Chapter 1 - The Virgin

I'm reading a book by Ayn Carrillo called Good Vibrations.

It's about a 'good girl' discovering her 'bad side' and all things sexual. She describes herself as a 'vibrator virgin' having never used a vibrator, and writes a 'Porn-to-do list' which keeps the story moving forward as she goes to a strip club, reads erotic literature, etc.

It sounded like my kind of read but it's actually quite boring. I have done everything on her special to-do list so reading about it is rather dull in comparison. I think I'm the opposite to her - a 'bad -girl-turned-good'.

I've lost my identity a bit.

I used to be the girl who was always shagging, or talking about sex and vibrators. I was the friend who people came to for confidential advice on blowjobs/anal/buying their first vibe. Indeed, this blog had the underlying intention of being very 'forthcoming'; as I explained to a fellow-blogger when asking for advice about commencing a blog - I was worried things I might say could be too x-rated for those weaker at the knees.

But now I have very little to 'forthcome' about. Being 'sexual' (for want of a better word) was who I was. It was a very big part of me. So to suddenly lose that overnight is quite a shock.

Now this blog is going to turn into a 'coming-of-age' story. So sorry about that, I will try to pepper it with sexual references as I go.

I'm actually attempting to write a book myself. It's about all the different men I have slept with, and what lesson was learnt from each one. I would like to share the first chapter with you to see what you think...


CHAPTER 1 - THE VIRGIN

Everyone always remembers losing their virginity. (Unless you were very, very drunk...but then it doesn’t count anyway). You remember where you were, how you felt, how ‘it’ felt and, of course, the name of the lucky significant other being blessed with ‘taking your cherry’, ‘popping your cork’ and ‘opening the gates’.

I remember being horny before I even knew what being horny meant. By the time I was 15, I was ready. I knew what ‘it’ was and I knew I wanted it. Preferably NOW. But the act of actually losing ‘IT’ had to be so special and important, so meaningful and loving. About a month before I met the virgin I had been invited to a party. The idea of a party when you’re 15 isn’t, as you tell your parents; ‘a few of us having maybe an alcoholic drink or two...but I don’t really want to drink because I don’t want to get drunk and not know what I’m doing...’ In fact, its quite the opposite; getting as drunk as possible, preferably without throwing up, and making out with whoever it is you have had your eye on at school, or perhaps more accurately; whoever your eyes happen to land upon - and that’s only if you can actually see straight. Good times, great fun. Anyway, there was this boy I had kissed a few times and he had taken me to the cinema and held my hand. We discussed - via text I am hasten to add (I was easily wooed) - whether we should ‘do it’ at said party. But then I got my period. So that made the decision very easy for us.

I can’t recall first laying eyes on the virgin, my heart didn't skip a beat, I didn’t instinctively know he was ‘the one’. I was a month or so away from my 16th Birthday, on a cruise around the Caribbean with my family, we had fallen in love very quickly, within a couple of weeks, and were finally alone in my cabin onboard, despite my dad’s best efforts not to leave us alone.

The epitome of all the best virgin one-liners.

“Is it in?” both of us uttered.

I am sorry to report that after feeling around and deducing that it wasn’t anywhere else, then that must mean that yes, it was in. And whilst I couldn’t feel much it still managed to rock my world. At the time anyway. I would just like to point out that the reason behind not being able to sense a great deal was not due to me having a gaping great *insert your own preferred term here*, it was certainly due to his, eh-hem, undeveloped form. Unfortunately one of many I was to encounter. I was with the virgin for over a year - a long time at that age. He lived 5 hours away by train and every other weekend I would begin the long trek down to his house.

Before I lost my virginity I remember being so certain that I would be one of the careful ones who always wore a condom and was sensible about sex. But then a virgin has never experienced that dying urge of a throbbing cock positioned just outside your very wet and aching self. At which point a condom, although somewhat at the forefront of your mind, is not at the front. The first weekend I went to see him we ran out of condoms but continued anyway. Very silly I know. And Monday morning, on my lunch break at school, I trudged around 3 chemists until I finally found one that would supply me with the morning after pill. Then I worried for the next few weeks and convinced myself everyday that because I had a spot/my boobs hurt/I was hungry it must signal impending motherhood. Although there is always that part of you that wouldn’t be entirely disappointed if you were. And there is always that tiny part of you that is disappointed when you’re not. Even though it would be terrible and you totally couldn’t handle it and there are so many reasons why not and its a BABY for crying out loud...it’s also a *sigh* baby. Biology is to blame.

Lesson #1: Falling in love is the best.