Virginity Stories: Fucking Numb By Colleen Diamond
“All out. No in.”
Virginity Stories,” a series within NAILED’s “Sex Stories” in which all kinds of people write about losing their virginity. To submit to this column, email Shenyah at shenyah@nailedmagazine.com.
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I looked for men who I was attracted to and who I could charm easily.
Lucky for me he had a big dick. His name was David, but his hockey friends called him “LD” for Loaded Dave or “The Unit.”
We were in high school. Grade 12. I was a wild spirit with no soul. All out, no in. I wore red tights, never looked at art and spent all of my money on clothes. I was my mother. My father was so handsome and worked so hard to support the family, I thought she must have something right.
So hockey players it was, the clean ones, who saw their sisters as people.
He had the whole thing planned. He came over just after my parents left for the cottage. He brought a knapsack. He ordered Swiss Chalet and set my kitchen table with placemats and candlesticks that he’d brought from home. He said, “I wanted it to be special,” as he lit the candles. It was.
We made out in the hallway, up against the wall. I still remember the wallpaper. Forest green with deep pink roses and ribbons.
We backed down the hall toward my room, still kissing. I could feel his erection. I knew what was happening.
We took off our clothes. He was so excited. I was acting. I wonder now which movie taught me to undress like that, how to sit on the bed like that. We kissed more. We were quiet. He went to put on a condom. His erection was so beautiful. He touched my body softly; he thought I was there with him.
I was dry. He came so fast. I pushed him off. Nicely, I’m sure. We lay there, bodies under the covers. I was angry. I hadn’t felt a thing. He said, “It’s not supposed to be like this, we’re supposed to be happy.” I wanted to say sorry, I had traumatized him. I said nothing.
He may have stayed over. It was winter. He dropped part of his key chain in the driveway when he was getting into his car. “Dave,” it said, with a little hockey stick. I threw it out later, and put toilet paper in the garbage over top, so my Mom wouldn’t see.
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Header image courtesy of Jean-Francois Lepage. To view is Photographer Feature, go here.
Colleen Diamond was born in a small town and raised in a rural forest. She currently lives and works in Toronto. Her writing has been described as honest and hysterical (not the funny one). She writes what comes to mind, mostly about human relationships. She is interested in body sensations and mind images. She likes short works that span long periods of time. She is a student of Psychotherapy and Shamanism. And her work has been published previously at Storychord.com. Visit the author online here.