Illustration by Thomas Pitilli
Male • 20 years old • Vienna, Austria
I didn't know anything about the female body, or sex, except that I wanted both very badly. Thanks to an Orthodox Jewish upbringing, I didn't even know about menstruation or female orgasms. I was a little bit afraid of having sex, to be honest — just getting the tip in with my freshman girlfriend (also a virgin) had caused her to wail in pain. When sex seemed on the table after that, I couldn't get it up. Maybe Viagra could help? Eating pussy and fingering made for a fine sex life, I told myself.
Then came my semester abroad, and Katie. I wish I could tell you her last name, her favorite band, or anything about her beyond the physical stuff: brown eyes, brown hair, around five-foot-five, cute. We were both staying at the Wombat Hostel in Wein — the kind of hostel that gives you a free drink coupon when you check in. I had been dutifully seeing the sights (Schönbrunn Palace, magnificent) and getting to know my fellow travelers, and the hostel's "womBar" seemed like as good a place as any to watch the Rugby World Cup. The bar was giving out free shots to anyone who painted their faces, so St. George's Cross went on my cheeks (sorry, Rabbi Richler). In response, the bartender grabbed at least four things off the top shelf and threw them in a shot glass. I asked him what it was called and he told me to drink it. The night gets a bit blurry after that.
Several beers later, I saw her. She was cute, but I was too drunk to care anyway. I asked if I could buy her a drink — that's what guys do, right? She had a single sip before we started making out. I knew enough to know that I should get her upstairs, to her room.
And here's where the limitations of hostels, even the mighty Wombat, stepped in. Katie and her friends from the Austrian countryside were in town for the weekend, and the eight-person room was filled with music, booze, and more importantly, other people who didn't want to stop their partying just so we could get in on. My room was the opposite, yet the results were the same. My lone roommate was a forty-something German woman, in town for a Mozart conference. Needless to say, my pleas didn't get very far with her at two in the morning.
Yet Katie was determined. We decided to go back to the bar, and she started unzipping my pants in the elevator. I started ripping off her blouse, and we would have screwed right there, if we hadn't been in a goddamn hostel. As anyone who's stayed in one will tell you, they're 24/7 affairs. People check in and out at all hours of the day. In the middle of our groping, the small elevator started to move downward. We hastily buttoned and zipped ourselves as a young, now-scandalized woman stepped on.
You'd think that would kill the mood. You'd think. On that day I learned a valuable lesson: when an Austrian woman wants something, she's going to get it. She grabbed my hand and lead me out of the Wombat and into the warm Vienna night. I couldn't read a word on the streets or get around without a Lonely Planet. Where were we going? I was convinced that I was going to wake up in a bathtub of ice missing a kidney, yet decided to see where the night would take me.
Not far, as it turns out. Just down the block, Katie had spied an alleyway. Sure, it was fenced off, but so what? At this point, I assumed she was leading us to some secret hideaway only Austrians knew about, a magical place with soft beds and words of encouragement for nervous first-timers.
Nope. We were gonna fuck in the alley. Luckily, there was an abandoned car; no wheels, no windows, one cushion. We hopped in.
Things suddenly became very beautiful. The night air grabbed me for the first time, and any fears of not getting it up were quickly washed away by the facts. Sensing my nerves, she climbed on top of me, after deploying a condom that she had picked up in her room. It felt great! She knew exactly how to move, and I was in sudden ecstasy. In my utter shock, I couldn't think of anything to say except the facts — "I'm fucking you! I'm fucking you!" I was an awkward Jewish kid, not Humphrey Bogart. But it didn't bother Katie, my sweet Katie — "Yes, you're fucking me. You can tell your friends you fucked me." She smiled and went back to working with her thighs, surely realizing that she had caught a virgin and choosing to make it memorable as possible.
Afterwards, I suddenly got very tired. (Who knew?) We dutifully went back to the Wombat, where we rather abruptly split ways. I met up with my handsome Spanish friend Diego, thrilled with the story I had to tell. Diego was the type of guy who got laid a lot, and was smiling at my excitement — he had gotten laid that night as well.
About an hour later, he invited me to "the next room over," and led me into this empty, quiet room which resembled a dorm common room. I didn't know the hostel had another bar, but that wasn't the real surprise. No, the real surprise was that Katie and the girl Diego had slept with were there, and we were going to have an orgy.
Things were moving a bit too quickly for me. I had only just been introduced to the joys of female private parts; I wasn't sure I could handle another guy. In fact, I was positive I couldn't. After talking to Katie about the possibility of another monogamous go-round, I decided to hit the hay. Losing my virginity had been enough for one day.
Needless to say, I never saw any of them again.