My First Time

ah, let's go back to when Steve was nineteen years old.  I'd promised myself that I would "score" before I left my teens, and was running out of options.  My mother had sold a house to a local big-wig (whose name I will not mention) and his sister had told me, in no uncertain terms, "I'm a nympho, Steve.  Come over any time and get some."  Ahem.
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Well, one Friday night I showed up at her doorstep, and she let me in.  Call her "Fedex", 'cause she certainly delivered me unto a brand new time-zone.  We flirted for a bit, and smooched for a bit, and then she looked at me a bit cock-eyed (ahem) and said, "Steven Barnes, are you in a lovin' mood?"  Well, I certainly was, so she said "let it be!"  And off with the clothes.
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I wish I could say that I performed like a stallion.  Well, yeah, if that stallion was a miler, 'cause it was over in about a minute.  I talked the whole time to cover my nervousness, and left as soon as I could afterward, filled with both relief, excitement, and a certain sense of loss.  Even after all these years, there is a part of me that tries to sort out those emotions, and why there was a sadness mixed in. I suspect that I could feel that powerful post-coital pull afterwards, that urge to bond.  And there was nothing to bond to.  No relationship.  No real friendship, just the heat.  I wanted to shout that there was something special here, that I had arrived, that an entire new chapter of my life had begun.  Instead, I felt a bit queasy.  Strange.
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With the passage of years, I created a set of rules that governed my sexual relationships: I would always try to treat women the way I'd want someone to treat my sister, mother, or daughter.  I would always try to at least be a friend.  There have been times I let myself down, hurt someone inadvertantly.  Sigh.  I could be, and have been, completely oblivious to what ladies were actually feeling, and made poor choices as a result, but in all but one single case in my entire life, I'm still on friendly terms with every woman I've ever been intimate with, and that's a blessing.  Why?  Because I genuinely love 'em, I genuinely think that sexuality is a blessing to be shared, that it is unutterably delicious, and I never wanted to feel that sense of dis-connection that I felt with Fedex again.  It was painful.  I wanted to be able to laugh, and celebrate...even if there wasn't some deep eternal bonding.
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Years passed, and I had the blessing of actually studying Native American sexual practises, a chance to put orgasm in the context of spiritual growth, and to learn to tap into that energy directly.  Wow.  I can't begin to count the number of times I've brushed up against my real beliefs in this arena in my writing...but have still never quite gotten it right, but will keep trying.  But it all goes back to that first night, when a woman who made me a plain, unvarnished offer moved a nineteen-year-old boy from one side of the line to another.  I hope she is happy in her life, and loved, and nurtured, and happy with her days and the path she has walked.  But more, I wish I knew.  I wish I had cared enough about her to follow up, and didn't have that vague sense of embarassment about what my first time was.  I wish we'd been in love, even a little bit.  Or even friends. 
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But more than anything, I wish I'd met her earlier.  So much for spirituality.