It would be hard for me to say that the day wasn't planned, but then I am not going to start off our relationship with a lie.
It was April, 1993. I had just turned 18 years old and I had been dating a girl, for this purpose we'll call her Karen (also 18), and, let's just say that we had wanted to have sex for a while. We had waited, oh my God, had we waited. You see, I have always had this kind of persona with the chicks. I act like I am a nice guy and I don't want to push or rush them into anything that they may or may not want to do, but in reality I want to plow them like a baserunner headed for home wants to plow a catcher. Even now in my 40's, it's worked well for me. If all you have is the illusion of respect, at least that's something, but I digress, back to the story.
Well, before that, to get the full story, it would make more sense to tell you this:
Karen and I had been dating about six months when I finally felt that it was time to take it past kissing. I know, I know, what the fuck were you waiting for. See above. Anyway, one night when I was taking her home, we started making out in my car, right in front of her house. You know, I look back now and I am just amazed of the lack of "Give a Fuck" that I had back then. Making out in a car, parked on the street where God and everyone can see you, including her father. If he only knew.
We were making out, and I thought,
It's Time
. I untucked the right side of her shirt and put my hand on her abdomen.
She's not stopping me yet.
I continued up to find that she had a bra on. Not that I thought that she wouldn't have one on since we just had been out to dinner, but it sure would have made thing easier. I'm just saying.
So I have felt up enough to find out that she had a bra on, I then put my hand on her entire left breast. Since I hadn't been smacked yet or arrested for public indecency, I felt that it was time to do what all teenage boys dread, trying to unhook the bra.
This fucking thing was worse to get apart than trying to get your fingers out of a Chinese Trap. I mean I have seen schematics for the construction of skyscrapers that were easier to read than to get this thing apart. But, as I am not a quitter, I pressed on, achieving the ultimate success in having a bare breast in my hand.
The thoughts were going off in my young head:
Now, where would we go from here? Do I go for the Holy Grail? What do I plan to do once I have gotten down there safely? Do I lift her shirt and perhaps kiss her nipples so the neighbors can get a better show than usual? Do I wait until she goes for my pants? Oh Shit, what do I do if she goes for my pants, no one has ever done that. Does she know what to do with my penis? The reason I ask is that I just figured it out a couple of years ago.
What I decided to do was to not push my luck and slow it down. Not because I am a nice guy, but because I am big fat pussy. I kindly tried my best to hook back together her bra (by the way, much props to you women out there for putting those things on every day, fuck all that!) and, like a gentleman, exited the car, opened her door and escorted her to her front door. The night was over, these little victories were the reason that I didn't wind up selling drugs or what my real passion could have been, a serial killer.
So that brings me to the day I was talking about above. Again, if I said that I didn't plan it, I would also be telling you that the Earth is flat, the Moon is made out of cheese, and women actually have orgasms. Since we all know that all of that isn't true, I am not going to lie to you here. I planned it. There, I said it. I blame a hormonal imbalance.
So the "Plan" was for me to stay home from school "Sick" and wait for my parents to leave for work. She would come over to "Take care of me" and we would fuck. Neither of us knowing what the hell we were doing, and I am damn sure that if you remember back to your first time, you didn't know what the hell you were doing either. Unless you are a Catholic Priest, then you have the whole celibacy thing going on, unless you are an 8 year old boy.
So I woke up that morning and faked sick to my mother. The reason that I chose my mother and not my father is because she had a heart and my father just didn't understand why anyone would miss any part of their day because they simply didn't feel good. He also died at 69 of heart disease. Correlation perhaps?
The way that I faked sick I had learned many years prior to this from a movie called E.T. Yes, I put a thermometer under a light so that it would show that I had a fever, but in reality, I was tip-top. Don't lie, you did it too, and if you didn't, you're just not as smart as me. You have to do it right though, you can't have a fever of 104 degrees, that'll have you in the emergency room right quick. You have to do it just enough to stay home and drink orange juice and ginger ale. If I would have wound up in a doctor's office, I wouldn't have been able to play with the boobies, which I was already hard about, by the way.
So Mom tells me that I don't have to go to school as I hear Dad from the other room yelling, "Weak people get sick." Check! First hurdle accomplished. They leave and I get in the shower. I had heard that chicks dig a clean guy before they roll around in the sack with you. What I should have done was clean my room. Again, the level of "Don't give a fuck" that I had amazes me to this day. There is no earthly way that I would ever let a woman see living conditions like that. I mean it rivaled "Hoarders" and probably didn't smell very nice either.
I get out of the shower and Karen gets there. We exchange niceties and thought that we might have an early lunch, being that by now it's like ten o'clock. What I couldn't plan for is that I was hard as a rock. I couldn't think about anything else. It was about to be "on".
To this day, I don't know if girls wanting their first time to be special is just something that they say and they really think of sex like guys do, but every time I heard it back then it made my ass twitch. When a girl would tell me that they wanted it to be "Special", my thought was always that they wanted a bed of roses and for me to kiss every inch of their body. It sounds nice but not very realistic. In any case, I wasn't going to do that.
We got up from the table in the kitchen and walked back to the living room, and that's where it started. It was like we could not contain ourselves any longer. The only way that I can accurately describe it is that we were violently kissing one another up against a closet door. We couldn't even make it to the couch. Our tongues wrestled as if it was the main event at WrestleMania and Andre the Giant and Hulk Hogan were going at one another. The biting of lips, the wandering of hands, and the passion that both of us had been holding in for years had surfaced itself and it did not disappoint. This was truly what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.
In the midst of all of this, I whispered, "I Love you."
"Shut the fuck up," She replied.
Okay then.
She was wearing a short sleeve button down shirt. As I started to undo the buttons, I felt a hand start caressing my cock through my shorts. I don't think until that point that any girl had ever touched me like that. A couple of girls that I had dated flirted with the idea, but none so forcefully. It was almost as if she was done "Fucking around" and wanted to get on with it.
I finished undoing the buttons on her shirt and took her shirt off completely. She was wearing a black bra. Of course she was, that's not stereotypical or anything. I thought to myself,
Great, now I have to see how to get this damn bra off.