Sometimes The Truth Is Just Disappointing

It’s been an unusually quiet day around here today (I’m writing this early Sunday evening to free up my schedule for tomorrow), and I find myself feeling pensive over how often we tend to lie, particularly when we’re younger, and even more particularly about sex.  Everybody seems to have a “first time” story, and if there’s one common thread, especially among males in this culture, it’s that it was always “Great!” . . . provided, of course, that the audience is large enough to require such a sentiment.

Not to imply that many people’s first times aren’t, in fact, great, but over the years I started to notice just how differently the story could be told if the telling was private enough.  For the record, my own first time was significantly less than great.  She was more “experienced” than I was, but those experiences hadn’t been very positive ones, so we both ended up muddling through things more out of some mutual sense of obligation than any actual desire.  Yes, things got better with practice . . . a lot better, but that first time?

Meh.

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