Here's your place to come talk about sex and love whenever you feel like it.
The story of how you lost your virginity is boring.
If you were a guy, it happened very quickly. That's it; that's the whole story. If you're a girl, it's a little more complicated, but just barely. For you, it happened very quickly, and then you later found out that guy was an asshole when he got drunk and threw up on your friend / slept with your friend / told your friend you were a bitch / hit your friend's cat with his Jeep Wrangler.
That covers about 95 percent of all of our virginity losing stories. For the 5 percent of you who have genuinely interesting first-time-having-sex stories, congratulations, but there's no way you're reading this because you are a photojournalist on assignment in India, and you don't have access to the Internet right now.
A much better story is likely the tale of the second time you had sex. By then, you were a little more confident, a little more adventurous, and a lot more capable of processing your surroundings and committing them to memory. That was the case for me, at least.
The second time I ever had sex was in the back seat of my two-door Ford Focus hatchback. Why would anyone ever agree to have sex with me in a Ford Focus hatchback? Because it had a spoiler, you guys! Also, my girlfriend at the time and I both had parents who seemed to never ever leave the house, and we had very few options for privacy. But, I still like to think it had more to do with the spoiler.
The back seat of a car thing is cliched. I know. That part might as well be a losing-my-virginity story. But, here's where it gets... well, not "interesting" exactly... let's go with "retarded." Here's where it gets retarded. I kept my shirt on.
It just seemed too weird to take my shirt off in a car. I mean, it's definitely much weirder to have your pants off in a car, but, given the scenario, that was a utilitarian must. At the time, though, shirt removal seemed somehow hubristic. When I think of it now, I can't help but imagine how awful it must have been for my girlfriend to have a boney, teenage me coming at her shirt-no-pants like a condom clad Winnie the Pooh.
Also, I was going through a Pink Floyd phase at the time, so we were having sex to socially conscious music about the horrors of British boarding schools. And, as if that weren't bad enough, the CD was toward the end, so my car automatically started playing the next CD in the CD changer, which was A FUCKING BILL HICKS COMEDY ALBUM.
So, there we were, having sex in a compact car to a deceased comic complaining about illiterate Waffle House waitresses while I wore only a Quicksilver T-shirt. And, I'm pretty sure that at some point I said the words, "Is it in?" I orgasmed somewhere around the time Bill Hicks asks where all the Gideon Bibles in hotel rooms come from. She orgasmed many years later with another person entirely.
I remember that night more clearly than almost any other time I've had sex. Of course, I remember losing my virginity, too, but that memory feels more like something I intentionally seared into my brain in preparation for some strange self-biography test I will never actually have to take. Not that it wasn't meaningful and important. It was. But it just doesn't compare to the second time when I was like, "I GOT this," while never having gotten it less.