Cinder Block Walls

There was no specific reason why I was a virgin – no deep held conviction about waiting. It just never happened. There were some opportunities with a high school boyfriend but I guess we were both too timid to take it all the way. We were content to make out in his parentʼs old station wagon, dry humping and groping for hours. By day his father, the pastor at our church, used the wagon to drive our church youth group to various outings designed to keep us out of trouble. At night his son and I parked it far away and tentatively explored each other until the windows were drippy with steam. It was 1977 and I was madly in love but something kept me from letting him go all the way. We never talked about it. It was just understood that it was not going to happen.

The relationship ended when we went to different colleges so I landed on campus with my virginity in place. I was not particularly proud of it but I was not upset about it either. It was just a part of my life, like being taller than most young women my age or the fact that I had short, thin blonde hair while most of my friends had long hair that needed two full sets of electric curlers to achieve the massive volume that was the style of the day Honestly I was more upset about my lack of flowing hair than I was about still being a virgin.

Learning that most of my new college friends had long ago left their virginity behind was a bit of a shock but I was still unfazed. My new sorority sisters liked to tell stories about their first time – for many of them it was at prom and the term Senior Ball took on new meaning for me. My senior prom had been a disaster. My date was a year older than me and he came home from his first year of college to fulfill his promise to take me to the dance. He then announced that he had a girlfriend and I would need to pay for his tux and dinner since he was broke. The night ended with me drunk on tequila and root beer and if there was a make out session I have no memory of it.

I loved hearing my new friends tell stories of their first time but I was not too focused on my own lack of experience. I was too busy learning how to drink, making new friends and trying to reinvent myself. My first college boyfriend was a sweet boy from a nearby fraternity who loved to talk and never asked for more than a quick good night kiss. I thought he was respectful but learned years later that he was actually struggling as a gay man in a system that would never accept him. I should have figured it out – in group pictures you can see other couples cuddled together and he is literally straining to avoid contact – but it never would have occurred to any of us. We just thought he was shy.

I met Jake at a dorm party. I was drawn to him immediately with his perfectly shaggy hair, kind face and his height. He was 6'5“ and I loved the way he towered over me and how I fit perfectly in the crook of his arm. He was deep into a bong hit when I first saw him and I was drunk enough to be confident and flirty. We were making out by the end of the night and in the days that followed we spent all our time together. He was a basketball player and I loved everything about him. He liked my jokes and he thought I was pretty. It was all I needed. My friends liked him and he fit the role of perfect college boyfriend. He even decided to join a fraternity so we would be hanging out in the same social circles. I knew he was the one who was worthy of my affections and it was just a matter of time. There was no rush on my part and surprisingly not for him either. Or at least he did not put any pressure on me. We spent hours crammed into my single twin bed, his long frame hanging over on either edge. We made out relentlessly while we listened to Eric Claptonʼs newest album play over and over on my cheap record player but we always stopped before it went too far.

I did not have any kind of plan or reason for waiting. It was not long before we were declaring our love to each other and I was secure in the relationship. I loved being his girlfriend and the security that came from knowing I always had a date. Itʼs hard to know if I was in love with him or the whole idea of having a very appropriate college boyfriend but it didnʼt really matter.

We dated throughout our freshman year and wrote each other long sappy letters when we were separated for the summer. When we got back to school that fall we both knew it was time to move to the next level. I felt like it was the least I could do and it was clear he was having trouble stopping our make out sessions once we really got going. I realize now that I was torturing the poor guy but he stayed with me until I decided I was ready.

The problem with being a virgin for so long is that losing it becomes too big a damn deal. Where to do it? What day? What music should be playing? What about protection? I agonized over it with my friends, all of whom have given up their V cards already and were veritable experts.

"Just donʼt use a condom they're gross."

"Have a few drinks before and it wonʼt hurt as much."

"It wonʼt hurt that bad, donʼt worry about it.”

I was nervous but ready. We decided to go to a hotel that was across the state line eight miles away. It was recently built and seemed classy to our college age sensibility. He had a bit of money saved to pay for the room though by that time I am sure he would have paid any price for me to let it happen. He said he wanted it to be special for me. He was not a virgin, of course, having had a number of girlfriends in high school who were apparently far more willing to give it up than I was. I thought it was very romantic that he had been willing to wait so long for me but I also knew I was pushing him and I did not want to lose him to some girl who would be willing to give him what he needed. It was time.

As the day grew closer I got more scared. What if I did not know what I was doing? What if it really did hurt? I was still scarred from my first blow job with my high school boyfriend when he had to tell me blowing was not a literal term and he had to show me what to do. I did not want a repeat of that experience and I worried about what could go wrong.

I dutifully went to Planned Parenthood to get the pill but with my gaggle Iʼd girlfriends with me for moral support it never occurred to me to ask the professional there any questions about what to expect or what I should do. I just knew I needed to take my little pill everyday.

The big day was a sunny and crisp fall day and I felt very grown up as I packed my overnight bag. I envisioned a long romantic night with the man I loved adoring me and my body, just like I had seen on so many TV shows my entire life. I was ready for my big scene.

He was set to pick me up at 6pm at my sorority. All of my close friends knew what we were up to and they were there to help me get ready. We decided it would be a good idea for me to have a drink before he got there to loosen me up a bit. As with most sunny days, there was a group of girls in the back alley, drinking in preparation of the night ahead. We joined in and I realized I was more nervous than I thought. Thank God for beer, easy to drink and guaranteed to give you courage. I started with one but it quickly led to more. It felt so much better to think about the night ahead after a few beers. And then a few more. At some point I thought it was a good idea to barge into the sorority and use the all house intercom system to announce to everyone that I was leaving in a few minutes to go to a hotel to lose my virginity. They thought it was hilarious though eventually someone took the microphone away so I would stop sharing the intimate details with all sixty women living there

When Jake came to pick me up I was nicely drunk. Able to stand up and mostly function but drunk enough to feel no fear about the task ahead. The drive to the hotel was a blur. I am sure Jake was hoping I was not so drunk that he would miss his opportunity but was drunk enough to still go through with it.

We checked in and the clerk was pretty clear on what was up. In a college town we were not the first couple of 19 year olds to get a room while trying to behave like grown ups. I was trying not to seem too drunk but the clerk did not seem to care one way or the other.

Jake took my little bag and we walked down the long hall to our room. We passed the bar where the popular Happy Hour was underway. My friends and I went there often because the drinking age was still 19 in Idaho then and I remember asking if we should stop for one more drink? Jake did not think that was a good idea, he wanted to get to the room and he had no interest in anything that would detract from our plan. I followed him to the room and he unlocked the door. I was in that space between drunk and sober – able to walk and form coherent thoughts but not focused enough to care.

The room was barren with a bed, round table and a chair. The bathroom was filled with the worst kind of florescent light and I looked sort of green and washed out. I thought that was disappointing given how much time I had spent on my hair and make up in preparation for our big night. I came back to the room and Jake was already undressed under the thin bedspread.

There was no music because we did not have a portable player or if we did it did not occur to us to bring it. It was quiet in the room, I could hear the hum of the air conditioning and the faint noise from the bar. The walls were bare because they were made of gray cinder blocks and there was no way to hang a picture on them I guess. Or else the management knew it was a college hotel and just did not try very hard. The cinder block walks hit me hard. They were so ugly they made me sad. The room was dark but there was still light coming in through the curtain since it was only 7pm. For a minute I wanted to bolt from the room and my drunken self might have made a dash for it but instead Jake motioned for me to join him in the bed. I was temporarily confused. Should I take off my clothes now? Did I wait and let him do that? I reached down and unzipped my jeans and shook them off my feet. I took my top off over my head and slid into bed with him.

It was over in about three minutes. It did not really hurt, it was just vaguely uncomfortable, kind of like the start of a tooth ache. I was not sure what to do when it was done but Jake seemed happy so I assumed I had done the right thing. He told me he loved me and quickly fell asleep. I huddled on my side with his arm thrown over my waist, stared at the cinder block walls and cried.