27 year old virgin
Reply #160 - August 27, 2015, 06:16 PM
Mine was very awkward and I wish to God my wife has forgotten it. I had never seen whatchamacallit, a ‘grown up’ vagina. I did passingly see that of small babies during nappy change. That’s about it. But beyond that, there was absolutely nothing known to me. In fact, I can confidently say that except from what was Islamically allowed to be seen from my mahrm female relatives (my sisters, mother and stepmother; and stuff like hands, arms, feet, faces, sometimes hair etc.) I didn’t know anything about the female, much much less the anatomy of her genitals. So, when I was called upon for the first time to perform my nightly duty, I found it incredibly difficult to locate things in the opposite arena. The thought of approaching sex had got this inexperienced fiend, shall we say, ‘standing tall’ and the Saudi thobe I was wearing did little to hide the embarrassing engorgement from my equally confused as well as frightened bride. She had just turned 17, I was 19. We were in a hotel room and I had just walked back from Fajir Prayer; long, quick strides akin to someone about to break their very long fast.
Before ‘receiving’ her, I had waited five days in that hotel room because during our wedding day, her time of the month came. This meant I couldn’t leave where we were having our wedding with her literally in tow – her family appeared to be embarrassed by her period or something, because they enigmatically said that she was not yet mine. What on earth did that mean? And what further muddied the waters was that in my tribal tradition, families occasionally did ‘confiscate’ the bride in order to demand more money at that most unsuspecting of moments. So I was quick to wonder if this was a case of a sudden dowry inflation hike. This was much worse for her, as darling later told me, because now everyone knew she was menstruating and some women busybodies started dropping in everyday, asking her the biologically odd question: are you ready yet? So much so, that darling in the fifth day untruthfully declared her readiness.
Knocking on the hotel door quietly before keying myself in, I couldn’t, no matter how much I stooped, hide my erection from darling. I swear on everything, I could retrospectively read in darling’s widened eyes “but excuse me Sir, do you really wish to insert all that in me?” As it happened, she too was firmly kept away from males and male’s anatomy. She had heard a lot about the intrusive pain, very little about the pleasure, so as I jumped into bed, she jumped out. I was so so fool, I thought this was because she needed to use the toilet before, so I readily said that me too, I needed to pee and tried to join her. And then I twigged. The truer inner workings of our situation came crashing down. But still, I wanted to make sure because of her confusing quietness, so I put my hand on her heart.
It. Was. Pounding.
I have never forcibly or non-forcibly raped anyone in my life but I can say that that night, I think I really came near to inflicting rape trauma on a female. I had social pressure placed on me as well because if after the first night she was still a virgin, then that would bring shame on me as a man. I would be lacking in virility – in fact, you could be outed as a homosexual by the bride’s mother if on inspection, and inspection she duly did the following morning, the mother-in-law found her daughter untouched as she gave her to you. The following morning the mother did ring darling asking her to hand over our bedsheet - probably to trace chastity in her daughter's blood - and even in those days I had a bit of savoir faire to tell darling to tell her how grateful we both were for her concern and untruthfully say we had already sent it to the cleaners. Come to think about it now, the bright yellow sheet was supplied by my mother-in-law.
For some odd reason, darling was very quiet and didn’t tell me about her having her period until I got tired of fumbling, switched the light on and asked her to show me where I was meant to enter. Her telling me she was still not ready gave the concept of 'coitus interruptus' a whole new meaning for me. I was so furious that in order to stop others inquiring about her period she put me in this situation. Now what?
I had avoided mint because I was told it stunned initial sex; instead, I had had specially made food (called asida), washed it down with a lot of mango juice and some camel milk on the strength of a friend that the mixture kept me ready, solid, aching to discharge.
Well, folks, I believe hugging in the nude had prematurely broken paradise loose. Even today, I have this superstitious avoidance of having crepuscular sex. And it didn't get easier after waiting two days for poor, poor darling to be off her period, because everything was painful, remained painful, and painfully dry for her. Some very idiot man had advised me that if I didn't keep on doing it, night after night, and even multiple times per night, the vagina "cealed itself" and the hymen naturally and quickly grew back. This is why I really wish, wish, wish darling's forgotten about that week.
On Chesil Beach is a novella by Ian McEwan which really made me re-live some of the awkwardness of sex first time; it explores what goes wrong when two people who don't know anything about sex try to have it for the first time within the supposed security and expectations of about-to-be consummated marriage.
Topic: 27 year old virgin