More On Dalton

As I have stated before, most of the men in my life were reoccurring.  Dalton will make appearances throughout this explanation I am giving of my life events.  I hope you’re not sick of him yet.  He still has a role to play.

Okay, so where were we?  Oh, right.  So we had just had sex for the first time.  I had been responsible and gotten the morning after pill, and then pulled an immature, dick move and refused to return communication with him.

To this day, I’m not 100% sure why that is.  I wasn’t embarrassed.  Maybe I should have been.  I think it was mostly due to the fact that I was so sure that he had gotten what he wanted, and no longer needed me.  Maybe I should have realized after his hundredth text that he was STILL interested.  It’s funny the things we convince ourselves of when all of the facts are pointing in another direction.

So a month went by.  Close to it anyway…around 4 weeks.  I had not seen or talked with Dalton in any way.  It was a Friday night and my roommates had taken off to join a party.  They had invited me, but I wasn’t feeling it.  There was an America’s Next Top Model marathon on TV.  I was looking forward to comfy clothes, yummy food and getting lost in an oblivion of back biting and bitchiness.

I had my phone next to me, and it kept chiming that I had a text.  Sometimes, I’m not so great at checking it.

When I finally got around to it, there were around twenty texts.  Some were from Dalton and some were from my roommate, Cassie. 

Dalton was still trying to get me to talk to him, his texts getting angrier as they progressed.  Cassie warned me that he was getting drunk and running his mouth. 

But the text that spurred me to action was this one from Cassie:

I think he’s headed your way…

A few text threads later, and I jumped up from my spot on the couch to prepare for his arrival.  I wasn’t sure if he really was going to show up for not, but I was not going to be unprepared.  I’m glad I prepped, because a few minutes later, he was banging on my door, yelling at me to let him in.

I don’t remember exact details of our conversation, but we did end up resolving some things.  A quick rundown if my memory serves included the following:

-He should not expect to get me into bed every time we hang out.  Just because I slept with him once, did not mean he was entitled to it.

-In future, he was to wear condoms until I was able to acquire alternate contraceptive methods.

-No, I was not pregnant, but unless he wanted to be a dad soon, no protection was NOT an option.

-I was no longer allowed to leave immediately after sex. 

-We were to communicate post-coitus.  Good or bad, we needed to stay talking.

-I was sorry for avoiding and ignoring him.

-He was sorry for not using protection.

And so our relationship continued.  To say we were on and off all the time would be accurate, but not realistic.  Out of all of my relationships during this time, he was the most consistent.  We were not dating, or labeled, or exclusive.  Basically we filled the gaps between other relationships.  He was a great time filler, and place holder.  As far as I knew then, that’s what I was to him, too.

With every bedroom romp we had, it got a little better.  I think we finally got into a groove, or at least got comfortable with each other.  When I say better, I mean it felt a little better each time.  It wasn’t for a few months that I actually had an orgasm with him.  I continued to lie to him about that, though.  I don’t think he ever figured it out.

I guess you could say we had an understanding.  All we had to do was say we had someone else to hang with for a while, and there were no hard feelings.  It was kind of nice.  There was a kind of odd comfort in knowing that if things didn’t work out, there was always Dalton.

Our little ‘arrangement’ seemed to be working out well. That is…until Nate came along.  He was the catalyst for Dalton and I’s huge blow up.  But I have a few other guys to discuss before we get to Nate.  Those are coming soon!

Giving Up The Goods

The much awaited blog post is finally here.  This is the story of how I lost my virginity…enjoy it.  You will much more than I did!

As you know, I lost my virginity to Dalton when I was in college.  I waited specifically for someone who I did not particularly love, because I knew it was going to be awful.  I wrote of this decision in prior posts, so feel free to read back for further explanation.

Also, you might recall that I said that Dalton and I both lied about being virgins.  I will speak mainly for myself, because I never did receive clarification on this from him.  I am pretty sure it was the first time for both of us, but it was definitely mine. 

That night started out as many of our other hang outs did.  He invited me over that evening to ‘hang out.’  I’m not sure what about the invitation was different than the others, but I had the distinct feeling as I got ready to head his way that it was the night we were going to have sex.   He lived in The Apartments too, and a few buildings away from mine, so after I had prepped, I made my way to his apartment.

We had never talked extensively about sex, or who we had been with or what we had done before.  I think we had pretty casually both made it seem like we had experienced it all.  That or we didn’t deny having done it, so we were both under the assumption that each one of us had already given it up to somebody else.

I would like to take this time to say that, yes, if we had both been honest with each other and really communicated, my first time could have been much different than it was.  It had the potential to be a decent experience.  But our lack of honesty and communication really was a key factor in how it ended up being for both of us.

I walked to the back door of his apartment and knocked, after which the door was immediately opened.  He had been waiting. Since he occupied the 2^nd to last bedroom and we went directly into his room.  This was odd only because we usually hung out with his other roommates in the living area before the desire to mess around got the better of us.  I could hear his other roommates there, down the hall, most likely playing video games, but this end of the apartment was quiet and dark.

He never bothered to turn on the light.  I do remember that.

Things escalated pretty quickly from there.  We started out kissing in the middle of his room.  A masculine movie about fighting played in the background.  I cannot watch that movie, even to this day.  It’s just too weird.  I can remember specifics about what we were doing as each part of the movie played…and I just can’t bring myself to watch it without thinking about him.  Anyway, we went from standing and kissing, to laying in his bed and kissing.  Then the clothes started coming off.

Just my clothes, mind you.  

I remember thinking that being completely naked with someone should be harder.  But there I was, completely exposed, no barriers or coverings, stretched out before this boy and I felt…fine.  There wasn’t any sort of embarrassment or shyness.  I’d been pretty confident about my body.  But there weren’t any fluttery feelings or nervous elations.  I just felt that…here I was, and that was that. 

I do remember thinking that I would have been nervously excited if this was Mitch.  But since he was the only other boy I’d had this sort of experience with, I guess it’s natural to think about him.  Even if it’s not…I did. 

Dalton still had all of his clothes on.  I said something about evening things out. So he undressed and joined me on the bed.

I remember looking, but trying to make it look like I wasn’t.  I had never seen all of him before.  The only other man I had seen completely naked at this point was Mitch, who as I said, was sizable.  I was relieved to find that Dalton was not so big.  I don’t say this to be mean, or make fun.  I say this because I was already worried about sex hurting.  I figured the bigger he was, the more it would hurt.  He was of the smaller size, not huge.  I was okay with this.

There wasn’t much foreplay.  We continued kissing, but his hands remained still.  He didn’t explore me or wander around.  His hands stayed stagnant on the bed next to me, which I thought was odd.  If we were headed in the direction I thought…we would both need to be sufficiently prepped.  Making out is nice and all, but I need a little bit more than that to grease my wheels!

I should have said something.  I realize now after much experience and shuddering at the memories from that night that communication is so essential to a good sexual experience.  If you don’t say anything, your partner can’t know.  They’re not mind readers.  No one is.

I should have, but I didn’t.  If I had said I wasn’t quite ready for the main event, I think it could have been much different.  I don’t remember exactly how we moved into sex, but suddenly the mood changed and he was on top of me.

I don’t want to get too graphic, or make this into something smutty, so I’ll be sparse with intense details.

 

I remember when he pushed inside of me.  I remember thinking it would hurt more.  But he was there and I was there and it was finally happening.  I kept wondering when it would get good.  Sex was supposed to be this wonderful, pleasurable experience, but I wasn’t feeling it.  As he continued moving on top of me, that’s when it started to hurt.  I think this was mainly due to the fact that I wasn’t properly prepared for it, and since it wasn’t feeling good I stayed unprepared.  No lubrication…it was not a pleasant experience. 

I also took note of the fact that he was not wearing a condom.  I remember when we had first started that I wanted to tell him to wear one.  But I didn’t.  Again—communication issues.  Throughout the whole thing it kept nagging at me…since I wasn’t particularly enjoying the experience, my mind had a lot of time to wander.  I kept thinking that I need to tell him to put one on.  Then I thought…well he’s already in, can I tell him to stop and put one on?  I stewed on it. 

I wasn’t on birth control either.  At this point I was still on my parent’s health insurance, and as previously stated they were religious enough to feel that birth control wasn’t necessary.  If you were on birth control, you were having sex.  If you were having sex, you should be married.  And I wasn’t married, so sex wasn’t happening and birth control wasn’t necessary.  I had toyed with the idea since I left for college, but knew that the insurance information and doctor bills still went to them, and they would find out and then I’d have some serious explaining to do.

I tried to keep my mind off of the fact that it was hurting so much.  So, I had a lot of time to think on all of this.

Now, this is just my personal experience.  And pain is all relative, so I think it’s going to be different for everyone regardless.  It was a pinching, chaffing pain.  I didn’t feel like it was a torn pain, like losing your virginity has been said to be like.  It really was just intensely uncomfortable. 

Sex is invasive for women.  Duh.  But I feel like men don’t really consider that when a woman has sex, there is a foreign object inside of her body.  Not only that, but when you have sex for the first time, that foreign object is inside of a place that has not had that kind of attention before.  It’s not like the object goes in, and sits there comfortably so you can get used to it, sort of like a tampon.  The motion of sex, the size of the man you’re with, the angle and environment all play such a huge role in how comfortable the experience will be. 

Let’s just say that none of the ideal conditions were in place during my first time.  I do mostly blame myself.  I was an active participant in the entirety of it.  I, at any time, could have told him what to do differently, or that it wasn’t feeling good.  I did not voice my feelings, and he was not a mind reader.  Of course, there are things he could have done to make it a more pleasant experience for me.  Really basic things, which is why I am of the opinion that it was his first time too. 

Anyway, I felt like I lay there beneath him forever while he moved over me and into me and I tried to make it seem like I was enjoying something that was not enjoyable at all.  I remember staring at the ceiling, focusing on breathing and thinking, “Just finish and get off me!”

Eventually, he did.  I remember being in a slight state of panic over it.  I really was not interested in getting pregnant through my first time.  And it still hurt.

When he moved away from me and collapsed at my side, breathing heavily.  I remember being intensely disappointed.  I also remember not wanting him to know that this is how I was feeling.  After catching his breath, he propped himself up on one arm and stared at me.  I smiled in what I hoped was a satisfied, post-coitus way.

He stated that I hadn’t finished.  I hadn’t.  Not even close.

But I insisted that I had.  Another stupid thing.

Women—do not lie about this.  Do not feel bad, or ashamed or like you’re too much work if a man cannot bring you to orgasm without some effort.  The idea that women can finish on command, or without proper, constant stimulation is thanks to erotic fiction and porn…and wholly unrealistic!  All of the women I have talked with claim to have faked an orgasm with one or more of their partners out of feeling bad that it’s taking so long.  If you fake it once, you either have to continue faking, or tell them that you did so they can adjust.  You’ll never learn how to achieve one with your partner or learn how to make it pleasant for both of you if you aren’t honest.  If you fake it, they think they are doing it right…and they will continue doing it wrong because you made them think it worked for you. 

We are complicated creatures…in and out of the bedroom!  We have a lot more going on down there than men do!  Each woman is so incredibly different in how she likes things in bed that each one is a learning experience.  I’m not saying that all men are the same and they all enjoy the exact same things, but I feel like they are fairly easy to please with fewer adjustments needing to be made.  We take longer to warm up and longer to finish off.  There is nothing wrong with this.  Stop the shame.  Once you do, you will enjoy ACTUAL orgasms given to you by ACTUAL men!

Sorry---side tangents.  I feel like all of these things need to be addressed.  Now that I have, back to my story.

So, I insisted that I has finished with him.  I’m not sure if he believed me.  We never revisited that night in our conversations after.  I think it was sufficiently awkward and neither one of us wanted to venture there. 

I remember checking to make sure that I hadn’t bled onto his bedding.  I had heard that not every girl bleeds after her first time.  I remember that his sheets were red…and hoping that if I had…he wouldn’t notice.  If I bled and he saw it, I might have to admit that I wasn’t honest about the whole virgin thing.

I was relieved to see that I hadn’t.  As we lay there, post-coitus, our bodies cooling from our activities, not only was I feeling disappointed by the experience, I also felt sad.  Sex was supposed to be amazing.  Sex was supposed to be fun and exciting.  I hadn’t felt any of that.  I was sore already.

I wasn’t really sure how to proceed after that.  Dalton got up and put some shorts on, leaving the room to clean up, I assumed.  I heard the bathroom sink running.  While he was gone, I got up and began searching for my clothes.  Bits of my wardrobe were scattered throughout his room, and tangled up in the bed sheets.  I had just pulled my jeans on when Dalton came back into the room.  One of his roommates caught my eye as the door was closing, and I am 100% positive he knew what had just happened.  I was after all, standing in jeans and a bra in his bedroom.

Dalton looked confused.  He asked me if I was leaving already.  I told him that yes, I was.  I had class in the morning.  I remember the alarm clock across the room glared in red letters that it was already two thirty in the morning.  My first time really had lasted quite a long time. 

He said that I should stay.  We could watch another movie and hang out.  I told him that it was a really early class.  He gave up.  I pulled my shirt on and was suddenly struck with the fact that we had just shared the most intimate thing that two people could share…and there was a strange sense of calm between us.  Too calm.  It was a scary calm. 

There was also a sense of awkwardness.  I wasn’t sure what to do from there.  Normally I would kiss him goodbye and I’d be on my way.  That seemed too ordinary for what had just taken place.  I stood there, arms folded.  He stood there, looking at me.

I started to say that I would text him when I got home.  He started to say something too.  We both stopped mid-sentence and laughed in a strained way. 

“Well,” I finally said.  “I should get back.  Thanks.”

I wasn’t sure what I was thanking him for.  He looked puzzled by it too.  I walked towards the bedroom door, and then out to the back door I had originally come in.  He stopped me on the stairway, pulled me to him and kissed me hard.

When he pulled away, he looked confused.  His eyebrows were pulled together.  I wanted to say something comforting to him…but I had nothing to say.  So, I turned around, walked down the stairs and back towards my apartment.  I’m pretty sure he stood there watching me leave, just as confused and disappointed as I was.

When I got home, I immediately showered.  As I was washing, I noticed the water was running red into the drain.  Apparently I was bleeding.

After I toweled off, I sat on the toilet and did my best to inspect myself.  I was bleeding…a lot.  I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that.  I didn’t know enough about post-sex bleeding to know if I needed to be worried.  I pulled a hygiene pad out and stuck it to my underwear.

I remember wiping the moisture from the mirror and staring at my reflection.  I didn’t look any different, but I sure felt it.  I took a pain killer to ease the ache that had settled between my legs and crawled into my own bed.

I didn’t sleep much that night.  Worries about being pregnant and what I could do to prevent it filled my head.  There wasn’t much I could do about it then.  So I told my brain to shut off and we’d worry about it in the morning.

My phone buzzed and I saw I had a text from Dalton.

U ok?  Let me kno u got home

I didn’t text him back. I didn’t know the answer.

The next morning I called some local pharmacies to get information about the morning after pill.  After finding the only one that stocked it, I made my way there.  My grandmother had sent me a check for my birthday a few weeks earlier.  I used that money to buy a Plan B pill and some pregnancy tests.

 

I remember trying to act confident as I asked the pharmacist for the pill.  I saw the judgment in his eyes.  Because he was a male, I gave him a look.  He would never understand the kind of emotions that come with thinking you might be pregnant when you’re not ready.

I immediately took the pill and then headed to my morning class.  I was sore still.  I remember sitting on the hard chair attached to a small desk and being uncomfortable the entire time.  I wondered if those around me could tell if I wasn’t a virgin anymore.  I wondered if there was a vibe that non-virgins gave off.  I don’t remember what was taught that day.  I didn’t learn anything, that’s for sure.

I bled for 4 days after having sex.  I remember asking one of my older friends who lived in another state, who I had talked about these kinds of things with before, how much was normal to bleed after sex.  She said it was different for every girl, but if it was more than a day or two, or excessive, I needed to see a doctor.  I never did.  But the bleeding stopped eventually, and the pain wasn’t anything more than being sore, and not bad enough that I felt something was wrong enough to see someone about it. 

A week went by.  Dalton sent a few texts that I did not answer.  I wasn’t sure what to say.  I wasn’t sure what to expect now.  I still thought he’d disappear from my life, especially now that we’d done it.

It was nearly an entire month before I saw or spoke to him again.