But what if my boy Mooj is wrong??
What if “it” really is all about COCK and TITS and ASS and BUTTHOLE PLEASURES and JAGGED HEAD DILDOS????
Here’s something you don’t know about me: most of my life, I was the 40 Year Old Virgin.
Let’s set the scene: picture a lanky, frail, 18 year old black kid. He’s in Walmart with his dad, furnishing his freshman dorm. EXCITE! Now let’s continue. Right before my family left, he gives me a HUGE ASS box of condoms and tells me “take this”. His eyes are beaming with pride. His young, promising son is going to lay his meat down all over Virginia and terrorize his city. He also told me “You have potential, these girls might try to trap you!”. I take his knowledge (and all these damn rubbers) and start the college experience.
I was a fucking DWEEB. I wasn’t getting ANY ASS but my pops definitely thought I was a teenage Bill Bellamy. I was an ultra-virgin because I looked funny until I was about 16.5. I got my first kiss somewhere around there; we clicked teeth because I was a DEPLORABLE kisser. In that lil space between then and graduating high school, I was attracting girls I didn’t really like. If a girl I DID like noticed me, I turned it over in the red zone when I coulda just….*raises eyebrows* ran it in there. So I was TOTALLY in over my head.
I had a freshman year(college) bae early, but I botched that because I was so, so insecure. I let some other girls convince me she was getting PLOWED by dudes from a nearby school….and I got cold feet. She was fine too…SO YEAH! I’m a moron. I also tore that girl’s bra tryna unleash her chest; I can still hear the cup separating from the fabric in my nightmares. Even worse, the rumors were false.
I always thought that sex should be special. Even as a kid. My parents explained sex to me early, they gave me a book about it; I understood it. I wanted the first time I had sex to be special, with a girl I really liked. I wanted to see stars and constellations whilst inside that thang. So I held out for “The One”. There were girls who liked me but I was so overwhelmed by the idea of sex, I couldn’t even make a play for them. Or I would boss up and get at them, but I couldn’t keep them interested. I didn’t know anything about consistency, or what women seek, or even when they liked me (I still kinda don’t but I am MUCH better).
So I wanted something special, but I was also scared and overthinking things.
I have a CRAZY fear of STD’s. A day or so after one of my early makeout sessions, I had a pimple on my lip. I SWORE I HAD HERPES. AM I GONNA RIDE THE VALTREX HORSE??? IS IT GONNA COVER MY FACE?? IS IT GONNA GO TO MY WEE WEE?
No. It didn’t. It was regular ass acne because my skin is greasier than the bottom of a Five Guys’ bag. Still, I was nervous. In addition to STD’s, I was afraid of accidental pregnancy, sores, my dick falling off the next morning…you know, RATIONAL shit.
To make things even MORE interesting, about halfway through my college career, my dad became a Born Again Christian. His parents were always very religious, so I wasn’t surprised. The thing about this is…it changed his views on pre-marital sex. I’m 21 at this point. I’ve engaged in FILTH but I haven’t actually had SEX. INTERCOURSE . THE OL’ IN OUT IN OUT. He’s telling me I shouldn’t have sex before I’m married. The same guy who gave me enough rubbers that I could put 6 on my meat, the rest on my fingers, and still have enough for next semester. I looked at him like he was absolutely crazy.
I turn 22. I go through a bad breakup. AFTER that, I finally have sex with the ensuing rebound. I was TRASH. She still gassed me and positively subtweeted that “Madden on Rookie” stroke I was doling out. I ALMOST hated her because she was annoying as hell and NEVER stopped talking ….but she was cute. I kinda fell in it by accident. She had her eye on me and called me one day. She said “I had a dream we were having sex, but I don’t know what to do, since I’m celibate”(what a weak ass opening move). I responded, cool as a fan: “Call me back when you actually wanna make that a reality”. She hit my phone in less than a week and…YEP…ROBBY HAD SEX.
I remember thinking….”That’s it??? I was stressed out over THIS???”. I simply didn’t wanna wait anymore, I just wanted to have sex. I’m glad I did it but….I quietly wished it was “special”. Most guys just wanna get in there; I held out until I couldn’t take it anymore.
Before I had sex, I didn’t feel it was central to everything. After I had it….I still felt the same. It’s important, its vital, but I think my semi unique experience with it allowed sex to not steer every fiber of my being. I obviously liked it more going forward. I love sex as much as I hate spoken word aka…A LOT.
In case you were wondering:
(posted in order of pleasure)
2)Experiences In The Love Canal.
And my dad only knows I’m having sex off of assumption; never outright told him.