I remember it like it was yesterday.

I remember thinking “Oh, THIS is how it’s supposed to feel.” I felt alive. I felt attractive. I felt powerful and confident and transcendent. And I felt like I was truly getting to know me. That night was a crash course in who I am as a biological living thing. It was a crash course I wasn’t even aware that I needed to take.

My body didn’t know much of anything in relation to intimacy. It only knew it liked humping couch cushions and being near vibrating household instruments.

My copulation journey did not begin with this monumental discovery. My initial engaging in the intercourse was not “pleasurable”. In fact, it was the total opposite of pleasurable. It was also painful, awkward, smelly, uncouth, uncoordinated, unsanitary, complicated, confusing, and bewildering.

What is that thing I’m touching? Is that the… oh, it is. Wait… or is it… the other… HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO FIGURE THIS OUT IN THE DARK?!? TURN ON THE LIGHTS, GODDAMN IT! 

I didn’t expect it to be this level of challenge. I thought it would be fairy dust magical, and completely effortless, and not involve the condom falling off thrice due to the friction of two sticky bodies moving arrhythmically.

On top of our myriad issues (the absence of chemistry, comfort AND sexual knowledge) the main obstacle was getting the actual peen inside the vag. Even the tip was screaming out “No fucking way!” After twenty or so penetration tries and failures I went to see a gynecologist to solve this unsolvable mystery. The doc stuck a camera up in me, took a look around, and was like; “That hymen is huge and has got to go, girllllllll”.

And then I had my hymen surgically removed. If you haven’t read that story please do. It’s a good one.

Two months later I was hymen free and ready to fuck. And by ready I mean after I had taken epsom salt baths for weeks and used dilators to expand my anxiety-ridden genitalia. In the interim, we had hand job adventures until penetration became possible, post-surgery. But even then I found I didn’t FULLY enjoy it. Sex takes practice and like any lesson it requires the right teacher. My first BF was lovely and we had a solid relationship but he wasn’t the right teacher for me, because we didn’t click sexually.

After we broke-up from non-sex related problems I was single for a bit. Sadly, I still didn’t own a real vibrator and I wasn’t around any tongues who could serve a similar purpose. So, I returned to humping pillows and using jacuzzi jets on my crotch to get me off. Then I met the second guy I would bangarang. On our first date, he came back to my place and as we were sitting on my craigslist purchased futon he kissed me. But it wasn’t just a regular kiss. It was a kiss that made my whole body shake like a Polaroid picture. Then this peck turned into making out and the making out turned into rubbing and the rubbing turned into me freaking out and saying “Goodnight sir you must exit my apartment now”.

Why did I freak out? I had come down with a case of the crippling nerves and terrified what-ifs. There was clearly a spark between us. Our chemistry was there. Our comfortability was there. And it seemed that he was knowledgeable. But, I was worried that I wouldn’t measure up. Something I have discovered from my many romps in the hay since is that it doesn’t necessarily matter what your level of experience or skill is. What actually matters is the connection you have with the person.

On our second date, the making out returned. It was wet. It was sloppy. It was never-ending. I hadn’t had a tongue exchange like this before. I wanted to devour him. The first sign that the sex will probs be good: foreplay is so great that it’s almost unbearable. Then the clothes began to be removed. Suddenly we were in our underwear, and we stayed in said underwear for quite a while. He touched my clit. I touched his dick. He touched my clit. I touched his dick.

This went on for several minutes. In the meantime, the bra and panties were removed, as were his boxer briefs. We were 100% naked and 100% exposed. This was the first time that I was naked in the presence of another person and I wasn’t self-conscious. I wasn’t thinking about my cellulite or my acne or my weird moles. I was way too caught up in the ecstasy of his body on mine. Second sign the sex will probs be good: you’re not concerned with how you look, and you’re not thinking about anything else except the individual in front of you.

And before I could even put in a request, he was headed down under and smooching my privates. I began to orgasm like I had never orgasmed before. Third sign that sex IS probs good: you come a bunch. Then we moved onto getting the peen in the vag. Turns out when I’m super turned on it basically slips right in. Fourth sign that sex is good: everything is smooth and easy.

As soon as we began with the thrusting I knew that this was DEF good sex. What sign informed me of this? We were synced up without having to GET synced up. It happened… organically. Of course communication was still afoot. Questions were being asked along the lines of “Do you like this? What do you want me to do? Can we switch positions? Tell me what feels good” and so on.

But there was also a general unspoken consensus that it was good. This was good. This is what I had read about in magazines. This is what I had seen in porn. This is what my friends described as quality intercourse. This was it and once you achieve that level, it’s hard not to want it all the time, forever and ever.