Whether it was in the back of a cramped car, with your pants at your ankles, or in your parent’s queen-sized bed, we want to hear about the first time you had sex. Email with 500-1000 words. (Don’t worry, we won’t print your name — but please do make sure to include your gender, where you were, and how old you were.) Submissions may be edited.
Saturday October 30, 1982. Yes, I remember the date.
I was a high school debater and was at a tournament all day. I didn’t have a car but my inamorata did, and she was to pick me up and we were going to go on a standard movie date that night. We had done plenty of fooling around and I had a feeling that night would be “the night,” but there was one problem — we kept winning debates, which meant we were headed to quarterfinals.
When we won quarterfinals, I knew I was going to be late so I called home where she was waiting with my mom. I apologized and she, also being a debater, understood. I told her we would almost certainly lose in semifinals, so not to worry. I almost didn’t want to win because I had so much anticipation about what I thought might happen later. Of course, we won semifinals.
I called home again and learned that she and my mom were giving each other manicures and they told me not to worry. They told me to win the whole tournament. In the finals, we faced a team that would later go on to take second place in the nation and half of the pair went on to become a famous political author and commentator (I won’t name drop, but I promise you have heard of him.)
Again, we won.
I went home carrying the trophy from our first place win. I changed clothes and we went off in her 1980 Toyota Starlet (at least I think that was the model and year). Before we even considered going to the movie, we went and parked in a discrete spot and wound up in her back seat. For the record, there isn’t enough room for a dwarf to masturbate in the back seat of a 1980 Toyota Starlet. Nevertheless, two randy teenagers will make the most of what they have available in a given circumstance. It was cold, but our clothes still came off and I asked her to let me go down on her. (I had never done that and had a deep and abiding fascination, despite having no idea what I was doing. That fascination exists to this day.) She allowed me. I then asked if we could do “it.”
She wasn’t convinced that I really wanted her to be my first (I did. I really, REALLY did.) I wouldn’t have been her first, so it was sweet of her to be concerned. I remember asking “Please?” I wasn’t begging, I swear, although I know it sounds like that now. I was trying to ask nicely and my early training to say “please” was taking over. She sighed and said, “It’s not a ‘please’ question,” and I told her that I knew it wasn’t, but I was asking as nicely as I could.
At some point in her mental calculus she decided that she would and I told her I didn’t know what to do. She told me to get on top of her and she spread her legs and her knees grabbed my hips. She reached down and took hold of my cock and gently pulled me toward her. “Okay, come forward,” she said. I could feel the head of my cock moving toward her, touching her. “It’s okay. You aren’t going to hurt me. Come forward some more,” she whispered in my ear while she still held my cock. Suddenly I was inside her and I recall wondering if this was what made me no longer a virgin or if I needed to come in order for it to “count.”
No matter. She wasn’t stopping and neither was I. She told me, “It’s OK. Now move,” and my hips started thrusting almost involuntarily. I couldn’t have lasted long, maybe a minute or two tops. I came and she giggled sweetly, knowing what we had just done and, I think, that she would always be a part of me. I lie there, on top of her, for another minute or two smelling her neck and she playing with my hair and we agreed that if we were going to make that movie, we would need to leave soon. So we decided to get dressed. I remember very clearly that she pressed her cold, ice cold, naked foot to my chest and I gasped from the shock. She giggled again and we went to the movie. And when the movie was over we went and parked in that exact same spot.
As a somewhat depressing coda, I looked her up several years later (long before Facebook or even the internet) and we chatted on the phone. After we chatted a bit, she asked me a question I thought was a bit odd. She asked, “Was I someone really important to you?” And I said that she was. I didn’t think that I would necessarily remember that she was my first, but I was fairly confident she would remember me. And then she said, “I was in a really bad car accident a few years ago and lost lots of memories from a brain injury. The way you were speaking made me think I might have been your first, but I have no memory of us being together.” She was genuinely apologetic, but I can’t help but feel a little sad that the only other person in the world with whom I shared this sweet memory can’t access it at all. Still, that day was one of the best in my life.
— Male, 16, Kansas
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