She was my first everything. First date, first kiss, first girlfriend, first love. That clumsy, life is perfect kind of first love. It was my first time, not hers. It didn’t matter to me, or so I thought. As we dated, I heard the ignorant taunts of older football players. She obviously wasn’t the same impressionable frosh that she once was, and I loved how she made me feel, so I ignored it (and once almost had to physically defend her honor).

Her mom was working late, so i drove over to her place. It was pretty well understood what we were going to do. But when it came time for action… nothing. I was so ridiculously nervous I couldn’t perform. She was so sweet, yet so anxious, so it was only a few weeks before we tried again, this time at my parent’s house. This time was more successful from a ‘having sex’ standpoint, but pretty lame from a ‘stamina’ standpoint. But in her head it was intimacy with someone she loved. In my head, it was me disappointing the person I loved.

I wasn’t ready, it was too early for me. Yet, I don’t immediately regret the decision to do so. It upset me how she was perceived 2 years after her “first time” versus the high fives I received after mine. To be fair, the guys who high-fived me heard we had sex from my girlfriend and had no knowledge of her freshman year—they would have high-fived her as well.

But still, it was a while before I got my bearings enough to be a successful contributor to the two person dance that is sex, but I don’t know if waiting any longer would have made me connect sooner with whoever first might have been.