Female, 18, Chicago
I always thought that I would wait until marriage to have sex for the first time. I am not at all religious, I was simply a hopeless romantic saving myself for Mr. Right. Three months after my 18th birthday, I thought I found him – a patient, understanding long-course triathlete eight years my senior. After just two months together, I was convinced he was the one I would spend the rest of my life, and also the night, with.
We had a very physical relationship. Our hands had seen everything we would not allow our eyes to experience. After only a week, I was ready to hand over my v-card, but he insisted that we wait. Another limiting factor was that we both lived with our parents, making it a little more difficult to guarantee we had enough alone time, and we couldn’t just go to our rooms since neither of our parents really approved of a 26-year-old man dating an 18-year-old girl.
One evening in April we had planned on hanging out at his friend’s apartment. We were severely limited on what we could do together since I still had three long years until I could go to a bar. We had gotten pretty comfortable with watching movies and cuddling on the couch. I drove over to his parent’s house anticipating another night where he would cook me dinner and convince his friends that I was mature enough to handle a couple beers.
I walked into his parent’s house and he was sitting on the couch watching TV and waiting for me. His parents and brother were not home yet, so I set down my coat and purse and bent down to kiss him. After a kiss that seemed to say a little more than simply hello, I asked him how his day was. Before I could get an answer, he pulled me down to the couch, and started kissing with me with a passionate drive that I had never experienced before.
My mind could not keep up with my body. Five minutes prior, I was walking through the door, and now I was naked with my legs wrapped around my boyfriend, who was also naked, on his parent’s white couch. He went slow, knowing that I had never had sex before, but it still hurt, and there was still blood – and a noticeable amount at that. Being swept up in the reality of the situation, I did not consider that the blood would end up staining his parent’s clean, white couch. He had a little bit more foresight, and as soon as he noticed there would be evidence of foul play, he suggested we move to the floor.
After we were finished, I quickly gathered my clothes that were strewn around the living room as he flipped the couch pillow to erase the stains of afternoon delight. As I buttoned my shorts I chuckled and answered my own question.
“I guess your day is going well.”
Image via Veer.