First Times

Words by: Dilshi Perera
Art by: Stephanie Wong

Oh, first times… I’ve come to notice that all memories of my first time have been gently placed in a tightly sealed box in my mind, suppressed and neatly tucked away alongside all my other embarrassing moments.

For some (extremely lucky) people, reminiscing on their first time doesn’t make them want to crawl out of their skin or jump into said neat box. When it comes to thinking about my first time having sex, all that rings in my brain is ‘the minutes were spare, but the pain was there.’ Although it lasted a lot longer in my head, my first time wasn’t all too bad. 

As a teenager who was deeply obsessed with romantic movies, I could only ever envision my first time being the epitome of magic, love, passion and every other unrealistic expectation that Channing Tatum and his sexy co-stars painted for me. To my disappointment, my first time was nothing like The Vow or the Angus Thongs and Perfect Snogging books that I probably shouldn’t have read as a teen. Instead it was nothing short of mediocre, with a dash of what the fuck is happening to me. In high school, having sex was all the rage. I thought it was overrated at first, but with a boyfriend in one hand and a pretty high sex drive in the other, I was determined to ride the wave of safe sex.  

Being ethnic made things a little difficult, as sex was a very big no-no. I was constantly gawking at my friends who got condoms from their parents… I couldn’t imagine the sheer horror that would erupt if my parents knew I even looked at a guy. Luckily for me, my boyfriend at the time was just as unfortunate,  which made us two horny but sneaky kids, capable of hiding in each others’ houses. I remember spending more effort timing the exit of my parents, than mentally preparing for my cherry to be popped.

Being the sensible teenagers that we were, we decided to hit up Coles before getting it on, because safe sex is the best sex, right? Browsing the sex aisle was a nightmare and a half, from the different flavours of lubes to the concerningly large variations of condoms. What the hell are ribbed condoms anyway? After spending several minutes goofing around (and hiding whenever we saw a fellow ethnic person) we decided to grab some normal dommies and took the courageous step to give strawberry scented lube a try. This specific lube doubled up as a massage oil which was enough to win me over. If I’m gonna go through immense pain I might as well get a massage out of it *cue my sexual massage fantasy*. 

Once we successfully sneaked into my house for the hundredth time, we decided to head straight for the guest room. Looking back, I was clearly so flustered from the anticipation of having sex and my parents coming home that I didn’t even do it on my own bed. Probably best though, considering I had a giant Justin Bieber poster on my roof. Sorry, Hailey Bieber.

Despite my friends’ well wishes and my best set of matching lingerie, nothing could prepare me for the two minutes of pain that I would experience next. After getting hot and heavy under the sheets, we quickly decided it was time to get real freaky — in missionary of course! 

The beginning of our sex sounded a lot like the script from Are We There Yet? except it was “are you in yet?”. This was followed by the most painful burning sensation that I’ve ever felt to date. It wasn’t until I looked into his eyes, so deep in love that I realised it was all worth it. Gross I know. 

Despite our adoration for each other, the pain was getting unbearable. I even resorted to asking him to tell me how much he loved me — talk about a God complex. 

Despite the cringe factor, this slightly questionable pain tactic actually worked and the inner hopeless romantic in me was beyond satisfied. The deed was done, and I couldn’t have been happier.

And yes, if you’re wondering, the massage oil was worth it. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s