Sorry Mom...

The story of my losing my virginity is just too damn inappropriate to not be included in the blog. I have refrained for so long because I know my mom and aunts and uncles and a lot of Christians read it. I'll keep it as pg-13 as possible, which will be hard considering the hilarity of the situation at hand.

I was in love for the first time. I knew it was love because he would sing along with Moulin Rouge to me and he didn't wash his hair.

I thought I loved Andy Timmons, but turns out he told everyone he only took me on one date. He always told me he would  take me on a magical roller coaster with hemp bracelets and Third Eye Blind, all the way to Heaven. Turns out our love ended at the Blimpies on my 16th birthday, and I imagined all the other stuff.

Anyways, fast forward 3 years. Moulin Rouge. Smelly apartment. Love.

I was 19 years old and lived at home with my mom and dad and brother. My sister had warned me before she moved out of the house that my mother could smell sex. I wondered if sex smelled like bakery rolls.

My mom and dad knew that I was an adult and did not mind or give opinion to when I came home. I didn't want them to think, however, that I was having sex. So if I went to stay the night with my raven-haired man, I would always bring an activity. Even if it was at 1 in the morning.



Dad: Hey, you're going over to his house this late?

Mary: Yeah. Are you mad?

Dad: No...I'm just wondering why you're bringing a "Paint by Numbers" kitten poster.

Mary: Well, we aren't just going to sit around and touch each other's bathing suit parts, if that's what you're insinuating. You know I'm not like that.


Sometimes I would bring my guitar and a journal. Because we were going to stay up all night writing about our feelings and non-existent stress/pain.

Eventually I decided I was ready for some action.

It had been a while that we'd been eating Taco Bueno on his floor and listening to Coldplay, so this shit was real.


I told him I wanted to have the sex, and that I was ready.

He replied that his roommates were home and I would have to be quiet. I didn't think that was possible because I had only watched  sex on cinemax and romantic comedies.

I asked if we could go play somewhere else. He said he knew a spot we could drive to.

We walked out and I told his christian roommates we were going to go for a drive and listen to Shania Twain. Then I mentally high-fived them because I was about to be awesome.

We tried to drive somewhere but I got scared when we hit a small animal and its ribs crunched under our tire. It didn't make me want to rip my pants off and figure skate with my genitals.

We eventually drove back to his apartment so we could improve the mood by listening to Radiohead and laying on his futon. He found a "Welcome to College, Virgin!" box that he had had in his dresser for 3 years that had some offspring preventers in it.

Things were definitely not ideal, nor were they hot and heavy. 

I had heard my friends talk about boning before and they would say "Oh, it was so much better with Kirk than it was with Dylan. Kirk really knew what he was doing."

Therefore I thought if a man was a good sex haver, his sex moves would be similar to Michael Jackson while making a face like Clint Eastwood and making noises like a humpback gorilla.

I had waited years for this. Years and years and years and I was so excited. The buildup was so intense.

Then it happened and I started screaming like a banshee on crystal meth.

"WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE YOU'RE STICKING A TOOTHBRUSH IN MY EAR!!!!????"

That was the best way I could come up with describing how awkward and agonizing what was happening below my belly button was.

"WHY DOES EVERYBODY LIKE THIS?????"


He looked mildly disappointed.

I was moderately disappointed in mySELF. Why wasn't I arching my back and tossing myself around while making bite-lip face and flipping my hair?



"WE ARE NEVER DOING THIS. EVER. WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THIS? THIS IS NOT MEANT TO HAPPEN. TOOTHBRUSHES DON'T GO IN EARS."

"Mary, why do you keep saying it feels like you have a toothbrush in your ear?"

'WHY ARE YOU SURPRISED THAT THAT IS WHAT I'M SAYING? DOES IT ALWAYS FEEL LIKE THAT?"

I then, I swear on my children, wrote up a contract that we would never have sex again. I signed it and notarized it. I don't break contracts unless they involve payments and the years 2001-2007.

I eventually changed my mind about the whole fornication thing.

If my kids decide they want to get freaky, all I'm going to do is walk into their bedroom when they're almost asleep and ram my Oral-B toothbrush with tongue scraper down their ear canal.