From birth, we are trained to commemorate our “firsts.” There is an entire self-publishing platform marketed for these firsts. It is called a babybook. And into these books for locks of hair and hand prints and those first tiny baby booties that seem too small to be real. Other, less tangible and sometimes more bulky, memories fit into the baby book in the form of photos or stories and we fawn over the books almost as much as the babies until, somehow, someway, they wind up in the bottom of a drawer or in the back of the attack, gathering dust.
But that is neither here nor there. However it does go to show that, as a society, we obsess over firsts. It’s in our veins, if you will. Sex is no exception, either. In fact, it might be the epitome of firsts. The “big one”. Virginity. Of course, we don’t put pictures of that in a book (well, some might).
There is a fine line to walk. Certainly I think making that the decision to lose one’s virginity should not be done so lightly. On the other hand, it placing too much significance on the cherry poppin’ can cause a lot of unnecessary stress.
I told all this to a good friend who felt a bit left out. Perhaps “left out” is not the right way to describe it. She was sick and tired of the world saying “But you don’t know what you’re missing!” and feeling like a freak. Yet, she was also afraid of all of that inevitable stuff; you know, the pain and bleeding, the emotional trauma and heartbreak after he leaves. She wanted it to be perfect, like in the movies.
Having sex for the first time is a lot of things, but perfect isn’t one of them. I told her that. I told her that if she waits forever she may miss out on something worthwhile but if she really wasn’t ready, she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone, not even herself.
“It’s easy for you to say,” she responded. Maybe it is easy for me to say. Maybe the decision was easier for me. After all, I lost it to someone who I loved and who loved me in return. I was in a happy, long term and, until 3 days before the act, long distance relationship. There was never any doubt as to whether or not it would happen, just when (quickly, if you didn’t catch on).
And I married my first, which some might think as a happy ending. Although, truthfully, there’s some sacrifice to it, too. I probably won’t ever have the opportunity to explore my sexuality with anyone else, a fact which is both comforting yet frightening at the same time. Of course, one could argue that he does not get to explore anymore of his sexuality with anyone else but we all know that I am the best he’ll ever have in all ways. š (And really, I like to think that what we bring to the table for one another makes it worthwhile in the end.)
I guess I was lucky, too. My first time wasn’t painful or bloody. It wasn’t necessarily pleasureful and while it was awkward and not glorious, it felt right. It wasn’t a drunken one night stand. He didn’t break up with me the next day and while it wasn’t all fireworks, I wouldn’t call it disappointing. But I think I went into it with realistic expectations. I think that’s harder for females to do. Sex mimics masturbation for guys and most of them have done so by their first time but it’s not like that at all for girls. We hear the horror stories and we expect to feel like a chainsaw is ripping us apart. Apprehension runs rampant when you fear for your life.
I didn’t expect anything to change, and it didn’t. Except that we were now having sex all the time and I could talk about it with my other deflowered friends (Hey, it was cool). That is crucial to making a memory of your first time that will make you smile rather than haunt you from there on out. My friend, like many people, thought that sex will change something, sometimes something that has been horribly wrong with the relationship as long as anyone can remember.
But sex is not a miracle cure. To be cliche, sex is like putting a band-aid over a bullet hole. Even if it does seem to work, at first, it won’t be long term. Frequently, the wound festers even more because of the superficial healing. When everything comes out, it’s that much worse.
Which was why I shied away from telling her to go for it. In a healthy relationship, sex can do a lot for you but he had been pressing for sex for months and she had simply wanted him to apply himself to their relationship. I had my suspicions and, like the good friend who lets others make their own mistakes, kept my mouth shut. Needless to say, I wasn’t surprised when the outcome was a little disappointing. Things may have seemed better initially but the same problems resurfaced.
And she felt hurt. She had given him something you could never put a price on and his actions seemed to disregard her gift. Her feelings, while understandable, also reflect the disappointment of countless people who expect too much for sex, either out of desperation or because they simply don’t know what to expect.
In the end, no one can prepare you. You can be prepared for the worst but, then, you won’t ever be able to reap the benefits of sex. You can expect Hollywood with perfect bodies and simultaneous, screaming orgasm. You can put your life on hold waiting for the impossible. Or you can accept that it will happen how it happens, knowing that the fantasies we entertain can never be reality.
A little awkwardness will not ruin everything. It may even make the memory sweeter. In the end, you won’t be left with a photograph of what went wrong, but of the feelings of the moment. If you’re too busy lamenting and picky at the faults, it won’t be much of a feeling.
You only have one “first” with sex but, just like anything else, you have plenty of time to get it right, even if things don’t turn out as expected.
