My First

I was fifteen, and didn’t have a care
she was fourteen, and somehow that still doesn’t seem fair
there’s no mistaking, it was love that we made there
and it certainly wasn’t the only, or the last thing we shared
but when it was over, we both just kind of stared
I mean, we used to talk all night about what it’d be like
but afterwords laying there, we both just got kind of quiet
but I knew we had to practice a lot if we were gonna get it right
so we started practicing about every night
even in the afternoon, headed home for lunch
where skin became dance floors for tongues
and we traded lead accordingly
wishing moments into eternity
pioneering parts of our bodies that no one else would ever see
or so we led each other to believe
we were rookies, swinging for the major league
no, free rides here, though, we took our time
six months till we both got our very first kiss then an awe inspiring year to refine
our passion made Picasso look like a road sign
it was only natural that we make up for a little lost time
from beds to backseats,
through midnight escapes and weekend retreats
we shook every last mystery from the sheets
but something was still missing, the picture wasn’t complete
so we talked it over, and agreed to repeat
further investigation was obviously needed
and without hesitation we accordingly proceeded
with labs and lectures and the very best homework
but we started chasing questions about who we were
and the resounding answer was, we still weren’t sure
it should have been more revealing
that after we first made love we both just stared at the ceiling
hopelessly searching for the names to the things we were feeling
witlessly digging into pandora’s box,
lying completely naked, all except for the socks
a repeat performance seemed much more appealing
than quelling these complicated questions of independence
that once stumbled upon seemed utterly endless
I still can’t believe that it all started with a kiss
and it ended like this
that’s not to say that I regret it,
in fact I can stand here with a smile and say that I’ll never forget it
but now years down the line, I look back sometimes
and wonder why we were in such a hurry give it all up
the days when getting an outside the shirt feel was enough
when we had parties just to make out
and we’d kiss till our lips went numb
three hours straight and it was still fun
then come home and want to talk on the phone
about dreams and destinies, the places we wanted to see
our favorite bands, and the things about us no one else understands
sometimes I miss all the silly little stuff we gave up
when one night we decided to grow up

I wrote this for a Human Sexuality class I’m taking, and after having finished it I’m really happy I had to do it. I never thought much about my first time because there was so much other history in that relationship that it seemed like sort of a tree amongst the forest; all be it a pretty towering one. The subject’s kind of cliche’ for people too, the experience is usually pretty awkward and rather strange, just generally not a story you generally fork over. Yet, few experiences are so life altering as our first time and whether we like it or not, good or bad, it tends to have a big influence on the way we see love in the future. I was fortunate enough to have someone I can really say I loved to explore those strange streets with, and even though we fell apart I still feel like I couldn’t have found someone better to learn them next to. If we ended up great at anything, I think we’d both admit, it was that.
I realized while writing it though that after we had split up, while I was trying to put myself back together again, it wasn’t really the sex I really missed, it was that little stuff. I always hated the saying that “the first cut is the deepest” but I think it was because it was so true. There’d never be another time like it, there’d never be another love like it, the land we crossed finding connection between heart and body was crossed, there was no starting over.
I considered it, in the end, from the perspective of trying to explain ‘waiting’ to my kids. Obviously, I didn’t listen, but I wonder if that’s because the message wasn’t really talking to me, it was talking over me. In fact, when authority figures talked about sex it was only further proof that they had no clue what any of us were going through. Love’s a subjective thing, and when you’re young with nothing to compare any of it to, it’s tough to tell. I won’t deny that young people fall in love, because I definitely did, and that’s why I’m posting it. Because I’ve found from looking back on that struggle for definition of what love really was, that the best parts of love were the ones we had in our head, rather than all those things that we discovered in bed.

~ by Jay-Will on September 25, 2008.