When I was nineteen I had my first, and undoubtedly worst, sexual experience.
It wasn’t my choice to wait this long. I’d thought about it every day since I was eight, I just did not have a clue how to get what I wanted. Looking back, it’s amazing I even managed what I did.
I’d pulled Christine on the dance floor at a party. Due to my hot – and – cold personality I don’t always have the power of persuasion, and I wasn’t particularly coercive then. But one advantage I have over most men- and what clinched the deal that night- was my ability to dance. And combining this with a bit of sweet charm, I’d got her to show more than a little interest.
At this time, if I pulled a girl, I’d normally find that that she’d just drift away into the night afterwards. I seemed incapable of sustaining a girl’s interest. I felt like the jacket that you try on in-store, and then hand back to the salesman while breathing in through the teeth. (“It’s nice, but… nah…”) And if a girl did show interest, she usually acted like a complete chav- suspicious, and frequently aggressive- meaning I’d be the one to get rid. I’d think, this is a lot of stress. And I get THIS as a payoff?
I could probably have counted the amount of girls I’d kissed on two hands. But now things were different: she was a friend of a friend. She wasn’t a randomer, and she was a guest at the same party as me.
A friend of this girl’s, Rob, was offering to buy me a drink. I think he went to college with her or something- they both seemed like the performance type.
“Do you wanna come to the bar then?” He asked.
I assumed he was going continue this conversation about what he did at college (the same college I’d recently left) but at the bar there was a strange pause as we waited to get served.
“I’m not being funny, mate,” he said, “but have you got the money?”
This threw me for a second. Was I rude to assume he was offering to buy me a drink? In retrospect: no. He was being a cock. But these people exist.
I sat down with Christine. Within minutes I’d already forgotten her name, despite it being my mother’s. She drew me to her by her personality more than anything. As you could imagine, I was somewhat nervous. At that age I was going through a process of self-styling: I was constantly changing the way I dressed, behaved and styled my hair. I didn’t know who I was. Hence, I was fidgeting with the ridiculously garish gold-leaf medallion ring that I wore on my middle finger. (For the record, I pawned this some years later.)
She noticed that my fingers were twitching and I was staring intensely into space. Her hand rested on mine.
“Relax. Are you nervous?”
“I’ve just, er, been in some pretty bad situations before. With girls.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Well… You could say that.” I was misleading her. I’d only been on one date, and she’d fucked me off for her ex. I’d never been in a relationship, but vicious, piss-taking bitches in school had mentally scarred me. That was a fact.
“I’ve been hurt too,” she said. “So you’ve nothing to worry about.”
You were hurt no doubt in a relationship, I thought: in a scenario of which I have no comprehension. I stifled jealousy. I just wanted to see what became of the night- probably just a phone number.
I usually got nervous around attractive girls. I was nervous around Christine, but how into her was I? I assumed quite a lot, considering how uncomfortable I was.
The party was coming to an end. It felt early- rented function rooms don’t stay open too long. There was some kind of gathering happening at Rob’s house- just a walk away from the function room.
Rob’s parents owned an old, large building somewhere in Stalybridge. Even though the house was a tip, his parents must have been loaded to live in that area. The inventor of the barcode allegedly lived a few streets away. The “party” turned out to be about 5 people: the birthday girl, me and Christine, and Rob and Leanne, his apparent girlfriend. If she is his girlfriend, I was thinking, he’s about to lose her. His attempts to coerce her into sex were getting her more pissed off by the second.
Leanne was pushing him away from her, but she was smiling, flirting back with him. I could never understand why women did that. If you’re interested, girls: don’t waste time. Just say, “Okay. Let’s not waste time”. If you’re not, and a guy’s being really sleazy, like this cretin was, just say “get the fuck off me”. Don’t fuck us around. Particularly don’t fuck me around.
While this was happening, Christine leaned in closer and whispered in my ear.
“Do you wanna do it?”
In that moment I thought, heh, that sounded as if she meant- shit. She does want to do it. Christ! All these years, and this is all I had to do? I started to get flashbacks of primary school. When I was eight, rumours emerged in the playground. There was something that men and women did, and it was apparently amazing… Everyone else who heard such rumours- they’d probably all done it. I was probably the last one. I’d had to wait 11 years to put this knowledge into practice, but considering this I still felt strangely unenthusiastic. Instead of eager anticipation, I started to feel something resembling… dread.
Nerves started to kick in again. My fingers were trembling and my bladder expanding. She led me by the hand into a back room somewhere, picking up some bed sheets. The rich bastard had a spare lounge. She pushed me onto the expensive-looking couch and draped the sheets over us both, intensifying the smell of her perfume. She kissed me, unbuttoning my shirt. She stroked my stomach and smiled at me. This is what I’ve done all those sit-ups for, I thought. At last, someone has taken advantage.
I stroked the inside of her thigh. Was this right? This was something I’d heard about in school, something that apparently drove women crazy. She put her fingers over mine and guided them down her thigh, pulling our fingers away quickly as they neared her crotch. It was an instruction. I tried to copy her, and tried to make out her expression in the dark. She looked like she was really enjoying it, but this girl was a performance student. She’d been trained to act. She’s a damn good actor, if that’s what she’s doing, I thought.
I reached the top of her legs. Well, I thought, she’s definitely a woman. That’s one weight off my mind. There was something at the top of her opening- a small nub of flesh that protruded through her pubes. Ah, I thought. I know what this is. When I ran my finger over it, she arched her back towards me, inhaling sharply. She exhaled when I pushed in my forefinger and index finger, medallion ring included.
I did what felt natural. I made a kind of “come here” gesture with my fingers, very slowly. I was caressing her wet, warm front wall, but it felt like I was doing a practical exercise- it wasn’t a harmonious union of two people. I was just trying to figure out what worked for her. After a few minutes of this, lactic acid swelled my wrist. My muscles were on fire. She was telling me not to stop, and her insides started to grip onto my fingers. The more she gripped, the faster I flexed, and the pressure increased until I could hardly move them any more- I was trapped inside her. And then she gushed. She moaned, her muscles relaxed and my fingers were covered in warm water and there was a distinct smell like nothing on Earth.
Well, I thought. That wasn’t too hard. Although she did last a hell of a lot longer than I do.
I’d read in some lad’s magazine that you should NEVER say, “ was that good for you?” after sex.
“How did that feel?”
“Fucking hell Matt. You are so good at that.” Then she sucked and bit on my throat.
Something wasn’t right. I was detached from the whole situation- I was curious about everything but I just wasn’t aroused. This was not what I wanted. But considering she’d just come all over my hands, it was too late to tell her. Discomfort was mounting.
Seconds later, she dragged me into a bathroom.
“Wait here,” she said, and shut the door as she left. I still couldn’t even tell whether I fancied this girl or not: the events of that night had gone so fast. I was going to find out…
I stared at my reflection. My mind was blank. Christine had left a mark on my throat and it still burned. My medallion ring had lost its shine and had a dull, sticky coating. The door opened.
“Leanne’s getting pissed off with him, you know.” She’d obviously told her all about me. Hey, I thought. That’s not such a bad thing. “He’s a dick.”
“Why doesn’t she just dump him then?” Why am I the only voice of reason?
“Oh, she’s not going out with him. She hardly knows him.”
Fuck, I thought. Where do people get the idea that behaving that way gets you where you want to be?
She dropped to her knees and started unzipping my fly. I was starting to get hard but something was wrong- I wasn’t really nervous any more but I could feel a discomfort of sorts, like I needed to think about what I was doing before I do it. Before I came to anything resembling a decision, I was already in her mouth and she was sucking me. It felt like intense pins and needles only wet, and I was thinking- wow, people actually do this outside the world of porn? I gritted my teeth, trying to figure out whether I should have led her on in the first place. I looked at myself in the bathroom cabinet mirror and thought, you moron. What have you got yourself into?
My paranoia crested and I started to go limp in her mouth. My breathing became shaky. We both tried to ignore the situation: I said nothing and she carried on sucking.
“Stop,” I said as casually as possible, like I was trying to help someone reverse a car. Then I started jabbering away like an idiot, swearing I didn’t have any problems. All I wanted to reverse at that point was time. The whole thing seemed like a dream: I was in denial that anything had gone wrong. I was shutting out a very real and dark moment, one that was more than I could handle.
“It’s okay,” she whispered. She was trying to soothe me, to reassure me, but the situation at hand would not allow this. I felt slightly sick. The cigarette smoke in her breath put me off even more. What dignity there was in the situation had evaporated rapidly. “I don’t mind,” she said, “’cause you’re a really nice guy…”
Oh, well, that makes everything all right then, I thought. It appears I have some kind of erectile dysfunction, but hey- I’m a really nice guy. Fantastic. Do I just not fancy this girl? I was beginning to hope not. If I did, then there was a serious problem. But I do okay on my own, thank you very much.
We walked back into the lounge, now empty, and fell asleep together on the sofa. As I drifted off I hopelessly wondered whether I’d wake up the next day and it would all be a dream.