Today’s story comes in two parts. The first, the loss of virginity with the sweet boyfriend, the second, the discovery of potential boyfriend number 2. Marred only by the fact that boyfriend number two lives on the Pacific Islands, some distance from our storyteller in Australia. What can I say about today’s story? It reminds me of being young, of feeling that crazy heart-in-your-mouth feeling about a potential new love, even if you know next to nothing about him. Because one finds as time moves on, that conversation and humour are just as important as raw animal attraction, if not more so. Excitement is just that: excitement. But it’s not a sustainable way to feel. On a practical day-to-day level, if we felt excited all the time, it would lose its, well, excitement. There has to be something more to keep the motor running.
I think its tough being young these days and I count myself in that bracket even though I have reached the big four oh because I am still part of the post pill generation and for that reason, none of us need to commit. As women, we no longer need men to support us and the institution of marriage is largely obsolete unless you have children. We are free to move onto the next big thing the moment that things start to get tricky. Our parents would have tried harder to make things work because they had to. Our generation have very little motivation to stick it out. Not that I am suggesting Emma should marry boyfriend number one, or even potential boyfriend number 2. There’s no point staying with someone you don’t fancy (bf number one), and bf number two sounds lovely but they don’t speak the same language – cute and charming at first, quickly tedious - but somewhere in this equation, there has to be compromise between the values of the old guard and our new throwaway society. I haven’t quite worked out what that is yet but I do know that if you find it, hang onto it. It’s rare.
Emma from Australia. Born in 1991, lost virginity aged 19.
‘I had never understood the 'sacredness' of sex. I'd masturbated since I was 5 and constantly thought about it, however when I was 12 and my best friend practically tried to thrust himself inside of me I realised that it was perhaps a little bit important. My friends began having sex around the ages of 13 and 14, I did not. I quickly became the odd one out in terms of sexual promiscuity. However, late at night, on the bus, in a mathematics class or at dinner at my Great-Grandparents home, I longed to be entwined with someone, my hands stroking their budding breasts or their hard penis deep within me. Nothing romantic of course (oh, how I detested romanticism), just rough erotic fantasies (I'm glad I wasn't born a boy, with that utter misfortune of letting everyone know when you are 'turned-on').
So there I was, dreaming away, growing older and being so caught up in my self-esteem issues (oh my god, I have flaps - how one can be so insecure about their vagina is ridiculous - and black curly bushy pubic hair, how could I!) that I never actually played out one of those erotic fantasies of mine until I was 17. I'd met a sweet boy while on holidays at my aunt's house and I didn't really like him very much. In fact, I'd forgotten all about him until one day (a few months later) when we came to contact with each other via the internet and began writing tremendously long emails to one another which then developed into a ridiculous amount of plane trips interstate and a long distance relationship which lasted for a year before I moved to his city to study.
It was four months into the whole thing before one night we were fondling around on his make-shift bed on the floor (so that we could both fit) when we took each others pants off and it happened. Poor boy, he was so insecure about his small penis that he couldn't get it up and I partially lost interest. But it happened and I was left thinking, 'ok, so that's it'. All in all, it was sweet and funny. That was my first heterosexual experience, however I'd really like to fill my desire and make love with a beautiful girl.
Oh, and I watched a insightful documentary the other week called 'The Perfect Vagina'. It certainly cleared up any of my remaining insecurities surrounding my vagina.’
Emma followed up with this email shortly after:
‘Can I include a sequel? I'd like to share it because the whole experience really feels like an opening to a new phase of me.
My current boyfriend (whom I lost my virginity to - the previous email) and fell out of love with a while ago. My love fled about 8/9 months after being together (about 4 months or so after doing the deed). Goodbye euphoric first love feelings. Since that feeling went I've cheated on him about 5 times. I told him every time (except once, a kiss to a mutual friend. Oh dear.), and I tried to talk him into having an open relationship, but he didn't want a bar of it.
This last time however really was the tip of my sexual iceberg. I was holidaying in the Pacific Islands last week when I managed to fall in love (perhaps that word has been misconstrued here, I'm talking of holiday love, where you come home with too many souvenirs, suntanned and considerably heartbroken. I still haven't made up my mind if it is love... as in LOVE) with a handsome, funny, sexy, cool, sweet, beautiful, lovely island sailor.
How I yearned for him. My heart began doing 60's jive dancing as soon as I saw him. I fantasised about him constantly and tried to control my sexual urges as I walked passed him every morning. I told no one, and I continued smiling when my mother bragged to people about how amazing my boyfriend is and how she wishes he were her boyfriend instead. My loveless yet sweet and friendly relationship back at home......then on the last day this sailor told me, in broken English, how when he first saw me his heart did back-flips and his mind goes crazy every time he sees me. The last day! Why on earth did one of us not share with each other this vital information when it first happened?
The night unfolded in a series of events closely starting with him asking to 'try my lips'. It was the most magnificent night. So amazingly incredible and liberating. Which isn't just the 'newness' and excitement of that night but also the love and adoration. Or it could all have been a lie, another one night stand for a sailor. But, I truly believe (am I sounding rather naive here?) that it was not. He said that I was only the second girl that he'd been with, and he was my second man that I'd been with. I've cried every day since I've returned home.
However, the experience really helped spell out to me what my relationship doesn't have any more and made me realise that although I love my boyfriend, it is as a friend and nothing more. There is no attraction, just an empty cup. Now, I lay in bed with the man I care for with all of my heart and I dream of the man I love who is a thousand miles away, who lives a completely different life to mine. Love is so utterly confusing.’