Viewport width =
April 19, 2010 | by  | in Opinion |
Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter


Sorry, I know I shouldn’t, really. History seems to suggest that I shouldn’t do anything a first time. The first time I got drunk I was 14. Someone gave me white rum. They looked up from what they were doing to see me swigging away like a lovelorn pirate trying to hide in the bottom of a bottle. They said I was “brave”. I didn’t know what they meant until later, when I was found cowering on a cold, hard concrete floor cuddling up to my new friend, the toilet. Ever since then, New Years has never quite agreed with me—perhaps it’s something to do with the first?

The first time I had sex didn’t go so great, either. Ever had sex so good you had to be admitted to the ER to recuperate? Me neither. If you go back and replace “good” with “mortifyingly terrible” the answer changes. I was 17, and totally over this idea that you should ‘lose it’ with someone special. So I didn’t. She was a friend. It was at a party. We’d been chatting flirtatiously throughout the night and after a while we slipped outside and headed down to the local park. Dark, secluded, quiet. Just what we needed. Things proceeded more or less as normal, although not too many clothes were removed in an attempt to stay warm. After a while I leaned back to look down at her, and apparently just kept leaning back. It turns out I fell off of the platform we were on and I hit my head. Concussion sex. Yay. She didn’t even have the decency to tuck me in before the ambulance officers arrived.

All things considered, it should come as no surprise that I tend to be very nervous the first time I do something. The first day of uni/school/a new job is generally proceeded by a terrible night’s sleep. My stomach ties itself in knots, and terrible fantasies of how things could go play out over and over in my head. Ugh. I shudder at the thought of the start of next trimester. It’s the beginning of the end for me and university, I suspect. Maybe I’ll vomit.

Regardless, it’s not really that surprising that I lean towards introversion and shy away from new things. I doubt I’m the only one. We’re not a total lost cause, though—just because we’re cautious and wary of venturing out doesn’t mean that we won’t.

Share on FacebookShare on Google+Pin on PinterestTweet about this on Twitter

About the Author ()

Comments (1)

Trackback URL / Comments RSS Feed

  1. Annie says:

    What is this?

Recent posts

  1. Cuttin’ it with with Miss June
  2. SWAT
  3. Ravished by the Living Embodiment of All Our University Woes
  4. New Zealand’s First Rainbow Crossing is Here (and Queer)
  5. Chloe Has a Yarn About Mental Health
  6. “Stick with Vic” Makes “Insulting” and “Upsetting” Comments
  7. Presidential Address
  8. Final Review
  9. Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise
  10. It’s Fall in my Heart

Editor's Pick

This Ain’t a Scene it’s a Goddamned Arm Wrestle

: Interior – Industrial Soviet Beerhall – Night It was late November and cold as hell when I stumbled into the Zhiguli Beer Hall. I was in Moscow, about to take the trans-Mongolian rail line to Beijing, and after finding someone in my hostel who could speak English, had decided