My First Time.


Everyone remembers their first time. Some people have fond memories, others would rather not remember it at all. There are those who wait until the right one comes along, while others just want to get it done. I, on the other hand, lost my virginity by accident when I was about seven years old. It was quick and fast and I had no idea what happened. I had it coming to me. It was my fault and no ones else’s. I wanted to be cool, fit in with the other kids in my neighborhood. They were all doing it, and I wanted to also. I was reckless. I got what I deserved.

I lost my virginity to my brother’s bike.

Allow me to explain.

I have two older brothers, one of which is almost eight years older than me. As you can imagine, there was nothing less in this world that a teenage boy wants to do than to hang out with and/or watch his annoying younger sister. Of course, there was nothing more in the world that I wanted to do than to hang out with my cool older teenage brother. This combination didn’t usually end well for me; I sustained many a verbal and physical beat downs from him. But I still went back for more. I think back on this and am amazed that he didn’t actually kill me.

Because I wanted to do EVERYTHING that he did, that included riding his bike. He had a really cool red bike, sort of BMX-ish. I used to watch him and his friends ride around my neighborhood going fast, riding with no hands, doing wheelies. (Side note: I used to think that wheelies were called Papa Wheelies. It wasn’t until I was much, MUCH older that I figured out that people were actually saying “pop a wheelie”. Clearly, I wasn’t too bright…..). Anyway, I had your classic pink Huffy bike that pretty much every little girl in the 80’s had. It had a big pink seat, pink handlebars, and a reflector on the front. Sooooo not as cool as my brother’s bike. I was also convinced that the reason he was able to speed ahead of me so fast was because I had a stupid girl’s bike. Therein lied my answer; if I could learn to ride a boy’s bike, I would instantly be cool, could ride fast, and he would never be able to get away from me! Perfect plan.

Now, we all know the difference between a girl’s bike and a boy’s bike; the middle bar.

One day, I was in my backyard and I saw my brother’s bike. I decided then and there that I was going to master riding that thing. The movie “Rad” was pretty popular back then too, so I was all about bike riding. I had visions of doing all these awesome tricks, getting sponsored, and beating those assholes on the Mongoose team! My brother wasn’t around, so it was the perfect opportunity. I jumped on the bike, made a few adjustments, and was on my way.

It was so awesome. I was totally going waaaaaaaaay faster than I would have on my stupid Huffy. It was amazing! I had been riding the bike up and down the street for a little while and was completely convinced I was awesome. Riding with no hands? Check. Papa Wheelie??? CHECK. It was in my drunken stupor of success that I decided I would take it to the next level; I would stand up and pedal super fast down the street. I would simultaneously move the bike side to side under me, like I had seen the boys do a million times. I stood up on those pedals and started off. It was great! This was a breeze! I slowly started pedaling faster and faster. I was reaching top speed; there was no way that I was ever going back to that stupid Huffy!

This, my friends, is when it happened.

I remember riding so fast, watching the houses fly by me. Then, suddenly, my world came crashing down around me. Literally. My foot must have slipped of the pedal as I was spastically careening down the road. The next thing I remember is falling straight down, crotch first, right on top of that fucking bar. Then I’m falling onto my neighbor’s lawn  in excruciating pain. For a second, I thought I peed my pants. You know what it was; blood. Holy shit.

Luckily, I wasn’t far from my house, so I picked up the bike, along with my dignity that shattered all over the road, and limped my way home. I remember thinking to myself, “he is going to fucking kill me” and then “omgwhyamIbleedingIcanttellmymothershewillkillmetoo”. I gingerly placed the bike back where it was in my backyard and went inside. I must have played it pretty cool because no one noticed anything. I went upstairs, laid down on my bed, and prayed for death. I just remember being in complete and utter pain. But the thought of telling my mother what I did (I was constantly told not to ride a boy’s bike) was far scarier than what had happened to me. So, I sucked it up. I survived.

Some of you reading this may be laughing, some may be throwing up, others may be relating to it. I know I’m not the first girl to have had this happen to, and I’m sure I won’t be the last. However, I can now truly appreciate why my mother warned me against the boy’s bikes.  They are cold and uncaring and will take your virginity as they dump you on the side of the road.

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