seemed critical to know this. I vowed not to do that (ever?) again, a promise which lasted about two weeks. Eventually, in that same bedroom, on the floor, before we'd even had a chance to turn my lamp off, I abruptly decided that that night would be the night. All my clothes were on, and none of his were. Bra, tank top, underwear, shorts. He just pulled my clothes to the side.

It wasn't painful, but I wouldn't call it pleasurable. The carpet brush-burned my back. After an expectedly but not pitifully short amount of time, we moved to my bed and just cuddled. As he held me, I felt slightly surprised that I didn't feel different somehow — more grown up, or that a milestone had just passed. But I felt fine and morally intact. I'm glad I lost it to that tall, brown eyed boy in my lamp lit room at the time I did.