Let me tell you about coming for the first time. Not for the first, first way back when I was twelve and my sexuality meant breaking the law, sneaking online BDSM comics I wasn’t allowed to have, and discovering my precocious side with the same hopefulness I stuffed my training bra with. I mean coming for the first time with him, with another person bringing my body there.
It was new, and beautiful and vulnerable, over in an instant as I rock on the hard muscle of his thigh and my clit brushes the buzzing hitachi. The whole thing was unexpected- he decided to make me happy and I’d done this before, humping his leg with me on top, ever the aggressor in our relationship, and he had put your hand on the small of my back and took over the motion so the whole of his leg became my sex toy, adding the convenience of a vibrator at the bottom of the slope I was sliding up and down. And the feeling kept building and building and I thought that it would be like usual and I’d get too sensitive or roll off and frig myself into a quick orgasm. But I didn’t.
This time I just let it go back and forth, being in the moment and the feeling the push on all the sensitive spots on my body until I was making incoherent noises and I’d passed the point of no return, and there it was, one perfect moment.
He thought I was offended after, by my reaction, but I was shocked. When you are resigned, your whole long life to not care one bit that nobody can get you off, your sexuality becomes an intensely personal thing and the whole of what you can do with other people is in the same sort of category of reading a porn story you’re touching yourself to.
Suddenly I had to reassess all my carefully constructed patience, and stop pretending I wasn’t deeply disappointed nobody could get me off. Let that me a lesson to you, dear reader, that even the sort of person everyone treats like some sort of sex guru can cling to her illusions. No more being cool and modern and free, suddenly if I’m not getting off it’s not my fault anymore. Because there’s a someone else who can.
When you learn about sex, they teach you about the concept of virginity. I was as precocious about that formal threshold as I was about my own orgasms, landing on the first boy I could get to hold still for long enough. And I was deeply disappointed, not with the loss of something precious but that all I felt was slightly poked on the inside of my vagina. I feel like a person who loses their virginity was supposed to feel.
This feels like something lost and something gained, something learned and something very different than coming all by myself. It wasn’t even the most intense and spectacular orgasm that I’ve ever had, but it was shared.
I left a wet circle of myself on his pants.