To the surprise of absolutely no one, our polls have determined that a whopping 60% of our three and a half readers (the last one is just a "casual reader") would like to see more articles on sex. And I aim to please, although if you were expecting the sexy tales of two attractive L Wordesque women boning in various exotic and improbable locations... you'll have to wait for Bronwyn to post hers, because you won't find anything even remotely sexy here.
I suppose I should start from the beginning, since simply describing a random sexual encounter would be like starting to watch Lost halfway through season three.
My first relationship, at the age of eighteen, was a month-long, absolutely sexless ordeal that ended in a mass murder suicide... of my self esteem. My second relationship was a two month pain in arse with a girl who was as heterosexual as could be who lied about her experiences with women and was about as interesting as staring at an irregularly shaped rock all day. In between those two relationships, I had sex for the first time.
It basically came at roughly the same time I was introduced to alcohol. The age here in Ontario is nineteen. Over the river in Quebec it's eighteen and in the states it's... what? Thirty five or something? But I waited until I was almost nineteen before I had my first real drink.
There was the Christmas party, December 2007, where I was unfortunately molested on a couch by the creepiest boy there. No, I don't count that as my first time but could you imagine? Nor is it the weekend I'd turned nineteen where I singled out the first person in the bar, made out with her, went home with her, made out some more, and then unsuccessfully snuck out of her apartment the next morning, while repeating "What have I done? Oh god what have I done?"
No, the first time was in February of 2008, as near as I can recall. Her name was Juliette* and she was the biggest flake I'd ever met in my life. My well-meaning gay friend Travis knew her from god only knows where. I am forced to assume he caught her going through his garbage. My impression of her is rather hazy. I know she was at least seven feet tall, towering over my short, but not slight, five foot two frame. I know that we spent our first "date" walking around campus talking awkwardly. I also know that during that time, I had absolutely no sense of what we will call "not chemistry", I was desperately alone, and I looked like this:
You didn't realize you could have too much sexy UNTIL YOU SAW THIS PHOTO.
Juliette and I split after our awkward first date but I was already planning for the next one. On our second first date, we decided to just seal the deal and get it over with. She'd never been with a woman outside of a poorly thought out threesome and I was... well... horribly awkward in every way, so it really goes without saying.
But she had one thing going for her, and that was an apartment all to herself, albeit filled to the ceilings with garbage when she ran out of room on her back porch for it (seriously). My parents had enlisted a 'no sex under my roof' rule, that was apparently in effect even when they weren't home. So, a four pack of Bacardi Breezers under one arm, I spent the night at Juliette's apartment.
I drank all four bottles of the booze and realized miserably, that I wasn't feeling any more confident, and she wasn't any hotter. We moved to her absent sister's bedroom (because her own bed was covered in garbage, surrounded by a sea of garbage) and things got rather uninteresting. I was on the rag so I kept my panties on. I tried to handcuff her to the bed post, only to realize that she didn't have a bedpost and the handcuffs themselves were easily escapable so I essentially just held them above her head with one hand.
I almost went down on her, before terror seized me and I recoiled in fear. I boredly fingered her for almost thirty minutes, constantly switching hands, occasionally asking "Are you finished yet? No? No, it's cool. I'm having fun. No, really. No I am."
She finished. I nursed my sore hands. She went to sleep on the couch and I slept alone in the bed. The next day, we watched The Pokemon Movie in stony silence and then I babbled that I had to get going. I walked to the bus stop hung over, during a snow storm and I saw a bird attack and eat another bird in the air above me.
She posted a message on my Facebook wall later that day, cryptically saying, "I owe you one ;)"
Sad to say, I never did get repaid. Nor did I get a desperately needed do-over.
*note: not actually her real name
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