Female, 17, Scottsdale, AZ
If you're playing the virginity cliché bingo game, congratulations. My story is the mother lode of them.
I fight with my memory to convince myself that Jason and I had been dating for a few weeks before it happened. But the term "dating" is a stretch here, and I realize now that when he insisted on coming over to see me a week before prom, it was probably to lock in a kiss so that we could get that first out of the way before the big night.
I was crazy about this guy, and after the dance, we retreated with some friends to a hotel suite, where we broke out our high-school-level alcohol and giddily watched bad movies on the USA network. It might have been my inexperience with wine coolers, but I got hit with a bad headache that sent me to the bedroom to lie down.
Jason came in to check on me, and when I explained the headache, he offered to give me a massage. He unzipped my dress, but nothing threw me off my guard. After he'd kneaded my neck and shoulders for a while, I realized I was wasting a valuable make-out opportunity. Headache be damned, I rolled over and started kissing him. At this point, not only was I a virgin, I was a very inexperienced virgin. The closest I had come to any action at all was a hand on my breast, but even then it was separated by at least two layers of clothing.
He slipped my dress down and pushed aside my bra. I was surprised by how quickly this was going, and I naively expected this to be just heavy kissing with less clothing. A more sensual version of this story would describe how my dress fell to the floor, but it was really a series of tugs and bounces to get my fitted velvet dress to slide down my hips. Plus, I was left to shimmy out of my black panty-hose, so I can't imagine I was a sexy sight.
Once I was fully nude (and he was still in his tux shirt and pants), he got up to get a condom. That was the point it sunk in what was going to happen. Holy crap, I was going to have sex. I didn't know what my role was while I was alone in the bed. Do I get in position? Do I fluff the pillows?
When he returned undressed and armed with protection, we started kissing again. I was incredibly turned on, but also incredibly tense. He nudged his knee between mine, and I noticed that my legs were straight together like I was ready for "light as a feather, stiff as a board." He pushed my legs apart and got in place above me. When he got the condom on and pushed himself toward me, I grasped his arms and stopped breathing. Only he didn't enter me. I felt the tip hit me just a bit too high, and figured he'd missed. At that point, I relaxed completely, and I remember thinking, "Ah well, better luck next time," as though it was a one-shot deal. That was just enough time to catch me off guard when he entered me a moment later.
Here's what no one tells you. I had no idea what I was supposed to bring to the party. Should I moan? Should I talk more? I rocked back against him, but I was awkward; my repertoire of R-rated movies, let alone those with sex scenes, was pretty limited. I tried to add my own panting and moaning, but he kept knocking the air out of me with every thrust, so it sounded like a series of fake laughs. The only thing I did know to expect was the pain, and I told myself I'd be a champ and roll with it. Unfortunately, I was also convinced that his heavy thrusting meant that he was having trouble breaking my hymen; I was sure I was defective. He finished a bit later, and kissed me sweetly. When he drove me home soon after — yep, I was the girl with a curfew on prom night — he reached over and held my shaking hand.
Things could have gone really badly, but clichés played in my favor for the rest of the summer. We had a fun summer romance (with much better sex) before I went away to college. We kept in touch on and off, and I still consider him my great first love.