After I got home from work last night and got all my comments on yesterday's blog, I went on a hunt for my high school diary. Ali Blah Blah suggested that I had actually written about the first time I rutted with my first love boyfriend of The Volvo Wagon fame as I suggested in yesterday's post. She imagined that my diary entry went something like this:
'dear diary, today we rutted for the first time, I was so excited, he wore blue.....'.
I must tell y'all, I found it and this is what it said:
I had so wanted to wait until the time was right and it would be special to pop Boyfriend's cherry. As that sort of thing goes, I really wish that it was more special and memorable when I had my first day in the saddle, but it wasn't special, more a task to get out of the way. Anyway, he had band practice tonight and his buddy, you know, 'Stoner Trust Fund Stinking Rich Kid - Part III' (ok, there were several of this animal in my youth) was having a party at his dad's place in Montecito. I wish it was at his beach house, because that would have made it more special, but it was just the house in the Village. Damn. So we were playing quarters with really bad beer. Milwaukee's Best. Again. And boyfriend asked me to go downstairs with him to use the bathroom. Honestly, I thought, he is so not a girl like that. What the hell has gotten into him. So I go downstairs, and we start fooling around in a dark room with laundry strewn across the bed. What does Boyfriend do, I ask you? What does he do? He starts taking off all our clothes. I resist at first because I could see where this was going and I have to tell you, the laundry strewn basement bedroom of Stoner Trust Fund Stinking Rich Kid - Part III is so not "special". But we were already past the point of no return so I went with it. I was so excited. I thought I was done with "inexperienced" boys, but that's what I get for falling for a younger . . . ahem . . . man. Thank God he was fully grown in the important parts. Yeah, it matters when you are young and don't have any compensatory moves. Amazing that boys don't always come out of their first sexual experiences totally damaged! So off he went pumping like a bunny until he started panting out "Here I go, here I go, here I go." I took that as a sign that he was about to fill me with sweet adolescent man boy juice. It was. And he did. And I had all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. I said to him, 'Here I go? Here I go? Here I go? Seriously.' He was sheepish and said that he didn't know what he was supposed to say or do but wanted to give me fair warning. Aww. Sweet. Being the kind nurturing type, I went upstairs and told everyone what had just happened and what he said. We laughed and laughed and laughed. Because I'm cruel, I think I'll be the girlfriend to him that gives a lot of blow jobs to make up for it. I wonder if he will appreciate that . . . So, Dear Diary, that is how I spent my St. Patrick's Day of 1988.
That was my first love, and the last time I kept track of my boyfriends. The sex got better and he started calling me Bunny. It's pretty funny to think about if you ever met me, because I am sooooo not a Bunny type of girl.
Thanks for the sweet blog anniversary wishes, y'all!