Almost drunk and a little high, I was lying across the smooth back seat of my boyfriend’s borrowed white Caprice Classic. My body relaxed, I let my eyes lose focus, surrendering to the symphony of road sounds reverberating through the soft leather. It was raining very lightly–enough for the water to have a voice in the chorus.
I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Out of defiance toward my mother, of course. My entire relationship with Josh was, in fact, an act of defiance. A clear “fuck you” to my parents for their unhappiness and subsequent divorce.
I couldn’t remember how I got relegated to the back seat. His friend must have called shotgun. He was talking animatedly while Josh pretended to listen. His greasy blonde head appeared just over the driver’s side head rest, and every so often, he caught my eyes in the rearview mirror.
It was those eyes and that smug grin that first got me. He was that guy who looked like he had a secret you wanted to know. A secret you should know. I was determined find out what it was from the moment I met him.
Then there was the fact that he was obsessed with my “perfect” breasts. Having grown to a “c” cup, they were a source of shame when I was the only girl in school to look like a woman. Now, in college, he reveled in them. Made me feel special. No one ever made that big of a deal about me before.
I smiled back at him and turned my eyes to the ceiling. A small tear had formed in the fabric above me. It begged to be pulled, but that would mean getting up from where I was. Comfortable, I went back to listening to the road.
We were returning home early from what was going to be my first James Taylor concert. About 30 minutes before we arrived, the radio announced that JT was ill. Concert rescheduled for another date. We turned around to make the drive back and were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of our evening.
Josh loaded a James Taylor tape in the cassette desk as appeasement for our ruined evening. My favorite was first. Those few opening guitar notes, the tenor voice, the bongos, and just a hint of percussive funk. It was pure seduction.
“Do me wrong, do me right, right now baby. Go on and tell me lies but hold me tight. Save your good-byes for the morning light, morning light, but don’t let me be lonely tonight.”
I knew we were breaking up. It was a matter of time before he told me. I was mentally preparing myself, but I wasn’t ready. There was still one more thing I needed from him. We hit a bump that almost bounced me off the seat and, that quickly, I knew tonight was the night. The rain picked up its pace. I could smell the freshness of it.
In what seemed like minutes, we were in his driveway, his friend no longer in the front seat. Josh looked back at me as if he had something to say. I sat up a little groggy but recognizing that my window of opportunity was closing. Speak first, I thought. I put my arms around the seat and laid them on his chest.
Whispering in his ear, I said, “I’m ready.”
“Ready for what?”
This was going to be harder than I thought. I panicked a little, thinking maybe he was planning to break up with me that night. Or, he really was clueless. Possibly resigned. Nine months of making out, feeling me up, dry humping and fingering me had gotten him nowhere.
I was trying to be sexy. How I imagined I should be.
You know,” I said and kissed his neck.
He turned his head slightly toward her, eyebrows raised. “You sure?”
No, I thought. But I had to be.
“Yes.”
I followed him quietly through his house toward the basement. It’s possible in another time, another life, when he was a little boy, when his parents were married and happy; he lived in one of the bedrooms on the first floor. But, there never was talk about what used to be for him. He had little to say about his father and his sarcasm toward his mother was tinged with spite.
We made our way down the steps into the dark, seemingly empty room with what looked like a glowing, veiled mirage. A curtained “room” he had fashioned for himself using sheets hung from the ceiling with large clips and electrical ties.
I stopped in front of the sheet that served as the door, pressing my face up against it and taking in his familiar smell. It was earthy and pungent, mixed with sandlewood from the near pounds of incense he burned on a weekly basis.
He came up behind me and pressed against me, hands on my hips, his nose and lips brushing against the curve of my neck. I felt my body flush with heat, my areolas tighten, my nipples harden and extend to push against the inside of my bra. He moved forward, holding me against him while we walked to the bed. Dizzy and breathless, I fell, catching myself before sitting down.
He looked down at me. “Music is going to help,” he said with a smile and turned around.
I laughed nervously, hoping he wasn’t going to play something that would embarrass me.
His stereo occupied what likely had once been a coffee table in the family room. Next to it was an old bookshelf crammed full of vinyl albums. He carefully perused each of the four shelves, pulling out an album here and there, flipping it over to read through the contents and then sliding it back in place. Finally, he found what he was looking for. Steely Dan’s Aja. He slipped it out of the jacket and slid it onto the platter.
As he placed the cartridge down, he turned to look at me with that fucking smile. He was right. Those first few notes of “Black Cow” were just what I needed. The deep bass and harmonic vocals cradled me enough to relax.
He came back over, took my face in his hands and kissed me. What struck me was how gentle he was. I had expected him to be much less concerned with me. Assumed he would just want to get to it. As boyfriends go, he was a little cruel, so this was a departure from his usual tact. It may have been for show, but I didn’t care. No way was I leaving with my virginity tonight.
Our kissing became more passionate and he was slowly pushing his weight on me, forcing me to lie down on the bed. It hadn’t been made since the night before, so he easily shoved the top sheet and blanket out of the way. He was frantic but had no trouble pulling off my sweater and unclasping my bra–territory he had already conquered. But he stopped and lingered, taking in the sight of my heaving chest and rock hard nipples. He lowered his head and licked my right nipple. I let out a moan and arched my back toward his mouth. He continued to circle and lightly suck the right and rolled the left between his right thumb and middle finger. My hands were in his hair holding him against me.
His eyes rarely left mine, as if he was constantly gauging my reaction to his movements. He couldn’t be nervous, I thought.
He unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and slid his hand down under my white panties. With the other hand, he pulled at my jeans. Anxious and excited, I helped him take both off.
Completely naked, I was exposed of all of my physical flaws and bodily imperfections. He didn’t notice the slight bump under my belly button or the thickness of my hips. Instead, his breathing quickened. He sat up to throw off his flannel shirt, t-shirt, jeans and boxer briefs. Within seconds his weight was back on top of me and he forced his mouth onto my neck, kissing me, moaning in my ear.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he stopped to ask.
“Yes.” This time it was the truth. I was terrified but aroused and longing for him to enter me.
Like magic, a condom appeared in his hand, which he quickly opened with his teeth. He sat up on his knees again and rolled it onto his cock while I watched with curiosity. The smell of rubber was a little distracting. I had never actually seen a condom unrolled and reached to touch it. If felt just like it looked; like a hooded raincoat.
“Can you feel anything with that on?” I couldn’t imagine having to wear it.
He shrugged his shoulders, not really answering me. But I understood. It made me feel guilty, even wonder if I should tell him he could take it off. But that was the one thing that my mother had drilled into my head. ‘Promise me when you have sex you’ll make him wear a condom,’ she had said. Despite my defiant stance that evening, I knew this was where to draw the line.
He laid back on top of me and began trying to push himself into my vagina with little success. I knew I was wet, but he was clearly holding back.
“You can be rough, if you need to,” I said. Where that came from, I didn’t know. But I wanted this to happen.
Still gentle, but with considerably more effort, he forced his cock inside me. The pain shot up to the back of my throat like a red hot poker. He continued to pump in and out of me, groaning and growing more excited, while every movement felt like a knife stabbing me. I closed my eyes tightly and worked to keep myself from crying.
The sex was a mix of mostly pain and a tinge of pleasure. After what seemed like hours, his thrusts quickened until I could feel his back, ass and leg muscles become hard and tight. He panted and groaned as his cum filled the condom inside me.
After he carefully pulled out, I was afraid to look at myself. It had to be bad, the pain was so intense. Everything from my vagina to my mid-thigh was on fire. But I did not bleed much at all. The next day, I relayed the entire experience to a more experienced girlfriend who surmised that he probably only partially broke my hymen that night.
Josh and I laid together for some time, my head resting on his outstretched arm. He got up to replace the smoothness of Steely Dan with the staccato of Rush and then collapsed back on the bed, making sure not to touch me. I knew that was my cue to go home. His tenderness was wearing off. I wanted to leave before he made me regret my decision.
“Are you going to be okay,” he asked rather sincerely.
I assured him that I would be fine and got out of his bed to begin dressing.
“Do you want me to walk you out?” He surely asked as a courtesy, showing no attempt to get up from his bed.
“No. I’m fine.”
Before he could say anything else, I snuck quickly up the stairs and out to my car, parked on the street in front of his house. The stabbing pain had transitioned to throbbing. I wasn’t sure I would ever have sex again.
I drove home with a sense of accomplishment. It was done. No matter what happened next. It was done.
It was after the second time we had sex that I understood what all the fuss was about. I can still remember how quickly that pain/pleasure ratio transitioned to pure pleasure unlike anything I had ever experienced. Something changed in me. Sex went from being that thing I should be afraid of to a basic need as strong as eating, drinking or sleeping.
Josh did break up with me after a few months of near-daily sex. I was devastated, but that experience was a quiet awakening. It took years of experience and slow building confidence until I could truly accept how fundamental sex was and is to me. I know now that my first night with Josh was when my sexual self was born.