Scottsdale, Arizona, United States
March 04
Rancho Laurena Rustic Arts
A wanton young lady of Wimley, Reproached for not acting more primly, Answered, "Heavens above! I know sex isn't love, But it's such an attractive facsimile."


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SEPTEMBER 12, 2010 6:05PM

A Virgin's Tale

Rate: 17 Flag


It is the night. My body's weak.
I'm on the run. No time to sleep.
I've got to ride, ride like the wind to be free again.


He liked to make her laugh by mimicking the wind on his dashboard as he drove her home. Laugh, she did. Because she straddled the fence between geek and dork and because he was a handsome and popular jock, she relished the idea that he was flirting with her. Her! And he was offering her rides home. In his car. Not his dad’s car or his mom’s car but his little hotrod, a car featured in all teen angst movies as the model driven by handsome jocks. And she was riding in it.


It shouldn’t have meant what it did to her but she had been mostly ignored in the dating department. Her face had not yet grown into her large features and socially, she was awkward, wanting to debate whether Medea was the villain Euripedes portrayed her to be or whether she was misunderstood and had been driven mad by a fortune-and-younger-bride-seeking Jason. Most of her fellow students didn’t “get” her and, truth be told, she often did not get herself.


But she was in his car! With the windows down and the breeze blowing her hair just like in the movies! And they were listening to Christopher Cross and he was doing that little thing with his hands down the dashboard to make her laugh. And she laughed. And he walked her into her house and played pinball with her. And her mother stayed in bed where she typically spent her days until the girl’s father got home, leaving the two of them alone.


And she felt a little more accepted than she had just thirty minutes before.


It was toward the end of her junior year of high school, his senior year. Prom was coming up (no one asked her) as was his graduation and summertime. He drove her home a few times a week and they talked and laughed, though never deeply and never fully. He may have been using her but she did not know it, still does not know it.


As far as prom went, he and his best friend decided to go together, a couple of stags. Even though this was Oklahoma, second only to Texas in the homophobia wars, their antics were accepted because; hey, they were handsome and popular jocks, not pansy ass sissy boys. He did ask her where she would be on his prom night and she did tell him that she and a girlfriend were going to a kegger and then home. Her parents were out of town that weekend, you know.


He showed up at her front door late, perhaps midnight. Her memories are foggy and she had had a lot of beer at the party. What was she doing when he arrived? Watching tv with her girlfriend? Gossiping? Her memory has faded and she just remembers him being there and then she was kissing him and walking to her bedroom with him, virgin though she was. His friend had come along, too; and, at that moment, was making out with her friend on the sofa and doesn’t everyone deserve privacy now and then? Don’t they?


Kissing and kissing, leaning against her bed and then on her bed. Shirt tails came untucked, bra straps were lowered, eyes were released from their hooks. And then the words, “Let’s shuck these pants.”


Years later, she would recall these words and laugh at his choosing them but now she was excited and wanting. The beer and lust made her pliant and uninhibited and she nodded, unsure whether he knew she had not done this before. Did she tell him? The fog and beer have kept the memory hidden; she doesn’t know but she thinks so.


God, it hurt and it felt good; it left her breathless and confused, knowing but still unsure of what had just happened, unsettled over how it would affect her/their future. And then he was gone, leaving behind a soon-to-be-hungover high school junior and his wallet.  She left behind the physical evidence of what losing one’s virginity entails for a female and spent a large part of the next day attempting to remove it from her mattress.


Sometime during her cleaning, he came back. Eyes not meeting hers, he asked for his wallet and left, without kissing her or mentioning what they had shared. To this day, this is the last time she remembers seeing him.


She knows she must have seen him again. After all, the prom pictures made the yearbook and he signed it, too; writing something about her having fun at prom, prom being underlined. She knows she did not see him once his senior year was over.


Only recently did she find him, not that she searched all this time, just that she kept her ears and eyes alert since the and Facebook era. Beyond the casual how-ya-beens, they haven’t corresponded and she doubts they will. Seriously? It’s been thirty years. The statute of limitations ran out long ago.


By the way, she decided to side with Medea.




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I have heard this version of the story so many times and I wonder if it is because those boys were not mentally prepared for the aftermath (a relationship) or if they were just told to "practice" on people until they figured things out. Nice to see you around!
Hmmm, I guess she thought her situation unique. And thanks, Patricia!
Good choice on the Medea thing. Glad to see you posting.
Thanks, Dorinda. Medea's story has always meant a lot to me and I did lot of research on it in high school. It seemed to me that everyone jumped to demonize her instead of trying to understand her side. And Euripides was the only one who said she murdered her children. Other accounts have the villagers or relatives as culprits.
Hmmm. I remember too. Thanks for this.
Most often, I don't get myself either. But I get this!
You should have kept his wallet.
I'm sorry. There are many worse ways to experience intercourse for the first time (hate the term "lose one's virginity" it's not like you can find it), but surely there are better. If only the father's of boys took the time time to educate their sons in a more comprehensive way about sexual etiquette and a healthy sexual experience. Beyond the prevention of pregnancy and disease! And some good old fashioned manners too. He was an ass, but he obviously didn't know any better.
Oddly enough, I never looked back on him as a douche. I know he's changed his last name. I think he experienced some family trouble. I try not to judge as I grew up with judgmental. We were kids following urges. And it's not like I had a serious longterm boyfriend to take that step with anyway. I suppose he helped me cross a threshold that needed it. C'est la vie, I wish him well.
My first time was with a girlfriend, who was living with friends of her parents, in my home town. We dated for five months and the night after graduation from high school, before she was to fly out of town she took me out in a friend's car and we had sex, the first time for me. I have never seen her since, for 35 years, but have wonderful memories of that night.

I never pushed her at all to do anything except what she wanted to do, she was always the initiator. My motivation was to go to college and was never in a rush to have a serious relationship. Just recently I have started to look for her. I hope she has had as good a life as I have.
I've been thinking about this post since my last comment and I'm starting to feel sorry for the dude because he has no idea what he missed.

I was my Suzy's first and only lover. After the first time, we held each other and cuddled. It was a truly wonderful experience and I still know to this day that she willingly gave me something that she considered so special and irreplaceable and gave it gladly. It may seem silly that such a ridiculous thing as being somebody's "first" would stick with you, but the "gift" and the love it was indicative of will always be one of my sweets memories of her.

(See! Now you got me to crying.)
Thank you, Cindy; ordered and paid for.

I suspect if Medea had lived in a less patriarchal society, her tale would have been different. Heaven forbid she question a man for whom she sacrificed so much when he went astray. This is why I question Euripedes telling. Imagine if Schiaffly was responsible for reporting the women's lib movement.
“Let’s shuck these pants.” Usually there's a swinging bare light bulb and a nappy mattress in a roadside fleabag. You've changed the face of lost virginity. It's like one of those advertising ditties; I can't get it out of my head - let's shuck these pants.
I'm with Damon. “Let’s shuck these pants...” is a hell of a phrase.
Beautiful story Lauren. Vivid and thoughtful.