Oh the first encounter with a new sexual partner is just so magical, isn’t it.
A beautiful sensory voyage of discovery, both physically and emotionally.
Will our bodies fit perfectly? Will we instinctively know what turns each other on? Will we intuitively agree on our first-born’s shoe size? Will we promise to never again mention the ‘throwing up on her chest as she came’ moment.
You heard. Oh grow up.
Sex for the first time with a new partner is rarely a touching tale of making the sweet love – rather, it’s invariably a sorry story of f***ed-up fumblings as a result of too much sweet vermouth.
Read on, my idealistic chickens.
Jo, 43, from Greenwich, south-east London, found her first time with a new bloke to be quite the hairy experience. Literally.
This man was deceptively hairy. Seriously, really, really secretly hairy.
His face wasn’t that hairy, his arms weren’t that hairy, but when he got naked, and I saw him in the nuddy for the first time, all I could see was a thick covering of blond fluff all over his body.
And his pubes looked like a hessian welcome mat.
And that would’ve been OK. I don’t mind hairy men. But I’m severely OCD and had that morning bought new bedding for our first time, which meant I couldn’t enjoy the sex at all.
I was an anxious wreck. All I kept thinking was, ‘Do I have any Sellotape so I can lift his hair off the duvet cover in the morning?’
My favourite ‘hairy’ ‘first time’ story was from a friend of mine, S. She’d hooked up with some man she met online, had average sex, and then he used her bathroom, emerged with a razor, and said ‘Next time we’ll use this, yeah?’
Reader, there was never a next time.
Sami, 38, living in Northampton, had a ‘first time’ that was verging on the ridiculous. (Sorry. In advance.)
I’d had about three dates with this man. Can’t even remember how we met. This was years ago. I think I was 20.
Anyway, we met, we had some dates, I thought he was very pretty and sweet, and we got drunk one night and decided to go back to mine to have sex.
We were on a bus. From Brixton to Tooting. Top deck, natch.
We were whispering flirty things in each other’s ears. Nothing rude – but cute stuff about how we couldn’t wait to be with each other.
We got to my flat, started kissing as soon as we got through the door, and carried on saying how excited we both were – ‘because this is my first time’, he said.
I know this is awful – but I instantly dried up. So to speak.
I didn’t want the pressure of being with a virgin so I asked him to leave. That’s really horrible, isn’t it? I still feel s*** about that.
And, really, bloody hell. Adam, 29, from Bristol:
I had been seeing this girl for about two weeks. We’d had a mad one and ended up going to my best mate’s girlfriend’s for more drinks.
We were f***ed so my mate’s girl said we could stay in her spare room.
Was the first time me and my date had shared a bed. We started messing around and ended up f***ing. On a s***ty single mattress in a tiny box-room. All good.
The sex was OK. We collapsed. But in the morning my girlfriend shook me awake.
She’d come on early and the mattress was covered. We spent the next half hour wearing rubber gloves and scrubbing the blood off with Fairy Liquid and hot water. Waste of time. Still looked like I’d tried to kill her.
Try explaining that to your friends. We didn’t. We left. I rang my mate later.
Listen to me being a cynic, though. Some first times are smashing.
Paul, 30, from Durham, thinks so, anyway.
Work’s do. Too much warm white wine. No food. Clients invited. Took a shine to one. Brought her home.
Drunken kissing and groping and bashing into furniture and the fire-place and lamps.
She tripped backwards. I tripped over her. Landed on my elbow, which pushed my shoulder out of my arm. A&E at one in the morning. Magic.
And the deeply beautiful ‘throwing up on her chest as she came’ in this blog’s intro?
I’ll let Mark, 31, from west London, explain.
I’d liked this woman for yonks. Tried everything to get her interested in me. Finally she agreed to go out for a drink.
I was really nervous and maybe drank too much. Drunk – and very happy she seemed to like me – we went to my flat when the pub closed.
Only had gin in the place – but she seemed OK with that. My body was less OK with that. We finished half the bottle and then went to bed.
She was f***ing beautiful and I couldn’t believe my luck.
We were doing it, me on top of her, when I started to feel a bit queasy. But she kept saying she was close so I didn’t want to stop. She was moaning and I was thinking, ‘Oh God. I need the bathroom…’
She finally came – but her moving about made me feel more nauseous and I couldn’t hold it in. I threw up on her chest as she orgasmed.
Bibi’s writing is sick. For more sick writing, visit www.bibilynch.com