The first time: Some thoughts on giving your teenage daughter support she can use
I was 16 years old when I first had sex\’or rather penetrative penile vaginal sexual intercourse to be more specific.
He was 21-the owner of the aforementioned penetrating penis. I hardly knew him, but man, I thought he was hot, and at the time, that was all I needed to know. We met on the side of the railroad tracks of all places, drinking beers. He wore blue jeans, a white t shirt and, as I later learned, his dead grandfather’s long gray overcoat. He was tall and thin with just the right amount of muscle definition. He had short silky jet black hair and dark almond shaped eyes with long dark lashes.
“You’re really fucking cute, I told him. I was already fairly tipsy on my way to being drunk, and said exactly what came to my mind. He took that as a clear invitation to continue giving me beers and to invite me back to the apartment he shared with his mother. She worked nights as a nurse, so he had the place to himself a lot. My friend was dating his friend and so the four of us walked over there to spend the night. I must have called my dad, although I don’t recall. I probably told him I was staying at my friend’s house.
We went into his bedroom and the rest is part blur, part vivid memory. For instance, I don’t recall taking clothes off, but we must have. I do recall asking him to use a condom and his curt response “It feels like I’m wearing a trash bag. Well, that was enough for me. I wasn’t about to argue any more. My hormones combined with my alcohol induced stupor had me on a one way ride with no turning back. It felt wonderful, amazing, it hurt just a little, but I loved it just the same. I felt so beautiful. I felt like a woman.
When I got up to pee later there was blood in the toilet and all I could think was I hope he didn’t notice any blood. What if I got blood on his dick? I hadn’t told him I was a virgin. I was playing it cool. Acting like I did this all the time. Little did I know, acting like you fuck guys all the time after a few beers is not the best way to get a guy to date you. It’s a good way to get a guy to fuck you, but not to come to your house, meet your parents and take you to the movies. It was to be one in a long line of hard lessons I would learn.
Meanwhile, the whole next day I felt like a woman. I was proud. I felt sensual. I felt grown up. Leaving at the crack of dawn to go to my friend’s, I told her what happened in the bedroom. “You’re not supposed to fuck the first night you meet, she told me. Seriously, but why not? I wanted to and he wanted to and I’m pretty sure we both enjoyed it. Why wait? And for me this wasn’t the first night. It was the first night with him. It was the first night it all finally clicked with a gorgeous man I was attracted to, but I had years of nights, lying in my little twin bed at home, fantasizing of such an encounter, wishing to be desired, hoping to share hot sexual passion. All I could think was “finally.
But my high only lasted so long. The next time I saw my beautiful prince on the tracks, he didn’t talk to me. He gave my bra to someone else to give back to me. How humiliating-my tiny A cup bra that I clearly hardly needed, seeing as I left it there, being passed around the neighborhood. He showed no interest in seeing me again.
And then another more serious reality set in. I had had sexual intercourse without using any protection. What if I got pregnant? What if I got an STD? What if he was HIV positive? How would I tell my parents? I called my doctor’s office and made an appointment for a pregnancy test and STD check. I told my homeroom teacher at school that I had a doctor’s appointment I had not told my parents about and I would be off school that day. I think it was my way of reaching out to an adult who was not my parent, but who I thought might give me some support. She was very understanding.
Just when I thought I was handling the whole thing very maturely on my own, the night before my doctor’s appointment, I gave out a cry for attention to my dad of all people. My parents were divorced and had joint custody. On this particular night, I was at dad’s house. I didn’t smoke, but had some cigarettes. I hardly drank, but took some scotch from the liquor cabinet. I sat in my room, puffing (I never was good at inhaling) and drinking scotch until I felt sick and weepy all at once. My father came in to find me crying, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. I don’t recall all the details of our conversation, but I know I told him I had had sex. He grilled me– who is he? How do you know him? Did you use a condom? Blah blah blah¦His kept firing questions at me and I knew I had all the wrong answers. I had fucked up and I was in trouble. I told him I had a doctor’s appointment to get checked.
He went downstairs after a bit to call my mother. Poor guy. He tried, but like many times during my adolescence, he just didn’t know what to do with me.
By the time I got on the phone with my mom, I had stopped crying. He had filled her in on the details. I remember clearly the first thing she asked me. “Did you enjoy it? I could hear the hope in her voice.
And suddenly the whole atmosphere changed. “Yes! I told her, I did enjoy it. I really did. I told her how good looking he was, and how amazing it felt. My mom ended up going with me to my doctor’s appointment and as it turned out, I wasn’t pregnant and I hadn’t contracted any STD’s.
I got lucky and it wasn’t the only time. I clearly made some poor choices. Choices that most parents would rather their 16 year old daughters not make, but if as a parent you find yourself in the situation my parents did, try to take a deep breath before you jump into a tirade of shaming and judging. The best thing you can do to help your child make good choices is to nurture their self-esteem. The choices are up to them.