I’d like to tell you about the first time I had sex, but honestly, I don’t remember it… Not because I was in a drug-addled haze or because I had been date raped or something like that, but honestly because it was just, meh. Some dude.
Romantic, I know. I think, at the time, I just wanted to get it over with. I had spent the majority of my youth expecting to wait until marriage to have sex, but once on my own in the big, bad world, I started to realize why this theory doesn’t work in real life.
What if he’s terrible in bed? What if he has a micro penis? What if he’s got a 15″ assault rifle? What if he’s covered in some weird birth mark that will gross me out? I wouldn’t know until I was already married!?
So, I took to sampling.
I’m not going to run down an entire chronological order of my naked-history, but instead, I’m going to tell you about the first time I ever ejaculated.
This was before I met my last boyfriend, so… 2004? 2005? I can’t really recall. I met him at a party, through mutual friends. He was a short and edgy bad-boy Iranian man and he had a really hot car. You can see where my priorities were at the time, but whatever, I was rebounding off my failed marriage. I wanted to let my hair down a little bit.
I had been seeing him for about a month when we finally got down to brass tacks. After dinner one night, we went back to his condo. I remember watching the Ali G Show… Further insight into the quality of this joker — this was his idea of foreplay?
Now, the other very strange thing about this character was his peen. I am not a size queen — hardly. I’ve been with *mumbling some number* of men and I’ve seen have truly unique the penis is. There are pros and cons to all shapes and sizes but this guy’s dick was BANANAS.
By bananas, I mean to say that it was shaped like a banana and had a downward curve. A DOWNWARD curve! Que interesante!
Halfway through doing the deed, I felt this rush of heat and he leaped back from me. I was HORRIFIED. Did I just piss on this man? By the looks of his face, it seems that I had done just that!
He jumped up to get some towels and I scurried off to the bathroom, embarrassed beyond belief. I kept swiping my hands on my inner thighs and smelling the fluid, panicking, “This doesn’t SMELL like pee!” So very confused and shocked and uneducated, I was just pacing back and forth in his little bathroom.
What happened after that, I don’t really recall. I did see him a few more times after that, but we didn’t have sex again. We also didn’t talk about it, ever.
Recounting the horrific tale to my girlfriends, I was met with similar looks of shock and fear and disgust but one friend, blessed saint that she was (whoever she was, I don’t recall), sent me a link to this book, Female Ejaculation and the G-spot by D. Sundahl.
Listen girls, this book has been my sexual bible. I have learned more in this book than I even thought possible. I think the dedication page sums it up best:
Dedicated to the special beings who are helping us access the beauty and healing that exist on the higher planes of our human erotic landscape.
If you’re curious, I’d encourage you to buy this book (from the adorable link or the picture above because then Amazon will give me a kick-back) and educate yourself on the capabilities of your cooters.
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