This week’s Erotic Journal Challenge prompt is: When did you discover your own sexuality? For example, when was the first time you masturbated or realized you could feel physical sexual pleasure? When did you first feel sexual desire? How did you address it?
It’s a tough question, and every time I come back to it, I think of something different or new. For this journal entry post, I’m just going to take a stream-of-consciousness walk down memory lane…
The first boy who kissed me was in kindergarten. I was building with blocks, and he leaned over my carefully engineered masterpiece to kiss me on the cheek. I panicked and freaked out, knocking over my own blocks and smacking him across the face. He didn’t seem too phased by my negative reaction. Perhaps he just saw me as a challenge at that point. I’m still amazed that a child that young could be interested in such things, but then, who am I to judge? I, unlike Clyde, was not ready for dealings with the opposite sex that involved anything but games like hide and seek or tag.
I’m not exactly sure how young I was when I realized I could feel pleasure from touching myself, and I don’t know how I figured it out. I don’t even know if I’d learned about sex yet when I started, but I think I can place it somewhere around 9 or 10. I remember I had a teddy bear with a hard snout, and I’d position it on a pillow so that I could mount it and grind myself against it. I remember trying to be quiet so my parents wouldn’t hear me.
Later, I had a girlfriend across the street (much savvier in the area of sex that I) who would propose pretend games that involved meeting boys or “men” on cruise ships or in clubs and then taking them home to have sex. I’m not sure where she got her ideas…at that age, I didn’t question. We used pillows to stand in for their bodies and pretended to make out with them as we straddled them. I watched her and basically just followed along, bucking my hips and kissing my own hand.
Looking back on it, the whole thing seems a bit odd, but at the time, it felt perfectly natural, and I don’t remember feeling “bad” or embarrassed.
Around the same time, I had another friend who spent the night quite often. One night, we pretended to be married, and we held each other in bed. We attempted to kiss each other, what we thought was a French kiss (though it clearly was not). We touched each other’s bodies and fell asleep with more questions than answers.
Later in life, when I watched The Lover for the first time, I was struck by how much the lead character looked like my friend. Perhaps that is why I was so drawn to the film.
I was in 5th grade when I had my first real, intentional kiss with a boy. It was heavily arranged by an entire army of our friends. And maybe that build up is what made it disappointing. It was not a French kiss. I was too young to understand chemistry, and while I had a crush on this boy, I wasn’t sexually attracted to him.
My first French kiss was in 7th grade. I was 13 and I had braces. So did the boy I was going to kiss, and I remember worrying about getting stuck together. I’d heard all the silly stories about braces locking, and while the kiss was sweet, the underlying fear sort of ruined it a bit.
We met behind the YMCA after school. We’d actually arranged to meet there, because it was one of the few places our parents would let us just go to, and because it was close to where both of us lived. It’s crazy and sort of cute to think about it, but we actually planned that kiss, so just like the kiss in 5th grade, there was a lot of build up. This time, however, there was chemistry, and I was old enough to feel it, even if I didn’t quite understand how it worked.
He was shorter than me, had curly black hair and freckles. And his lips were much softer than I thought a boy’s lips would be.
It was a good first kiss. But, I don’t think our “relationship” lasted much beyond it. As young love is wont to do, we faded into the sunset and moved quickly on to new prospects.
The first time I was felt up and fingered by a boy was right underneath my bedroom window, when I was in 7th grade. I lived in a duplex, shared with the military chaplain’s family. They had one child, a boy, with whom I shared a bedroom wall. He was blond and had beautiful blue eyes that I fell for the minute I saw them.
I’d had a crush on him since I’d moved in, but, it took just over a year for the stars to align.
We’d walked home together after school, and no one was home. And there, against the back of our house, his hands found their way up my shirt and down my pants.
I don’t remember if I became wet. I know that I didn’t orgasm. The poor boy had no real clue what he was doing. He just stuck his finger inside of me and wiggled it around a bit.
I don’t remember being terribly impressed.
My first actual sexual experiences, aside from some desperate, young teenage groping, was with my first long-term boyfriend. It was the first time I gave a blow job, which, while I loved him, I hated doing. But, being naturally submissive, I didn’t feel right saying no. And it’s not that I didn’t want to or that he was forcing me to do anything. I just wasn’t good at saying no and I didn’t like disappointing people, especially him. I wanted him to love me and accept me, so I said yes to a lot of things. He was a good guy, though, and he never pushed me too far or pushed himself on me. When we finally had sex, it was planned. And though it hurt, and I didn’t come, I felt good about it and knew (hoped) that pleasure would come with time.
With him, it never did. I was too young and inexperienced to realize it at the time, but he was too big for me and I was never likely to enjoy sex with him.
Over my teenage years, I got very good at masturbating myself to orgasm, by the way. I learned what I liked, mainly clitoral attention, and I could do it in under 2 or 3 minutes with my fingers alone.
The first time I came with another person wasn’t during sex. I was actually laying across his lap, on my stomach, and my boyfriend fingered me under a blanket on my parents’ couch while we were home visiting from college. I think the position somehow guided his fingers right to my g-spot. The orgasm surprised me, as I’d never been able to actually come with another person before. Sadly, because I’d faked plenty of orgasms up to that point (mainly to avoid hurting feelings), I couldn’t act surprised or explain that it was actually a big deal. I just had to celebrate that one in silence.
It wasn’t until my late twenties that I managed to orgasm during sex.