Well now, seeing as we are passing tonight, not just from one year to the next but from one decade to another, here is an extra special treat. I don’t know what’s been happening recently, perhaps it is something in the stars, but I have been sent some fabulous stories of late. Not only that, but your ability to summarize your most intimate moments with such wit, verve and charm never cease to amaze me.
Today’s story is from Tegan. She is almost nineteen years old and she lives in the Bible belt in the States. I’m not going to ramble on, partly because I am bushed but mainly because the words are going to do the talking without any help from me. Bonne Annee!
Firstly, I'd like to say that appreciate your starting The Virginity Project. I've really enjoyed reading all of the stories, comparing them to my own, wondering what would have changed if I'd waited longer, or not waited at all, as with some of the others who shared their stories with you. And now, I think, I'll tell you mine.
I was sixteen and a half, and beyond positive that I was asexual. Making out was fine, but any time a boy (or girl) tried to get near my crotch with their hand it just tickled and I stopped them before they could reach my genitals. I was never wet, never horny. I told my fourteen-year-old boyfriend this straight out. ‘That's fine,’ he said. ‘We don't have to do anything you don't want to do.’
One day we were making out in his backyard, and one thing led to another. I had never felt this way before; I was tingling, my hips were grinding against his as if they had a will of their own. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything. Of course I didn't push him away when his hand snaked down my jeans…or later, when he pulled down my pants and got on his knees for me. It was the most natural thing in the world. I distinctly remember muttering, and once gasping, ‘Asexual, my ass,’ more than once.
On our next date, it was my turn to pleasure him. His parents were insistent that we keep his bedroom door open, so we sat under the blanket and I felt his penis for the first time. To be honest, it grossed me out. It looked like a little, well, not SO little, I later found out by comparison, armless, legless alien. But I knew he wanted me to so I touched it, played with it, and soon I didn't dislike it nearly so much. In fact I could hardly keep my hands off.
We went back to his backyard*, where oddly enough we had the most privacy. Soon enough we both had our pants around our ankles. His manhood was pressed against me, so that if I'd changed my angle and applied pressure he would be inside me. ‘We don't have a condom,’ he reminded me breathlessly. ‘Next time,’ I answered, stepping back a little. ‘I'll get one and we'll do it next weekend.’
The next day we talked on the phone and agreed that we should wait, despite what our bodies were telling us. As I told him, I refused to let him lose his virginity before he was fifteen, which was about two months away. We agreed that we wouldn't buy condoms and that would stop us; we were both pretty responsible and I did NOT want to get pregnant. We waited those agonizing two months. In that time we did everything physical that we could possibly think of that wouldn't involve the loss of our virginity. Almost every weekend we found ourselves in his backyard. I was pretty surprised his parents didn't catch on; he never went outside unless I was there, and I was pale enough that they could probably guess I didn't spend much time outside either.
Finally his fifteenth birthday came and went. We set the time for one week after the day, and when the time came, I showed up at his house, bubbly but a little jittery. We wanted it to be romantic, but that's a little hard when you're in your parents' backyard and are half-worried about getting caught. We started off as usual, making out with his hand down my pants, then my unzipping his fly and working on him, then our pants falling to our ankles...only this time, instead of pressing his penis against my crotch and stopping, he held out his hand. I pulled the condom from my pocket, unwrapped it with my hands shaking, and passed it on to him. He slipped it on and then spun me around so my back was pressed against the brick side of his house. It took a couple of moments for him to hit the right angle, but soon his tip was right where it should be and he pushed as gently as he could.
It hurt more than I had expected it to. I had had both my navel and lip pierced, and the pain level was about the same as the former, only it radiated through my whole body rather than centralized at one point. I felt a little dizzy and my vision blacked for a moment. He asked if I wanted to stop but I said no, to keep going. I was sure it had to get better than this.
After what I think was around thirty seconds, the pain gave way to a new feeling: Pleasure. This felt better than anything else we had done up to this point, better even than when he was using his hand and his mouth all at once.
Too soon, we were finished. I had been afraid that the aftermath would be awkward, but after a few minutes of redressing (although most of our clothes were still on), speed grooming, and ‘oh-my-god-WOW’ing, we just linked hands and went inside. I greeted his parents as if nothing had happened. We went into his room and snuggled under a blanket as he played a video game and I watched (our, ahem, second-favorite pass time).
We talked about it, about the experience, how we felt, our amazement that we hadn't been caught, when to do it again. But we also talked about other things: school, our friends, and the villain whose butt he had just kicked on his game. It was comfortable, natural.
No one at home noticed a difference in me, but something had changed--and not just that my hymen was broken. I felt different, lighter somehow. When I walked into school on Monday morning one of my friends came up and said bluntly, ‘Did you get laid or something this weekend? You look... brighter.’ She then slapped me a high five and asked how it was.
As for my boyfriend and me, we're still together more than two years later. I graduated last year and this is his senior year. I'm taking this year off from school so we can go to college together and we're getting married this summer before we start school.
I hope you enjoyed hearing about my experience :)
*’Oddly enough, my boyfriend's parents' backyard was the most private place we could get ahold of, as they were too strict to allow closed doors. The fence reached over both of our heads, and there was something of a hidey-hole - a corner that wasn't near any windows toward the front of the house.’
Just in case you were wondering because I certainly was.