Losing ones virginity can be a sore subject for some people. Popping your cherry, is like popping the question, the moment has to be just right or everything is spoiled. We’re fed these beautiful allusions as to what a first time should be like; primarily from American teen-flicks, and so in reality, when it’s more sex on sticky sofas than sex under starlit skies, we can become somewhat disheartened. I wasn’t in a particular rush to lose my virginity, but I did sleep with the first man I got into bed. Just kidding, surprisingly I waited, not for the right person, or the right moment, but for the right amount of alcohol.
So after what can only be classified as a mediocre-at-best first date, but much higher quantities of vodka than I had self-esteem, I agreed to go back to his house. I wasn’t like totally frigid, I’d done stuff with guys before, just not all of it. Although my memory of the occasion is fairly hazy, there are a few things I remember. It was dark, for a start. Not dark enough to hide the ‘Breakfast at Tiffany’s’ poster on his wall or the fact his mattress was on the floor as opposed to a bed stand, but dark enough that I could pretend he was someone else. Although with eyes that looked like they were about to pop out of his head, it was hard to picture anyone besides Gollum. (At this point, you’re probably questioning what I was even doing on a date with this hobbit in the first place, FUCK knows). He was on my case and I think I just wanted to fuck him to shut him up, rather than have him peering round corners after me whispering ‘My Precious’. But shut him up, was the last thing it did. Troll goes running her gums to everybody she knows. To be fair, he was like a FOUR, and I was an EIGHT & A HALF, so it’s understandable – but as if my reputation is getting dragged through the mud like some scatty prostitute so he can feel better about his below-par par personality and cheap hair cut.
“So I heard that you and Frodo* got together?”
AS IF, you’d approach someone you’d met once so brazenly about their sex life. But yes, this classless scene queen did. The troll had been broadcasting our affair to his troll-like friends. And I can’t lie to save my life, so I just took the shame and admitted it.
“Yeah…” Where was he leading with this?
“He said you screamed like a bitch…”
Scarlet, does not BEGIN to cover it. I was mortified. This was like full-blown Bridget Jones in the bunny outfit embarrassment. Oh my god, all this time I thought I was Carrie Bradshaw and I’m actually Bridget Fucking Jones. Shit…Reality Check or what?
Anyway, like I said I can’t lie, so yes I did. But no, it wasn’t over your morbid missionary moves, nor was it because you were well endollowed… Girl, I was screaming cos your skid-marked knickers that you’d slung on the floor were near my head. Or maybe I was screaming because the sudden realisation that I was in bed with a twenty-something year-old man that had posters of Audrey Hepburn on his wall sudden took it’s troll, I mean, toll. But obviously, I was, and remain a boy of dignity, so didn’t share that with his friend.
“I’m not a bucket you know. I mean, imagine how tight I must be for his pencil dick to evoke more than a giggle.” Looking back, I wish I’d just denied the whole thing, said he was obsessed with me and made it up. He’s totally disappeared off the radar now, maybe he’s living in the shadows of shitty-pants-shame. Maybe nobody wants a friend who’s personality is deader than Tara Reid’s career. Maybe
Whatever, his manners were also ridiculously disappointing. I had to get up in the morning (can’t remember what for, anorexics anonymous or something) which was fine by him, as long as he got to stay in bed. Well, on mattress. (A SINGLE mattress might I add). What did I expect? If she’s too lazy to wipe her arse, why did I expect her to walk me five minutes to the bus stop?! I mean, I could understand if you were a teenager and were in a rush. I also understand that for some reason unknown to man, some people are more prone to skids than others. But when you live on your own and wear boxers baggier than Paris Hilton’s muff, how do they even occur?!
So the first time I let a man penetrate me, this is what I was given. I’m surprised I didn’t turn straight. It was a bit ‘shit’ to say the least.
Gilet’s Moral: What we can learn from this car-crash experience is not BEWARE OF TROLLS, nor is it wait until forty five to have sex. The moral here is time management. How? Well perhaps if she spent less time talking shit, and more time cleaning it from her hole, there wouldn’t be a blog post on the world wide web about it. Gossiping like a fish-wife will get you nowhere, at least I’ve have the dignity to keep people anonymous.
Gilet’s Silver Lining: Whether your first time is what you expected or not, just remember that there are times that make you completely forget the disasters. For example, the first time I penetrated a guy was great. Although with him being six foot four and me only six stone four, it was a little bit like a chiwawa pounding a pit bull, but we worked it – and sometimes I believe it restored my faith in men, and sex.