The Big V
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There is a reason why I make it a point to never sleep with virgins. It's been a rule since I started having sex when I was 17. I had never slept with one until I met V. He tricked me. Bastard.
He was a friend of a friend. A nice, 25-year-old, good-looking Jewish boy. We met at a party at my apartment. He had been staring at me for a good hour before he mustered up the courage to say hello to me. He asked me out over a Smirnoff shot at a makeshift bar in my kitchen. After he chugged a couple, he grabbed my arm, took a deep breath and asked me to dinner. At first I thought, what a drunk ex-frat boy. He drank half the liquor in my fridge but he was so hot I got over it. He had dark hair, a little Cory from "Boy Meets World" curl thing going on. I would guess 6-feet and he did have nice teeth and a charming smile. I know my standards seem low at this point, but our mutual friend assured me that he was a good guy and that she had known him since she was 12.
The next Saturday, he was supposed to take me on a proper date, but he got a little chicken. Apparently, according to my friend, he looked me up on Facebook, saw too many pictures of me in scandalous clothing and got scared. So, instead of asking me out to dinner, he thought it would be safer to invite me to a house party at one of his fraternity brothers' houses within walking distance of where I live. Yes, booze and strangers were safer than dinner, alone with me. Much safer.
Saturday came around and I told him I would meet him at his friends' place around 10. I wore one of my outfits that left very little to the imagination. A short, black mini skirt that ended around my upper thigh and a black sleeveless tank that dropped for some ample cleavage. I threw on some black knee-high boots and I was ready. I purposely showed up around 10:15 to make sure he was there before me.
He met me in the driveway and took my hand before leading me inside. "I don't hold hands," I said, then pulled my hand away and back to my side. Great, I was scary.
He didn't seem to mind though, instead, he shrugged his shoulders and promptly got us some drinks.
He returned a couple of minutes later with two red cups, filled to the brim with a hot pink colored substance that smelled like punch. I normally wouldn't consume a hot pink drink from a boy I hardly knew at a person's house I didn't know, but I was uncomfortable and needed a drink badly. It was sugary, sweet and strong enough to get me to play a game of strip beer pong on a coffee table with some strangers I just met. Apparently, when you chug a glass, you also take off a piece of clothing. About 30 minutes later I was down to my bra, skirt and one boot. V had on his underwear, a sock and a drunk, crooked smile.
Before the game ended, one of V's friends got completely naked and fell asleep on a brown corduroy couch in the corner. Classic. Before the game ended, at least 5 out of the 10 people playing were in their underwear and barely able to slur a sentence.
V and I flirted half naked during the game, casually tossing articles of clothing at each other. He finally kissed me around 2 a.m. We made out, drunk in front of his friends. I was undeniably buzzed but he was definitely drunk. I seemed to notice people staring so I offered to go back to my place down the street.
We walked the three blocks clumsily. He kept trying to grab at my waist as I laughed and pulled away from him. I don't like holding hands and I don't like walking arm in arm with anyone!
When we got to my place he all but pushed me in the door and demanded to know where my room was. I led the way and he switched off the lights, shut the door and locked it. A little on the aggressive side, but I liked it.
As the minutes passed, he got more and more aggressive. He threw me onto the bed, ripped off my shirt and grunted. I liked him even more! He was a wild man on a mission, and I was expecting great things. Then, he opened his mouth and everything fell apart.
"Oh you like that, don't you?," he screamed at me. What? Excuse me. Did he just say that? Then he slapped me. A love tap, but still a slap on my behind. "Oh you really like that you dirty girl, oh yeah!" He wouldn't stop. I couldn't help it. I stopped and just started laughing at him uncontrollably. What? Did he think he was in a porno? He did.
My laughter didn't stop and he kept on going. It was terrible. "Oh no, someone might walk in," he said. It was like he was role playing with himself. He had no idea what he was doing and the dirty comments were distracting and hilarious. He finally realized I was laughing at him and stopped.
"What's wrong?" he asked, concerned. I couldn't even stop laughing to answer. Then it hit me. He had to be a virgin! He was one of those guys I had heard about, whose only view of what happens during sex is what they've seen in a porn movie. He showed all the signs. He had no idea what he was doing and he yelled at me, spanked me and expected me to like it. He wanted to be Ron Jeremy, and I just wanted out of there. Away from my first virgin.
I told him that it wasn't working out and he seemed confused. "Wait, did I do something wrong?" he asked. "I'm sorry, but I've never done this before."
I knew it! He confirmed my fears. Virgin! There is nothing wrong with being a virgin, but I just don't want to sleep with one. It's too much responsibility, and I definitely don't want to have to show someone what to do. I want them to know already.
I told him everything was fine and that I was just tired. He said ok, but I know he didn't believe me. He looked really tired though and asked if he could just sleep here, on my bed. I couldn't have the guy who had just yelled dirty words instead of whisper sweet nothings in my ear sleep next to me in my bed. Awkward!
I told him I had to get up early in the morning and that he should go home. It was 4 a.m., and I know I should have just let him stay, but I couldn't. I needed a shower and I wanted him gone. I ended up driving him to his house, 30 minutes away, just so I could get a good night's rest by myself.
Never again.
Belle is the alias for our "Adventures of a Serial Dater" column series who walks among the USC Annenberg School of Journalism student body. At this point in time, there are no plans to reveal her real identity.
or how about just clever... soft core porn writing is straightforward and boring.
spice it up a bit please! literary devices, or something. this is not a news article -- nobody cares about the facts of your dates unless you have something interesting or witty to say about them.
the world is already full of sluts - what makes you so different?
even a bit of flowery language would help to make more sense of this column existing on a "news" site rather than the "this is how he boned me" section of some playgirl mag
Hey, puzzled, you must not come here that often. This story was on the front page for three days last week...
Are you shy or is it your editors who bury your column inside the depths of cyberspace where few of us wander? This should be on your fucking homepage. Or are you new age journalists hampered by the same drivel and mindless chatter about taste and appropriateness that's killing the lameass legacy media that wouldn't know reality if it bit them in the, well, nevermind. Do us a favor and liberate/and or fire your gatekeepers.
How come all your stories turn into "cant have sex afterall" sitcoms? Tell us a good story where someone gets fucked at the end.
You mean, there still are some virgins left? All kidding aside, I would hate to sleep with a virgin. Who on earth would want that level of responsibility. Let someone else be remembered as that first forgettable you know what. Love reading this by the way.
Quite Shakespearean- funny and tragic at the same time.
We want more Belle, but please stay safe.
From this male's point of view, sleeping with a virgin is the best thing. That way they don't know how horrible you are in bed until after they have dumped you and moved on to someone else.
Drunk driving...that's a good, solid, positive message to send...