My friends from work were all a minimum of ten years older than I was, in their early to mid-thirties. Even though I was underage, I went to bars, drank, and had a good time with them. I was the little brother, if you will. They all were married, engaged, or at least dating. I was the only single one, as well as the only virgin.

It was a typical Friday in May. I was fast approaching my twenty-first. We were at our local watering hole when the subject turned to sex. For the most part, I stayed quiet, knowing that I had no authority to speak on such matters. I don't know what I said when I did decide to chime in; all I remember is the retort from my best friend: "You have no room to talk, you're a virgin."

That was it. I was tired of being that cute kid who'd never been laid. I was tired of just getting winks and blown kisses from women. It was time for me to get laid, damn it! Right then and there, I made my declaration: I was going to get laid before I turned twenty-one. My statement was met with some applause and a toast, and the mission was on.

Illustration by Thomas Pitilli

I didn't have to wait long. Not ten minutes later, one of the girls in our group — we'll call her "Sancha" — made her move. She was drunk, she was attracted to me, and she was not shy. On her way back from the bar to our table, Sancha walked up next to me, deftly sliding her hand into my pocket. "I can help you meet your goal," she whispered into my ear, before sneaking back to her chair. Reaching into my pocket, I dug out a piece of paper on which she'd written her phone number. I eyed her from my side of the table. She was thirty-five, extremely attractive, and willing to break me in.

Oh yeah, did I mention she was married? That didn't faze me. Her marriage was on the rocks, they were currently not living together, and she'd been by herself and lonely for three whole months. At least that's what she told me when I called her the next day. And I bought it. (What can I say? I was twenty years old, and thinking with the wrong head.) The following Wednesday, we all met up again at the bar. When we parted company, Sancha and I headed to my car. I opened the door for her and made my way around to the driver side.

Before I was even settled in my seat, Sancha made her move. She pulled me towards her and kissed me. A long, deep, passionate kiss. My first one. I didn't know what to do or how to respond. When she pulled back, I looked into her eyes. All of a sudden, I was in love. I was Sancha's knight in shining armor. No longer was I just going to have sex with her to reach some immature goal. I was going to love her, care for her, save her from her horrible marriage.

I took her home, holding her hand the entire way, kissing her at every red light. We made it to her living-room couch, and disrobed. She volunteered to be on top. She sat on my lap, and it happened. I was a virgin no more. When it was over, the look in her eyes turned from passion to pity.

"Not to worry," Sancha said, "it's only your first time. I promise not to tell anyone."

"Tell anyone about what?"

"That you lasted less than two minutes."

I began to blush, finally beginning to understand the situation.

"You should probably go home now. You reached your goal of getting laid before you turned twenty-one."

Sancha and I never hooked up again. I was just a one-night stand for a horny admin. But it was one night that I'll certainly never forget.