Prefacing note: this tale is honest and gets graphic. If that's not your bag, feel free to stop reading at any time.
Yes, I'm still a virgin, and no, it's not by choice. As I close in on my twenty-seventh birthday, I have yet to engage in sexual intercourse, despite the increasing ease of doing so over the last decade. I simply suck at talking to women – I always have. This having been said, I do take solace from the fact that many of my co-workers also still possess their V-cards. And that doesn't even count PotO'Gold, who basically made a very stupid deal to get a steady supply of sex. There's SafariMaster, who's thirty-one and has likely never had anything even approaching a physical relationship. In fact, he's only had two orgasms in his entire life – and neither was intentionally induced. There's AnimeFan, who's only 23, but has never shown any interest in the opposite sex. He may have had something going prior to joining the Navy, but he's been staunchly celibate over the last two and a half years. LakeErie has at least expressed an interest in getting laid, and has gotten oral sex, but like me, hasn't yet closed the deal. In the baseball parlance, he's gotten to third base. I once rounded third, expecting to score standing up, but a laser throw came in from right field, and I was nailed at the plate. This is the story of that night...
It was November of 2002, near the end of my time at Cornell. While there, I was in the Big Red Marching Band, and this was the night before we had a home football game against Princeton. It is custom in the Ivy League for the home team’s band to provide lodging to their counterparts from the visiting team, should the away band choose to make the trip. My place had plenty of couch and floor space, so we offered it up. When the Princeton band arrived, I picked up six or seven of its members, filling the Minivan o’ War. When we got back to my place, I resumed drinking Mike’s Hard Lemonade (join me here as I point and laugh at myself). There were drinking games and other general bonding between our non-safety schools. Around midnight, we decided to take our guests down to the Suspension Bridge over one of the magnificent gorges that grace Cornell’s campus. Being plenty deep into the alcohol, I didn’t think to bring a jacket. When we reached the bridge, one of the female Tiger bandies offered up her sweatshirt – one with the letters “Princeton Band” across the front. There were more than a few weird looks when we got back to my apartment and I was still wearing that garment. I returned the sweatshirt, and the party resumed in warmth.
Things wound down about 1:30, at which point everyone got set up for bed. As this happened, the girl who lent me the sweatshirt uttered a quote that is forever seared onto my brain. I swear up and down, these words came out of her mouth:
“So…does anyone want to have an orgy?”All the other Cornell folk in the room politely declined; they each undoubtedly had some combination of sobriety and scruples. But at that moment, I possessed neither, and saw only an opportunity to rid myself of a huge burden. I recall jumping over a couch to get to her. We went into my room, and I immediately told her I hadn’t done anything like this before. She reassured me that it’d be all right…and those were the last words either of us said for a little while. Things progressed quickly; I went from not really knowing her or talking to her to getting a blowjob in about five minutes. This course of events was a bit difficult for me to process, which may have led to the ultimate outcome. After a few minutes of that, I decided it was time to return the favor; I am not a douchebag in this respect, and thus needed no prompting to partake of the fine dining that is the pink taco. We moved into what the French call the “soixante-neuf,” a position that seemed to work well for both of us.
Eventually, I thought I was erect enough to begin the final phase; she had the only condom, and once it was over my dick, I figured it’d reach a full hard-on once inside. Just one problem…it never did. Nothing I tried could make my genitalia work properly at this, the most crunch of crunch times. Fate, mental blockage, and excessive consumption of alcohol – call them the Unholy Trinity, or my personal Axis of Evil, but they conspired to keep me from consummating the damn thing. After several minutes, I finally gave up and pulled the condom off. I was crushed and disappointed that I wasn’t getting laid. However, being very wasted also kept me from dwelling on this point, and held my focus on the truly important thing – I still had a naked chick in my bed. I don’t remember whether it was out loud, but I said, “well, one of us might as well have some orgasms tonight” – and my head and hands went right back between her legs.
We kept such activities going until about half past three, when we finally went to sleep. That is to say, she went to sleep, and I finally passed out. Somehow, I managed to be awake and alert three and a half hours later, and thus so was she (we were sharing a twin bed). I wasn’t in the mood for breakfast…but I was in the mood to start fooling around again. Not surprisingly, she was down. The small talk and the pleasuring alternated, continuing for another two-plus hours, before she finally had to leave to make rehearsal or something. I got one very long last kiss on her way out.
I don’t even remember what the score of the game was; I think Cornell lost in overtime(1), but that’s relatively unimportant. The events of this particular night fucked with my head for the remainder of my time in Ithaca. Prior to going to a party the next night, I bought a box of condoms; I apparently thought that I could make it happen every night, even though it took me 7,855 days to achieve that initial breakthrough. I tried to casually mention these events to all my friends; of course, they all saw right through my veiled attempt at bragging. Fuck, I was dumb at twenty-one.
There was no exchange of phone numbers or e-mail addresses, or any other sort of contact information; it was a straight one-night stand. I never saw or heard from her again, and that’s probably for the best. We both ended up winners – she got off a bunch of times, and I got something worthy of a story. I’ve had the chance to tell it at work several times, and it’s always well received. It’s not quite on par with the “blue dildo” story of one of my co-workers, and it completely pales in comparison to the ongoing saga of the “Poland Colon” (soon to be told here). But until I can make something better (but not so much bigger) happen in this area, it’s what I’ve got.
(1) Upon review of the historical records, the Big Red indeed fell to the Tigers in overtime, 32-25.