Disclaimer : Originally written for ‘Met Another Frog’ as a guest post by yours truly and published on 9th March ‘11.
As cliché as it might be – I reckon all of us recall our very first sexual encounter – who, where, and when. Ladies, do you remember your girlfriends telling you that it might hurt, you might bleed, and them asking you repeatedly if “you’re sure you want to do this?” Guys, did you practice putting on a condom just so that you came across as a pro only to find yourself still fumbling around for a bit?
I remember my mother telling me that she didn’t ever want to know about when I had sex; but if I did – it should be safe and ideally with someone I saw myself getting married to. Yup that’s an Indian mom for you. Needless to say I had sex – and no I’m not married to ‘him’ or any other guy (as yet… there might be hope still.)
My Story: June ‘99
My boyfriend informed me he wanted to spend an uninterrupted day with me before I left for the summer holidays and that I should meet him in the lobby of this really nice hotel.
I got there and he wasn’t around, so I called him and he gave me the room number to the suite he was waiting in. I was a bundle of nerves and all I could think was, “OMG. I’m meeting a guy in a hotel room!” (Hell I was17 and a half years old!). But they all disappeared completely when I walked into a room filled with rose petals, scented candles, soft music, complete with my boyfriend holding a bouquet of blue roses and a box of my favourite chocolates!
The next few hours (fine maybe it was a half a day!) were a blur. Between the laughter; the soothing yet super sensual massages; the full body tingles that sent shivers down my spine, making my toes curl; the many “ooohs”, “aaahs” and cries of “Oh God, that feels amazing!”; still more massages, followed up with champagne and ice cream from room service – the two of us fell asleep wrapped up against each other.
I woke up to soft kisses against my face, a look of concern in his eyes as he asked me if I was ok. Damn, I even got a sponge bubble bath to add to all the pleasures of the night before.
Perfect first time right? I can’t help but smile when I think back to that one absolutely wonderful day. It kinda sets a bar doesn’t it?
Fast forward to Summer of 2007
My ex and I met up (we’ve been friends ever since our break up) in London and found ourselves walking from a lazy champagne lunch in Covent Garden all the way to Knightsbridge. There’s something about the vibe he and I share, that makes everything comfortable. Whenever we’re with each other it’s as if we’re ‘together’ even though we really aren’t. But I digress.
After washing our sore feet and falling flat on the bed since it was the only part of the apartment that wasn’t covered in boxes – we got talking. I was actually telling him how I was nervous about doing the deed with a new partner as I had recently come out of a long term relationship. Our discussion continued and somehow the topic changed to ‘Orgasm 101: How to get it right…every time’.
And then he said, “I wish I could have made our first time and your very first time more memorable and pleasurable’.
I looked at him like he had two heads, laughed and told him, “You’re crazy if you think my first time was anything less than memorable or pleasurable.”
“Come on. There’s no way you really enjoyed the first time we were together,” he retorted.
And a debate ensued for a good 10 minutes before we both agreed to describe our versions of our first time.
His Story : June ‘99 (A week or so before my story)
Prom night would have been too cliché, and we’d only just started dating a few weeks earlier. But as luck would have it, I’d recently started working at a bank close to his best friends’ apartment, so we would meet every day for lunch and/or dinner.
One night we ended up in the pool of his mates’ complex, and then back at his apartment since he was out of town. We had our first bubble bath together, and things got a bit frisky.
He towel dried me and then kissed away all the water droplets that were left behind. Somehow we ended up making out on the bathroom floor with the towel under us. He kept asking me if I was okay, if I wanted to move to the bedroom. I thought it was just because the floor was a bit cold, and because we were both literally dripping wet I didn’t think it made any sense to move.
I recall being a bit uncomfortable every time he touched me, but I thought it was due to the whole ‘just come out of the pool, had a bath and laid down on a cold floor’ thing. Or… anything at all besides the discomfort of having intercourse for the first time!
Fast forward to Summer of 2007…again
There I was learning for the first time that, I had actually been deflowered on the cold (and most likely very dirty) bathroom floor of my ex’s mates’ flat!! I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t even been aware of the ‘big’ event as it happened, and that for all those years I’d mistakenly believed that my absolutely ‘perfect’ second time, was my first. After recovering from the shock I swore him to secrecy telling him, “If you EVER disagree with me about my version of the story again I will tell the world how crap it was!”
He just started at me and shook his head, obviously as stunned by the fact that I hadn’t known what was going on that fateful day in his mate’s bathroom as I was. And when I went on to explain that I didn’t make the connection because…
- It didn’t hurt (like everyone said it would)
- I didn’t bleed (so how was I supposed to know any better?)
- He never told me that we’d done it (sure we were fooling around, but he always talked me through things!)
- My version was still better than his version! (An unrelated point, but worth repeating nonetheless.)
A Timeless Truth
There are always two sides to a story. We all have our own perspective on our own thoughts, words and actions in a given situation. Maybe your first time was as ‘perfect’ as my second time, or maybe it was unremarkable as my first. But does it matter either way in the long run? Not really.
Now it’s your turn to share (did you really think I would let you just read this, and hop on over to the next blog so easily ?) Come on – you can do it *cheeky smile*
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ther reasons to move – it wasn’t just because of the break-up – but it was definitely was one of the reasons involved in the decision to move. Not necessarily a wise one. My girls understood that and stayed by my side – ready to help me make the most difficult decision I had to make. 
