Not the Best Way to Lose Your Virginity

What do you think?

The plan was in place on December 12, 1975. The big day. Losing my virginity was going to happen. And with John.

My sister and I planned each detail of meeting up with Lenny and John, making sure we’d be able to skip classes for the afternoon and get back on the bus without getting caught.

This was more exciting than Christmas. The mark of me moving on from my previous boyfriend. To end the year, no longer a virgin, no longer attached to Will.

We met down the street from the school. Kathleen hopped in the front seat and I jumped in the back with John. I wanted to cuddle. But didn’t want to freak John out by moving too fast.

Lenny took off speeding down the street, ‘round a corner. Up another street, tires slipping and sliding around the sharp turns on the ice-covered roads.

“Where’re we going?” I took off my coat, comfortable in the warmth of the car.

“Someplace private,” Lenny said, turning to peer over his shoulder, back at me. “Where no one will bother us.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I said, grinning.

He put on his blinker, slowed, turned, and drove up a dirt road, trees lining both sides. It was a road I’d never been on before. Someplace in town I didn’t even know existed.

We went up a long driveway further into the woods over a steep hill. Then I saw the headstones and realized we were in a cemetery. Surely, a joke. I’d thought the only graveyard in town was near the three churches overlooking the bay, alongside the road, in and out of town.

I couldn’t help but think about death. I remembered all the elderly boarders who’d lived with my family over the years. All the ones who’d died. All the funerals my mother had made me attend.

Dead people still scared the shit out of me.

Lenny circled several of the narrow roads, passing by headstone after headstone, making where we were even more real. He stopped the car, letting it idle, so we could keep the music playing and the heater running, all without killing the battery.

It felt weird being alive while surrounded by so much death. I hoped the dead were okay with partying teenagers. I didn’t want any upset spirits causing problems, and with all the horror books I read and movies I saw, it wasn’t hard to imagine something terrible happening.

Outside was one of the coldest days of the year. Lots of snow had fallen in recent days and the plow had it pushed back into three and four-foot banks along the edge of the narrow roads. We sat in the car drinking beer, getting ready for what would happen next.

Kathleen finished her beer. Lenny leaned over and they kissed. John and I sat still in the backseat, staring straight ahead, unable to help but watch Lenny and Kathleen. It became uncomfortable when Lenny pulled up Kathleen’s top and started feeling her breasts and then kissing them.

She pushed him away and pulled her top down. “I don’t want them watching,” she said, motioning toward John and me in the back.

I quickly kissed John, so it appeared we hadn’t been watching.

“Hey, John,” Lenny reached back and swatted him. “You and Barbara gotta take it outside.”

We stopped kissing, and I tilted my head toward Lenny. “You gotta be kidding?” How could he send us out in the cold?

John didn’t argue. He zipped up his jacket. “Fuck man,” he mumbled, opening the car door. “It’s freezing out here.” The wind gusted, lifting his long hair. He pulled up his hood and stepped out, holding the door open for me.

“Sorry, guys,” Lenny said. “My car.”

Kathleen eyed me. I couldn’t tell if she didn’t want to be alone with Lenny. Or felt bad for me.

I put on my jacket, pulled my mittens out of my pockets and put them on. John reached in and grabbed a couple of beers. I joined him outside, and the two of us trudged down a path, passing by headstone after headstone. The stiff wind stung my face. The crisp snow crunched under our boots.

“Where are we going?” I turned my face from the wind.

He pointed to a line of trees at the edge of the cemetery.

We climbed up over the snow bank, snow falling inside my boots. He shook the lower branches of a fir tree, knocking off the snow. We crawled underneath for shelter.

On the snow-covered ground, we sat facing each other. We downed the two beers he had brought with him, then unzipped our coats and moved our bodies close together to exchange body heat.

I hoped this time would be better than the last time. I didn’t want to disappoint him again.

My teeth chattered, my body tense from the cold. Our teeth knocked together when we kissed. We pulled apart and shrugged off our nervousness. This time I took one leg out of my jeans so that I could spread my legs enough for him to succeed at entering me. We did what we failed at last time, despite our cold shaking bodies.

What I hadn’t been prepared for was how much it hurt. Sex was not the dream experience I’d fantasized or read about. Instead of moving closer to John, I kept pulling back, trying to ease the pain. This was ’t the kind of loving I wanted. He finished with a groan and rolled off me.

We stood to wipe ourselves with tissues from my coat pocket. The tissues were soon tinted with red. John noticed, too.

Not wanting to put the soiled tissues back in my coat pocket, I dug a hole in the snow and buried them, thinking about how I would explain the blood.

“Shit, man,” he said. “You didn’t tell me you were on the rag.”

I handed him some tissues to wipe himself before he zippered up his fly.

“I’m not,” I said, a bit too defensively.

My exposed leg was numb from the cold and I quickly pulled up my jeans.

“Then what’s with the blood?”

I hesitated; embarrassed about admitting I’d been a virgin. I’d wanted to maintain my image of a cool, experienced young woman. Yet I also thought that giving John such a special gift might bring us closer.

Revealing the truth was a hard decision. He stood waiting for an answer.

“I’ve never done it before.”

“Holy Fuck!” His eyes widened, brief confusion crossing his face. “No fucking way, man.” He shook his head.

I thought maybe this would turn out in my favour.

“Yes,” I said. “Yes, fucking way.” I smiled, proudly. “You’re my first.” Making it clear, leaving no doubt.

“Holy shit, man,” he said, spinning ‘round, his hand to his head. “I can’t fucking believe it.” His grin widened. “Really?”

“Really,” I nodded, smiling back at him. “I wanted you to be my first.”

“Fuck. I can’t believe you picked me.”

We strutted arm in arm back to the car. I felt life was finally going exactly as I wanted. John would now love me as much as I loved him and we’d soon officially be boyfriend and girlfriend.

BARBARA CARTER is a visual artist and writer with a focus on healing from childhood trauma, alcohol addiction, and living her best authentic life.

She likes to take walks, read, watch TV dramas, and practice Qi-gong, and work on her memoir series BARBARA By The BAY. https://www.barbaracarterartist.com