I was in love with a boy and overjoyed when we started secretly dating. He was a year older than me, had a perfect body, and was one of the most popular guys in school. Compared with him, I was an invisible mouse. (Just now, it struck me that the introduction to this article sounds like a trailer for American teen comedy).
I've only known him for a few months, and I've been daydreaming about our first perfect, romantic sex, the ideal place, the perfect look. Just as the sex of one of the main characters in American Pie is shown. Nice and gentle.
My first was not even close to romantic. It happened after months of squabbling around every corner of the block and garage. After a quick phone call, we agreed that it would be most comfortable and, of course, convenient to meet in the basement because no one was there in the morning. As I had very little time to prepare, I thought of all the possible pornographic films I had watched so far. "Yes, that's what I need to be - almost a pornstar - and I should not disappoint him."
I locked myself in the bathroom, jumped into the tub, and shaved from toes to head. Good thing I've done it before. I knew what shape I had to choose. A thin dash like most porn stars have. I put on that underwear that every woman has for a medical exam. So, a lovely, snow-white set with lace. At the time, I never thought that it might be too elegant for a basement date.
Pornographic films also helped me with sex. I learned that for the first time, it is better not to perform acrobatics or make some strange sounds and, above all, to pray that I will not be, at least not at my first, on top. I mastered in theory - how different could it be if I have spent so many hours watching pornographic films and listening to boring lectures on sex education. I think I will know what I needed to do and what I needed to pay attention to. Or at least I was hoping to.
I went to the basement with a mixture of fear and excitement. That's it - there is no way back—the end of torture and awkward questions about sex. From now on, I will be a master of sex.
The place was humid and dark—blanket on the floor and a boy standing there naked with a big erection. After a bit of small talk, I got down on my knees and grabbed the bull by the horn. I was so scared of this, more frightened than having sex. Five minutes was enough for the first time. I was pleased with my performance and grateful that everything took place in a very dark basement, and none of us could see a thing. I started undressing while he was opening the box of condoms. I lay down on the blanket and waited in vain for my turn of oral treatment. I got his penis instead. He started slowly, then started moving a bit faster, and we were done after a few minutes. We haven't switched positions either. A complete disappointment. It was over before I could relax enough to enjoy it.
My highly anticipated first sex was awkward and, above all, fast. It was over before it began. I was sitting there, disappointed. My underwear was dirty, and my dress was covered in pickles that had fallen off the shelf during "wild" sex. That wasn't it; I didn't want it. Fortunately, the better ones followed, and today my first sex is just a fun memory. A memory is brought into life every time I step into that basement.