Geek vs Life

What follows is a column that is true in nature, but may or may not have facts. It is a piece that I would like to write about every two weeks. It will be about whatever. It will be adult in content. This means sex and or obscenity may be used. I hope to explore issues in our everyday life that we may not have the courage to discuss. It could be about race, traveling, or losing your virginity, which this inaugural column is about. Remember adult content lays ahead. You have been warned. Take care of yourself and peace!

Warning: Adult Content
Ahead

I got fucked by being fucked. This situation is not unique by any stretch of the imagination. Instead the unique occurs when the opposite happens. Of course literature always makes it sound like the opposite happens.

Yet the first fuck put me in that negative place. I wasn’t ready for it. I wasn’t pressured by her. I was pressured by myself. I bet you thought I was going to say society. I take responsibility for my actions. The details are now sketchy about that primary copulation. I just remember a smear of images, her wearing a pink bow, tears falling down my face. My sister lay dying on the couch downstairs. I vividly remember what song was playing, when I climaxed: Mudhoney’s “Overblown.” Whoever said God doesn’t have a sense of humor is not paying attention.

Because it was overblown, hence the tears flowing. I wasn’t in love with this girl. She wasn’t in love with me. I thought it was going to be mind blowing. My world didn’t change. I didn’t become wise, and I certainly didn’t love deeply. I would’ve taken love period. It was a short spinning affair. Much like getting drunk, I suppose. Really fucking is an acquired taste. Acquired taste just means pre-addiction.

Again my experience was not unique. If anything the first fuck is a mind fuck for everyone involved. It runs the gamut from being touched by an uncle to not being the ideal romantic version, which is played out in all our current narrative stories. In fact, I would go as far as to say this is what connects people together. It helps us relate to other broken people.

If by chance you knew someone that had a “perfect” first cum (I normally reserve this to an urban legend.), then I hope those two people stayed together until they died. They wouldn’t have the emotional vocabulary to communicate with those that went through this traumatic experience. We would be viewed by these “perfect comers” as crazies. However if the whole world is crazy, and you are not crazy…well have fun in the mad house, because that is the definition of being crazy.

Some might go, “My experience wasn’t so bad. It wasn’t great, but it could’ve been worse.” To that I say congratulations. It can always be worse. Thank you for seeing outside yourself. I would also say you have come to terms to your negative experience. You have reconciled your past. Now go forth to other traumas.

Others might say, “Look, I was raped, this other stuff is bullshit.” I respond by hoping you got therapy, and revenge. See the common tragedy. Reconcile your past. Now go forth to other traumas.

Foreplay seems to suffer the most from the first fuck. It is implied but never described. Foreplay feels better than fucking. Anyone who disagrees with me has never had good sex. As we mature, we realize pornos are only partial right. You need music, and sucking, but touching and squeezing are under represented. Oh and the clothes, oh the clothes.

My first fuck was Kathleen, two years older than me, and totally in love with her ex. This is never unique. Kathleen was with her boyfriend, Randall, for three years. This is a lifetime in High School. Her first fuck was Randy. Her trauma was that it wasn’t like the movies. No candles. No poetry. No roses. It was grunting. It was a quick kiss to plugging in a prick. It wasn’t soft light, and a gentle lapping of waves into her love mound. It was greenish florescent lights, a light buzz beer breath, and stabbing into her vagina with a dagger. No magic. Of course, she had to love. It was her first. Not his of course. It was their destiny to love each other…forever. They broke up a year later, a couple of months later she met me.

Of course she cheated on me with him. She cheated on me five times (Not that I was counting.). It is amazing what we remember, and what we forget. She had a pale doughy face, with dark brown eyes, and dyed her hair too black. She wore a pink ribbon. That is it. The rest ravaged by time.

I can’t even remember Randy now… I can tell you that I hated him for a long while. I pictured punching him in the face repeatedly. Sometimes bashing and bludgeoning was too good, and then came cutting, and slashing. This was the first person I ever truly hated. Yet there was no cinematic moment of confrontation. He avoided me. I never truly sought him out.

I vowed never to cheat on someone. Of course I would. I vowed never to be the other guy. Of course I would. I vowed never to be made a fool again. Of course I would. I would do it repeatedly. It is the human condition.

I should have become suspicious when we were kissing on her couch, and she called me, Randall. I go by Hamilton, which is not even close to Randall. I walked out, and started to walk the five miles home. She picked me up about a mile away. Naivety and immaturity become my excuses for still dating her another month. The truth was I became Kathleen. Trapped by this ideal, because we “made love.”

Kathleen’s sister came to my aide. It was she who told me about the cheating. I confronted Kathy. She denied. The next day, she told the truth. I dumped her. She would call me every night for the next two weeks crying into the phone for an hour. I can only imagine how many weeks and hours, she called Randy.

A few weeks later she attempted suicide at Randy’s work, because he wouldn’t get back together with her. Police and everything were called to his BBQ joint. She used a knife. She got fucked by being fucked.

A few years later I heard about her. She would be engaged to a friend’s brother’s friend. I hope she is happy. I hope she has gone forth to other traumas. Randall would one day manage and own the BBQ, where he worked at. He also realized he liked both women and men. I hope he is happy. I hope he has gone forth to other traumas.

Me, I would have some brief feckless, fuckless, luckless affairs but not really get to close to females. I figured if they were all going be like this, why bother. I was also scared. It’s like if someone you know has a horrible experience with getting drunk the first time, they probably won’t drink again. I may have been right, but then I had gotten an acquired taste. I hope I am happy. I eventually went forth to other traumas.