The awakened sexual tourist. A woman among men.

The very first man/boy/guy I ever had sex with was from the suburbs. He wore his hat backwards so I don’t believe he was a man but he could drive and had a job, so he was more of a guy. He wasn’t from the exurbs with its HOAs, marbled looking counter tops, three car garages, and great distances from any shops and culture. He was from the modest well established ones north of the ship canal that were once off-limits to anyone non-white.The ones for commuting into the city, and allowed people to say they were from the Seattle area if anyone asked about their zip-code.

I wasn’t entirely attracted to this guy in the hat. I was attracted to his attention towards me. He kept returning to offer me attention, even when I was insolent. Our first conversation began as an argument. It was a great discovery in youth upon entry into the adult world. The boys loved you more when you weren’t earnest, or easy in sharing your heart. I was the weird girl. He made sure I knew it. I had not grown up at the mall. I grew up with artists and the deeply religious, which created a different kind of melody. He was in love with someone else. A girl he told me about in detail. How bright and bubbly and together she was; yet I was the weird girl who accepted his attention.

She will do.

She will until she sees something better.

Everything about that first sexual experience was of the suburbs in the twentieth century. It was the geography of post-war progress.It was in a hotel off a famous highway, as we both lived at home. There was a movie on with the conversation and foreplay. Emilio Estevez you were a presence. It is good to have a fellow Catholic around as you try out a new sin.

It is very difficult not to laugh when you discover how absurd this sin is. This one you were warned about. Repeatedly. The one that came with emotional testimonies from adults who had experienced temptation. Was this a meeting for people in recovery? No, it was a Youth Group. It often felt like murder was treated on the same level as taking the lord’s name in vain. Not a good idea but these things happen and you should confess and find grace. But sex? Sex outside of marriage? Oh that is a disaster. A complete disaster. One penis inside one vagina and you will likely ruin your chances of happiness and will cause your entire community’s sense of peace to collapse. Before I ever had sex I had an on-going negotiation with God because I didn’t want to displease people but I wanted so much to be touched by a boy. Several boys. Real and imaginary. There was so much humming energy within me, and no subtle way to get across to some, “I desperately want your lips on my neck, and your hand on my breasts.” And so I waited. Does God understand what ardor is like in your late teens or as a human? There had to be an entry to this garden of earthly delights that didn’t require a spiritual tax or fine. Discover kissing a guy who is very good at it and you too will become like a lawyer asking God, “There must be some clause that recognizes mutual pleasure? But what if I loved him?”

I did not love this guy. Even as he was inside of me I knew that fact. The act felt pleasant and uncomfortable. The discomfort was physical and mild. Not one bit traumatizing. More like trying to open a sticky door. It needed a little push.

“Wow. I am having sex. This guy is inside of me. I am doing this. It feels nice when he does that. Why did he keep his socks on? I don’t care if his feet are weird. I like that his chest is hairy. That is pretty sexy. I really love how he feels. Oh… he is coming soon. No laughing at that groaning noise he makes.”

He was experienced at this act. He told me so. This act. His act was a bit like if a man had been telling me he had been playing guitar for years and spoke of the complexities of Led Zeppelin’s or Tom Petty’s compositions and when he finally performed, he played Wonderwall. Kind of catchy but not that mind-bending, or heart-breaking. And like most well-charted middling pop songs, this act didn’t last more than a few minutes.

He got off of me, and slouched on the bed next to me. No touching. No caressing. I didn’t attempt any closeness. I had learned long ago to never openly desire any closeness. Just be cool. As if I was waiting for the next bus. If I must wait, I can wait. If I must go, I will go. He looked amused. Happy even. He didn’t smile a lot. I feel his talent lay more in the quick smirk, or saying, “That’s funny.”

I remember him saying, “I guess I am your boyfriend now.”

As if it was an accidental cause of two people having sex and there was little choice in this path.

“I suppose so.”

“That’s kinda cool. We should tell people.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah why not.”

He texted the girl he was in love with. Telling her that he and I were dating.

Was this revenge?

I told no one. I didn’t feel guilty, nor could I feel one single ounce of shame. I had waited for the shame that I was told would be so prevalent with my Catholicism. It was like waiting for tears or lightning to appear. The forecast was clear. I felt a deep down giggle.

I did that! How many times could I do that?

I had to leave my own thoughts as he was talking again. Sometimes when you are a naked girl in bed with a guy, you end up being held hostage by their conversation. You can’t reach for your handbag or your phone and find your way out of there.

He was being sweet to me and held my hand.

In my head I was thinking, “That was kind of fun. I would really like to do that again. Maybe it could be different.”

I thought of other boys I had crushed on, and had kissed. And how I had liked their kisses more than the kisses of this guy. It came with a minor thrill but never the hunger and dizziness I had had with one or two others.

I felt like I had crossed something off of my list.

Drop off books at library

Pick up bread

Lose Virginity

Pay the electric bill.

And now I could concentrate upon more exciting matters. The weird girl had conquered the suburbs. This was it. I knew there had to be many more kisses and bodies to capture my wonder. I didn’t need to offer my attention to the indifferent, or bored. It was time to be worshiped and held. Who else was out there for me?