Friday, April 29, 2005

On losing my virginity

I just realized, I can't remember the name of the girl to whom I lost my virginity. She was quite pretty, great hair, and the smallest nipples I've ever seen.
It all started at a frat party. The vodka had been burning its way through my veins in search of my loins. I was bored, and I was looking for a fight.
Someone pointed her out to me and mentioned that she had just broken off with her boyfriend. I stepped up to her, smiled the million dollar smile and said: "Hi, you don't know me, but I hear you just broke off with your boyfriend. So how about you and me having sex together tonight." She calmly looked me up and down, smiled and said: "Ok."
The world froze. Time stood still. This woman was supposed to slap me. This woman was supposed to call for back up. This woman was at the very least supposed to give me a sarcastic come-back that would crush my infantile ego. Instead, I stood there, looking at this beautiful young woman as two awful truths dawned on me. First, this woman was not playing by the rules and second, I was going to get laid.
And so I did what every other red-blooded male on the planet would do. I panicked. I cannot exactly recall my carefully-crafted reply, but it might have sounded something like: "Urgh.. pflt...sstyyou do?" And so I asked her to come get me when she was ready to leave the party and returned to my friends. (Just because I was going to have sex with her, didn't mean I'd have to forego the more pleasurable company of my mates.) What followed was a desperate search for a condom. Which had the pleasant side-effect that all my buddies knew that I was finally going to get laid.

A few hours later, the woman who was soon to be my sexual mentrix, and me, were riding her bike home. As far as I can remember we actually managed to have a decent conversation about absolutely nothing, both carefully avoiding the sexual smorgasbord that was lying in wait for us. But as those who know me well know, things never go smoothly for me. So in the middle of the moonlit Kalverstraat, she jumped off the bike, sat on the side-walk and started to shake her head. I carefully enquired as to the reason of this sudden, and ill-timed jest. Her exact words were: "I am not ready for this." Who the fuck cares whether she was ready or not! I was! I mean my hormones had been ready for a goddamn decade. I was carrying a loaded gun and had no one to shoot. But, ever the gentleman, I told her that it was okay, and I walked away towards an imaginary sunset. My long coat was flapping in the wind, and I remember Frank Sinatra bursting into "Strangers in the Night", inside my head. The walk home took me a little over four hours.

But it didn't end there. A week or so later, she called me, and invited me to a party. Now I can remember absolutely nothing about the party anymore, which either means it was boring as hell, or one of the best parties I ever went to. All I remember is her sitting on the side-walk, a good six hours later, shaking her head and mumbling something that sounded like: "I am not ready for this."

But it didn't end there. It was time for action. I bought a bottle of good wine. I think I actually showered, and one evening I unexpectedly showed up on her doorstep. Half a bottle later, she was sitting on a cushion opposite me on her bed, crying her eyes out with some schoolgirl sob story about being dumped by her boyfriend. Blahblahblah trying suicide with birthcontrol pills blahblahblah getting her stomach pumped blahblahblah just needing a nice man to take care of her blahblahblah and finally we got to the sex thing.
She disappeared into the bathroom and came out dressed in god-awful red flannel pajamas. On enquiry I was notified that she believed in dressing well during daytime as much as during nighttime. But who cares, they came off.
The next morning I woke up to find her crying again. Ever the gentleman I extended her the courtesy of listening to her blab again about her fucked up life. Until finally she said: "You better go, and not come back." I tried to kiss her but she turned her cheeck towards my face.
And so I did what every red-blooded male in the world would do. I found myself a telephone booth and spent a fortune in quarters, telling all my mates about the experience. I never saw her again. And however much I rack my brain, I still cannot remember her name.

7 Comments:

Blogger Ms Burden said...

Did you ever ask her name? Maybe this is why you're having problem remembering it...

8:44 PM  
Anonymous Blonde said...

Wow, her just saying ok makes me think that its a lie, but anyway lovely story.

12:23 AM  
Blogger bulb said...

Well blonde.... you're 18 and you wont show me your tits. Just shows what you know.

1:31 AM  
Blogger The Angry Drunken Irishman said...

Well done, sir. My hat goes off to you. Using the wine ws quite the nice touch.

3:23 AM  
Blogger kris said...

even if you did remember her name...would it change anything really? hee...

3:19 AM  
Blogger Sassy said...

Bulb...do u remember my name? Cuz u know what happened that one night...um...nm (i shouldnt tell) :p but seriously...u are a gentlemen :x besides...her problem is she was having payback sex, payback sex is never good for the woman (the first time anyways), so I've heard, not that I know! LMAO

3:26 AM  
Blogger bulb said...

Sassy...... you mean...... I was used for payback sex????

Cool!

6:40 PM  

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