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dollarshort: sex week guest post

To bring us back from the brink of madness, I call on Mena of Dollarshort.org, to bring us this super deluxe guest post:

The First time, Or, Fresh off the Boat

There is a familiar jaw-drop that I'm accustomed to seeing whenever someone learns that Ben and I waited until we were married.

Waited for what? To move in together? To have children?

I'm talking about the big wait.

After the jaw drops, I am then greeted to a half-flinch -- the sort of flinch that says: "I so don't want to hear any Amish/Mormon/Christian propaganda about why I'm evil for having premarital sex, you freak."

Believe me, if I could cite religion as the reason for us being late-90s sexual pariahs, I'd be delighted. Instead, I'm forced to rationalize our decision.

In all honesty, when you begin dating at seventeen and are engaged at nineteen, waiting until you're married isn't that difficult. True, it is an annoyance. And, when you don't have any significant moral cause to base your decision on, you start to wonder why you've actually waited.

But why did we wait?

I really don't know.

What began as pregnancy fears turned into relationship fears -- we had seen too many a relationship sour as soon as sex entered the equation.

But really, I think Ben and I wanted to be different. While we aren't judgmental of others (at least when sex is concerned), waiting gave us the pleasure of knowing that we actually stuck to what we said we were going to do.

Will-power is a mighty thing.

Our willingness to wait even surprised my family. The night before the wedding, my mother, grandmother and I were folding napkins for the reception. When I mentioned for the one thousandth time that Ben and I waited (hoping to make my grandmother proud or something) she said this:

"In my day, the only girls that waited were those fresh off the boat."

That's a pretty way to put it.

And then, there is my eighty-year-old great aunt:

"There's no way in hell they aren't having sex."

Talk about familial support.

So, about the honeymoon -- how was that?

Well, I'll borrow a joke set-up from Seinfeld for this story:

We went to the Sonoma Mission Inn, stayed in a marvelous room, had a delicious Creme Brulee, yada yada yada, we returned back to work a couple days later.

"But, you've left out the best part!"

I mentioned the Creme Brulee.

What can I say? Did you actually have a good first time?


Well, it was good that it was *happening*, and happening in the family car at that (a sandalwood four-door two-cylinder Plymouth Sundance that couldn't even peg the needle), but neh, it didn't actually get GOOD until the fourth time.

this is by no means posted in order to invalidate your choice. Its just a response.

mine good? WHOAH mama, was it. now i am not talking about candlelight and roses and soft music. i am talking in the backseat of her dad's car on a beach overlooking a powerplant. she was a cheap tramp trying to make her BF jealous and i was handy. well, we actually dated a few weeks before things became randy but that was just due to circumstances. but i was enamoured of everything about the event: the scents and sounds, the emotional reactions and smiles and giggles and sighs and gasps. it went pretty well considering it was midwinter outside.

unfortunately i also became enamoured of her but that is another story.