Doing It

A/N: I work with a group of teenage girls on a weekly basis, and the subject of sex comes up pretty frequently.  They all seem to share this romanticized view of losing your virginity - what it means, what it feels like, etc.  This piece was inspired partly by those girls, and partly by my own experiences.

I had decided I wanted this. I’d decided I was ready. I planned everything, I did all the research, I went to the clinic and got the prescription. I waited two weeks. I was more responsible than any other girl my age I knew. I had a job, I had a driver’s license – I had all the markers of adulthood. This was the only barrier standing in the way of my grown-up identity. Once this was done, I would no longer be a teenager and I could put that immature world behind me. I was ready to move on to better things.

Most of my friends thought it was weird that we hadn’t done it yet. We’d been together for six months. When I told them my plans, all they said was that it was about time. One told me I should start practicing Kegel exercises. One offered to demonstrate proper sucking technique. One volunteered her opinions on the different positions and which was best for your first time. I secretly couldn’t believe how much there was to know about one simple act. I listened though. I didn’t want to seem stupid or naïve when the big day came, and I definitely wasn't going to give him anything to joke about with his friends afterward. 

At home, I practiced taking my clothes off in front of the mirror until I could do it without breaking out in a full-body blush. I looked at pictures online. The night before, I shaved my legs and washed my hair with the best-smelling shampoo I owned. I put lotion everywhere to make sure my skin was nice and soft. I picked out my outfit and a matching set of bra and panties. I was determined that this would be the best first time possible. It was not going to be like one of those awkward horror stories or that scene from the beginning of Juno. It was going to be perfect; the perfect start to my perfect adulthood.

The next night, I started it with a kiss. We began upright, eventually fell back against the wall, and slowly slid onto the bed. And then, when I could feel him poking into me, I stood up, and I took my clothes off, just like I had practiced. His mouth was open kind of halfway and his pupils were so dilated I thought he might pass out. I stood there. He wasn't moving, and I hadn’t practiced the next part – I’d just assumed he would know what to do from here. Slowly, he reached out to touch me, like he was afraid of burning himself. He got over that fear pretty quickly, though. Soon I was back on the bed and his fingers were getting more and more frantic. He didn’t seem to be able to decide if he wanted to touch my breasts or make out some more. He pinched and pulled at my nipples. Some of it felt okay, like it was sending this weird jolt through a line that ran through my stomach down to my thighs. But some of it just hurt. His mouth alternated from sucking on mine to sucking on my neck. I wondered briefly if everyone produced that much saliva when they were turned on, and if he was leaving a mark, and if anyone would notice and say something. He was groaning and whispering to me how hot I was and how perfect, in humid breath that hung around my ear.

He finally detached his mouth from me, stood up, and removed his pants and shirt, tossing them hurriedly to the side. I could see it through his boxers, pointing up and out, distorting the plaid pattern on the cotton. My stomach flipped. I reminded myself of everything I had read – it would hurt at first, but then it would start to feel good. There was nothing to be nervous about. Still, my heart was beating way faster than normal and my stomach was bouncing around the way it does on a roller coaster. I bit down on my lip and chastised myself for my immature reactions. Without any warning, he slid his boxers down, and I froze. I’d looked at pictures. I’d read about how you were supposed to touch it. It wasn’t the same as seeing it in person. For one thing, no one had mentioned the smell. It was this salty, heavy smell and all I could think about was that time in 7th grade when I’d gone into the boy’s locker room by mistake, which was not sexy at all. Since I wasn't moving, he guided my hand to it. No one had talked about the texture, either. It was spongy on the top and weirdly smooth otherwise. I shaved, and my skin still wasn’t that smooth. And it was burning hot and hard. I knew it was called a hard-on, but I hadn’t realized it would be that hard. Wouldn’t that hurt? I mean, at least fingers could bend, and they were still uncomfortable sometimes. He prompted me to curl my hand around it, and a little bead of liquid appeared on the tip. He closed his eyes and it moved in my hand. It pulsated all on its own. He wasn’t starting to... not already, was he? I realized that my breathing was getting increasingly faster. He opened his eyes and grinned at me, proudly, like he was the first guy in the world to have one of those. “You like it, don’t you?” He asked. I got the feeling that he wasn’t looking for a real answer. “I knew you would.” He got on the bed with his knees on either side of me and leaned down, naked. For the first time in two weeks, the thought came into my head that maybe this was a bigger deal than I thought it would be.

We started to make out again and I could feel it pressing against me, leaking a little onto my lower stomach. And it was still pulsing like some weird extension of his heart. As much as I tried, I couldn’t focus on the kissing anymore. All my mental energy was going into not freaking out. It didn’t really matter, because he was so into it that he didn’t even notice. “Oh yeah,” he moaned, pulling back. “I told you you’d like this. God, baby, you’re so fucking hot.” He reached over me to his nightstand and fumbled with the little square of foil that had been sitting there since we’d started. I searched for a way to press pause for just a minute. I wasn't feeling the way I should. I was supposed to feel passionate and swept away. Instead, I could feel the doubt crawling into my head.

“Wait,” I said, weakly. “I’m not so sure...”

“There’s nothing to be scared of, babe.” He assured me. “I’m gonna make it feel so good.”

Before I could think about what I was saying, I blurted out, “I don’t think I want to do this.”

He let out a short laugh, like I'd made a bad joke. “Come on,” he said. “You can’t back out on me now. You swore you were ready for this.” My mind was racing. I had said I was ready. I’d told him how ready I was and how much I wanted to take this step. He’d been patient for six months – he’d never even complained about not doing it. And now, I’d taken it this far. Backing out at this point would just be mean. I didn’t want to be that girl. I didn’t want to be a tease. I wasn’t going to be. It wasn’t really that different from forcing myself to give a presentation in front of the class, I reasoned. I prepared for it and told myself I was ready and then I got stage fright, but I still had to go through with it. Besides, being an adult meant doing things that scared you sometimes.

“Come on,” I told myself. “You can do this.”

So I did it.