Female, 20, South Carolina
It was hot off the heels of my first real relationship that I met him. The evening was filled with the most stereotypical of college clichés; Jell-O shots, Disney karaoke, three girls grinding on one guy, another guy puking in the bathroom, and yet another insisting he was okay to drive (“Hey, watch me walk in a straight line!”). I was sitting cross-legged on the dirty linoleum when he walked in, all tight t-shirts, defined arms and a stubbly jaw-line Tom Cruise would be jealous of. His name was Chris. He was our hosts’ childhood friend who was passing through town for the evening, and we did little more than engage in group conversation, despite me eyeing him all night.
When we left, he not-so-jokingly walked up to me and asked if he could crash at my place. I was the youngest in the group, a month shy of my 20th birthday and he was a week short of his 21st – making us the only two unavailable to continue the evening with our friends. I not-so-jokingly said yes, hammered, but having no real intention to do anything.
It was not even 20 seconds after we got in the door that Chris had picked me up I instinctively wrapped my legs around him; he was trying to catch my tongue between his teeth. I pulled my face away in shock.
“I heard you got out of a rubbish relationship. Me too. Can we make each other feel better?” That was all that was needed from him before I met his lips again, this time with a drunken urgency of my own. We spent the night on my bed, not sleeping. There were many firsts for me that night, but he had specified he “didn’t have sex with girls he had just met”, so I came away with my hymen gone (he was very enthusiastic with his fingers), but virginity mostly intact. There was no emotional spark right away.
I indulged in yet another tipsy palate cleanser with a random fellow the following night at the drunken insistence of my friends, but as his mouth traveled over my body it felt wrong for some reason, as if his every touch hit an off switch from the fire and passion leftover from the night before.
I got friend requests from both of them the following day and left them in purgatory; I didn’t feel okay with my almost-one-night-stands seeing pictures of my family reunions, silly wall posts, etc. Chris was insistent, trading messages a few times before I caved in and we started talking, texting, and flirting. I didn’t want to have feelings for a stranger who I’d met once, but slowly, the highlight of my day turned into our conversations.
A month later, our mutual friend asked if he could invite a few friends to my birthday party and I agreed, not expecting “a few friends” to include Chris, who lived two hours away. When I saw him through the haze and smoke of alcohol and well, smoke, I felt a bizarre need to latch onto him like Velcro and didn’t let go all night. He left early the next morning after buying me biscuits and patiently explained that he had taken me home after I blacked out at the painfully early hour of 12:30. My roommate confirmed his story and even informed me that he slept on the couch, refusing to take advantage of my state. Good Birthday.
One week full of thank-yous and deep conversations later, he texted me asking if I wanted to day trip to the beach. It was our homecoming weekend and I would have left town to go to a grass-growing competition, so I eagerly said yes and we ran off. The day was spent holding hands and trading salty kisses. We made it to his apartment late at night after long, soul-bearing conversations on the drive back. I hadn’t connected to anyone the way I did with Chris in well, ever, and was very pleased with myself for giving him this chance despite our first encounter. We stripped quickly, eager to feel flesh on flesh, fumbling around the dark, and before I knew it, he pulled away panting, with a condom wrapper in his hands, his eyes searching mine for an answer to his unspoken question. He had clearly done this before.
“I trust you.” I whispered, sounding every bit like a Disney princess about to embark on a magic carpet ride. I wasn’t expecting magic, and our encounter was little more than the awkward bumping of body parts and some thrusting. We fell apart exhausted afterwards and woke up in the morning for round two. This time he made it all about me, and it was marginally more satisfying.
It’s been a few years since, and he asked me to marry him after a particularly drawn out romp in the sheets last week. I can only admire how lucky I was, that my first time was with someone I ended up caring about.
Image via Flickr.