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I loved my little secret affair and loved my sore thighs on the back of his motorbike as he drove me back to the nuns' house. We watched TV and he held my hand and touched my hair. The media often says that men are at their sexual peak at eighteen; I sometimes joke that no one will ever know how good I could have been. At first she'd been a waitress at the club I went to all the time; later, she worked at the record store.
For the first time in my life, I felt like such a dirty, sexy woman. As I got ready to cross the street after another kissless date, she took charge and kissed me goodbye. A month after we met I told her on the phone that I loved her, and I think I really did, too. It was almost impossible; I didn't think I could actually type the words. My chosen partner was not a comforting person, either. We started kissing, and I liked it a lot this time. There was another first — shirtless in front of someone who wanted to have sex with me. She was a little older and had come from California. She gave me my first hit of E, introduced me to tequila poppers and Long Island iced teas, and will forever appear in my mind when I hear Van Morrison's "Into The Mystic." Our dates had mostly been conversation and making out in my car. We had talked about sleeping together, but she said that she didn't want my first time to be in the car or with her roommate in the other room.
Not everyone loses their virginity on a twin bed in a Midwestern basement.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.) Here are 10 stories from Nerve readers who lost their V-card with a little more international flair.
Next: A soldier in Jerusalem finds love, however brief… I was a combat soldier on my way back to base from a twenty-four-hour leave, and she was on her way to work. Again, I lacked the nerve to even ask for her number. I still remember the sound of her voice melting on the end of the line. A few days later she said that she needed to go home to San Fran for a little while.
She wanted me to know that she wasn't "a whore or something." I told her she wasn't one, but I didn't mention that she would be my first. He touched me on a bridge in the city, pressed against the railing, his hands in my hair, and I knew this was it. In the middle of the afternoon and in the space of a few minutes, I lost my virginity.
They were pretty amused by this tall gringa with her questionable Spanish that Argenis had brought home. I put up with it for a while, presuming that it would end, but it didn't, and I eventually pushed him away when an extra-hard thrust hurt.
He brought me into his room and undressed me head to toe. Then we realized that it was supposed to be easier with the girl on top, so that's what we did.
On the last night I was sitting at the bar minding my business when this skinny ginger number came up and sat next to me. She ordered a snakebite — a pint glass of half lager, half cider with a shot of black-currant cordial. Her name was Ceri and she was from Wales, a poor village somewhere or other.
She was sixteen and she only got fifty-pence pocket money a week. Before I knew it we were on a wooden bench near the swimming pool, under the shade of a palm tree. All I remember is her saying, "Oh, just bloody kiss me, you twat," in this almost incomprehensible Welsh slur and grabbing me by the head.