First Time I Had Sex



		The First Time I Had Sex Breaking A Hymen Is Hard To Do by Pamela Pierson
in this issue Scintillations Growing My Own Flowers Letting Go Embracing Inner Child Seven Naissance Letters to My Younger Self Books That Changed My Life Almost Famous Photographers Moody Girl Visualize This! Universe Spoke To Me First Time I Had Sex Real Dream Interpretation Contributors Table Of Contents previous issues Issue One: Change Issue Two: Balance in every issue Tell Us What You Think! How To Subscribe New Writers & New Photographers future issues Issue Four: Goddess & Issue Five: Bravery		I know what you're thinking. "Oh no, not another coming of age story!" you groan. Don't worry, my friend. This is not a coming of age story. I was already of age, and then some, when I first had sex. On the edge of 40, to be more exact. Interested now? Let me explain. Ever since I was a little girl, I was grossed out by sex. I have to admit I didn't quite know what it was, but it sure seemed like it would be painful and messy and silly and not at all worth the trouble. Plus, even at that young age, I knew I didn't want to have children, so why in heaven's name would I want to risk pregnancy for some ridiculous act that was bound to hurt my you-know-what? As I continued to grow, so did my thirst for books. Romance books, especially, ignited my interest. At the time, my mom forbid me to read romance comics, like DC’s Young Love, so I found a way around that. With a reading level far above my age, and a library card that was in continuous use, I soon graduated from Beverly Cleary to the likes of Philip Roth, Sidney Sheldon, and Jackie Collins. Racier than DC Comics and nastier than late night TV, these sexually explicit stories both fascinated me and grossed me out. Sex seemed to get the characters in these stories into so much trouble. The pages were littered with tales of broken marriages, illegitimate children, and humiliating cases of syphilis, and gonorrhea. I decided I didn't need that kind of trouble, and vowed to remain a virgin until I got married. I did, however, have several close calls. The first came in high school with my boyfriend Dean. Innocent and in love, we went steady for about a year before he first kissed me. That first kiss pushed our hormones into full gear. Late night gropings soon ensued, and while I didn't mind him exploring my tiny chest bumps, I hated it when his hand traveled south. Despite my discomfort for his interest in my nether region, we ended up in bed one night, taking our clothes off only after we were under the covers. He pulled down the covers and showed me his “stubby”, however without my glasses on I couldn't get a good look. We laid next to each other, curled up, not knowing how the rest of it was supposed to happen. I woke up the next morning still as pure as the driven snow. With my hymen still firmly in place, I joined the Army at age 17. I swear that those soldiers could smell my virginity from miles away. All of a sudden, I was fending off guys left and right. "Fresh meat," was the rallying cry among the men in the barracks at my first duty station, and they all clamored to be the first one to nail me. Though I was still quite naïve, I was able to determine that their interest in me was more than romantic, and remained steadfast in my conviction to remain a virgin. I even came up with something I dubbed "The Dimestore Chastity Belt." This ingenious device was actually a safety pin used to hook my pants' zipper to its waistband. This confused men to no end, and I would be able to break away, virginity intact, before they could figure out why they were unable to slip into my pants. In the thirteen years I was in the Army, there were only four guys who were able to penetrate the Dimestore Chastity Belt. Yet, no matter how intimate our encounters were, none of them were able to change my mind about saving myself for marriage. When I left the Army, I was thirty years old and still a virgin. Though this didn’t distress me, I was starting to wonder if I was going to end up an old maid. As time went by, I found myself leaving my sexual fate in God’s hands. I stopped concentrating on my relationships with men, and focused instead on God. In a few years, my interest in sex had waned, and I reverted back to my little girl views: painful and messy and silly and not at all worth the trouble. Then I met Rich, and my disinterest in sex was replaced with burning hot desire. Our lust for each other increased, and I began to question my convictions about saving myself for marriage. However, as we became closer and more intimate, I discovered that Rich had his own odd little sexual boundaries. In fact, his reluctance to let me actually touch his penis put a damper on things quickly. I began to think that it just wasn't in the cards for me to ever consummate a relationship. But happen it did, finally, although not with Rich. Right before I turned 39, I was in midst of a two-year-old relationship with a highly sexual man, ten years my junior. Todd discovered on our first date that I wanted to remain a virgin until my wedding night, and didn't let that dampen his interest in me at all. If anything, my resistance fueled his passion even more, and he became quite persistent in his lovemaking advances. We'd start out kissing, and the next thing I knew, I was naked and on the verge of an orgasm. Yet, no matter how turned on I got, I'd ignore my body's urgings, close my legs, and push him away. We played this cat-and-mouse game until one day our relationship could no longer endure the stagnancy. We had reached a standstill: he didn't want to marry anyone he hadn't had sex with, and I wouldn't have sex until I was married. We decided to take a break to figure things out. During this time, I began to question my conviction yet again. What was sweet in my twenties and hopeful in my thirties, seemed somewhat pathetic in the light of my oncoming forties. My hormones were raging now. My sex drive was strong. I was in my prime. If I waited to get married, I’d be waiting for something that might never happen. Did I really want to risk becoming a dried-up old spinster like that? The answer was a resounding "No!" Upon this realization, I began to court Todd. We talked on the phone, sent many emails, and finally decided to go out on a date. The night of our date, the air around us was charged with electricity. We made out on the BART train, in full view of the other passengers. Feeling brave, I slipped him my panties after dinner, and walked around the City, feeling the cool air caressing me everywhere. I could barely hold it together. As we were waiting to cross a busy street, a lecherous drunk outside of a bar shouted at Todd: "Why is a woman as exciting as that with you?" In some sort of strange caveman-type response, Todd lifted my dress and showed off my ass. In that moment, I felt like the most exciting woman on earth, and I couldn't wait to get home to see what would happen next. Once home, we tore off each other's clothes and went straight into the bedroom. We explored each other's body with a new intensity: sweaty, panting, and fiercely sexual, although my hymen remained intact. The next morning, curled up in his arms and overcome with love, I decided this was it. No more hedging. No more waiting. No more fears of ending up with a dried up coochie. I was giving it up. As if he read my mind, Todd's eyes opened and he reached for me. In no time we were in the throes of a Harloquinesque passion, my chest heaving, his manhood throbbing. At some point, he looked lovingly into my eyes and that's when I whispered "Let's do it. Let's make love." Before I knew it, he had dressed up his penis in latex, and was gently opening me up for the final assault on my hymen. Unlike stories in books, though, entry wasn't very easy. My hymen seemed to be cemented in place. You'd think that after 38 years, it would be loose, if not totally gone. But no, my hymen was still there, and had obviously not gotten the signal from my brain to let Todd in. Several tries and a bottle of lube later, Todd was in and my hymen was broken. But it hurt -- oh God, it hurt! The pain reverberated through my body, and caused me anguish beyond belief. I held my breath as Todd did all the work. I sucked in the pain; I didn’t want to spoil the moment by crying out. After ten minutes or so, the pain went away. I began to relax. I found myself responding to him, and soon we were both smiling as we looked right into each other's eyes. Afterwards, we just held each other closely, breathing heavily. On the bed were the telltale signs of blood from my broken hymen. I was amazed by the realization that I was no longer a virgin, but I also couldn’t help feeling a bit sad to part with my hymen. After all, it put up quite a fight! It’s a mystery to me how my hymen had managed to stay intact through years of running in combat boots, thousands of hours of aerobics, and hundreds of penetrations by fingers and tampons. For years, it had been my faithful companion. But, in the end, it was time to say farewell. Goodbye hymen. Hello world! next article Be Real Magazine * P.O. Box 26606 * San Francisco, CA 94126 Copyright © 2000-2001 Be Real Magazine. All rights reserved.