Lesson 04 of learning blogging asks me to write about loss, good or bad. I’ve lost someone or something forever, how does it feel?
And so, quite obviously:
Ah shit, where’d I put it? My virginity
It was a surprise. Oh sure it was nice, once I understood that that’s what you’re supposed to do. 2 bare bodies bumbling about — didn’t you find it absurd at first? Quite ludicrous.
I was around 16 when I lost my virginity the first time around. The ordeal involved something I named ‘twat twine’ and this walnut thing I found and didn’t like, and the whole experience left me quite unnerved. I mean, I can appreciate but — um — no, no, not for me.
Fast forward 4 years — from the back-end of Wales to the armpit of England — and I’d gotten over the disappointment of coming out for the 2nd time (I do these things in 2s you see). I’d wanted a scene but my friends ruined it by already knowing. Bastards. They just shrugged — what sort of scene is that?! Piss-take. True, I would’ve hated the scene but at least I would’ve had one.
Anyway, so I’d met this guy and I think his name was James — Jim? Jim. We’ll go with Jim — he was a good 15 years my senior. Nice man. Bit of a weak character and I eat weak characters between meals.
It was my birthday, one thing led to another, and I got jiggy with his mate.
I don’t think I even knew his name then so today I’m not even going to bother (I’m not good with names; faces and other places, maybe). Once done, it was alright — I didn’t write home about it and he wasn’t exactly gentle, but then gentility in this area isn’t a given. He was very polite, though, and I didn’t mind.
Surprised but didn’t mind.
The walk home the following morning was also an experience.
So there you have it. I lost it twice — twat twine and a one-night stand. Would I go through it again? No. Do I appreciate it done? Yes. Not only is twat twine a good story to tell, which I do at every available opportunity, I think loosing your virginity changes you.
It’s an innocence that’s lost and these eyes opened. And these first times are rarely classy, often clumsy — coital calamities, the lot of them — and that’s important too.
In time, some of my best hours have been filled by someone in my bed, under a bridge, on the kitchen table…
Happy shagging, folks!
Remember: Lube and a big smile.