“He grazed my skin with his lips and I shuddered…” no no that can’t be right, “he kissed the nape of my neck and I whimpered,” that’s definitely not right. You see this is how all the Mills and Boon novels described intimacy for me and so growing up I craved it, I envied it. Turning twenty marked the year of my deflowering, what a spectacle that was.
And boy did I put on a performance.
See unlike the heroine who pops her cherry in the stables with a fluffy blanket conveniently placed close-by by the authors, my tale is far from pleasant. He tore through me like a lightning bolt during a thunderstorm. I say tore because that’s exactly what it felt like being stretched without warning nor regard. I wanted it to stop, I buried my face into a pillow willing him to release so I could be free of the agony, I writhed in pain and he mistook it for delight, I contorted my face in sheer discomfort and he pummeled into me like his life depended on it.
I hated the sex and he knew it, as ludicrous as it may sound, I stayed anyway. See he did this thing where after he finished he’d reward me with a kiss on the forehead or the bridge of my nose, how I longed for those five seconds, how I yearned for them. Don’t get me wrong it was great, I remember how he used to make sure I never went to bed mad at him, how we’d talk on the phone regardless of how uncomfortable the conversation was.
Looking back I regret nothing, except of course that one thing, that little thing, when his best friend thought we were comfortable enough for him to put his hands in between my legs. I wonder if he would have let him do that to his little sister, she’s nine, but I guess its okay because I was of age, right? His words still echo in my brain, “your boyfriend’s friends are not your friends,” I guess that makes it all better and yet the memory is still etched in my brain three years later. I loved him and he showed me what disregard looked like, I loved him and he showed me what disrespect looked like, I loved him and he, well he didn’t.
I don’t tell you this to put you off lovemaking, quite the contrary, do it, do it to your hearts content, just don’t do it to compete for his time when he’d rather spend time with the boys.
Here’s a few things I learnt from my “remarkable” first time:
• You might not bleed but your heart will hemorrhage if you do it for the wrong reason
• Never feel obligated to give it up, a queen does not lower her standards for ephemeral connections
• Forehead kisses are not compensation for “I know it’s painful but you’ll get used to it”
• Sex no matter how life changing, does not equate love, do not confuse the two but that’s a story for a different day.