I feel like a dick even writing this, but my story is painfully boring and borderline clichéd. Imagine a doughy, middle-aged-male TV writer attempting to script a 19-year-old Catholic girl’s emo-erotic fantasy of her first time, and you’re there. I was a senior in high school. My girlfriend made me wait until we were together a year and she got to college. It went down in a dorm room. It had to be a Big Deal, so there were candles, something from Victoria’s Secret’s Safely Sensual (But in No Way Underground-German-Discotheque-Scary) section, and a soundtrack along the Enya-Sarah McLachlan spectrum. The roommate had been dispensed, likely with the vague knowledge that Something Special was about to occur. We were stone sober. There was a condom. It was quick. It was new and good and different in a hesitant, test-run sort of way, but the whole time my mental state was more “oh-my-god-I’m-doing-it-oh-my-god-I’m-doing-it” than actually thinking to stop thinking and embrace the experi...
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