vzeditintern (over 2 years)
I love this!~!!

JeniDecker (over 2 years)
I lost my virginity at the age of seventeen to a basketball player five days before I graduated high school. He was a lovely, lovely boy and we were great friends, but at that point, all I really wanted to do was get it over with. My hymen was my stigmata and I wanted it gone. It happened on the floor of my living room after school and basically I closed my eyes, held my breath and waited for it all to be over. Funny thing, but that’s pretty much been my outlook on sex as a whole ever since. Apathetic is what I’d probably call it. Sweet, sweet apathy; brand name Lexapro, in case you want some of your own. My suspicion was that if I’d taken the vaginal route rather than the penile one, things might have gone differently. I know that sexually I could go either way. I often think people were all supposed to be sort of omni-sexual. Then something tragic happened along the way, (like fear mixed with ignorance: fignorance) causing a split that would forever make it necessary to define ourselves, given our universal propensity for labeling things, to make the bitter pill we call life slightly easier to get down. At any rate, on the living room floor, with Mr. Black, sans condom; there’s the Clue version of my first time. Orgasm, you ask? So did I, for quite some time, wondering if I’d missed it. Later in life, much later, to my chagrin, I realized if you have to ask, you already know the answer.

sarahk66 (over 2 years)
"My first Time at a show" I was right out of college and had never gone to a rock show before. When I was in high school my parents were way over protective and didn't want me going to any "seedy" rock clubs in any large city. Then when I got some freedom in college, I had no car, no cool friends and no bands that played my small college town. So finally at 23 I drove to the nearby city of New Orleans to see The Breeders at the Shim Sham Club. I was hellbent that night to meet Kim Deal. I have always been a huge fan of the Pixies, Breeders and Amps. I arrived late at the club and I shoved everyone to get front row and center. People were screaming at me and one guy almost hit me. I pleaded with everyone telling them "this was my first show" and they all rolled their eyes thinking I was lying. But I got up on stage and when Kim came out I went up to talk to her. Everyone was screaming at me "get down bitch" but I did not care. I told Kim how her music meant a lot to me and that her records were basically a soundtrack to my college years. She laughed and told me that she wished she had finished college. Before she stared to play I kissed her hand and she called me "a charmer." After the show people came up to me asking what Kim and I talked about. It was the best show ever! I've been to countless shows after that and none of them compare to meeting Kim Deal.

kadydc (over 2 years)
"my first time having sex" I lost my virginity at the age of 16, with my first real boyfriend. We dated for 5 months and decided to do the "horizontal mambo", though he was more excited and way more into than I was. I tried my hardest to make everything perfect that night, got myself a cute little outfit, lit up some candles in the room, and just made it a romantic scene. Well after getting into it finally, it came the big moment. Before I knew it I was on top, and he was just going at it ignoring my screams and tears of pain. And for those of you that don't know, being a girl & being on top when you go to lose your cherry, is a pretty painful experience. He kept doing all these moves that just made it 100x's time worse for me so enjoyed not one second of it. Oh and during all this the song "rape me" by Nirvana or someone was playing in the background. I should have known that relationship just wasn't meant to be with all those bad experiences or as i put "bad omens"

Katiebugg (over 2 years)
One of my most memorable firsts was my first car. My mother could not afford to buy me a car. I was pretty bummed about it but saved money the best I could. The goal amount seemed so far away. I had an opportunity to buy a car from my mother’s husbands boss. It was a deep red VW fox. I knew I had to have this car. It spoke to me. There were Social Distortion and Reverend Horton Heat stickers on it. I knew it had to be mine. I had no money and the car was a standard, which I had absolutely no idea how to drive. The seller came back from a trip to Costa Rica and discovered his daughter had used his house for an unscrupulous business. The house was a complete wreck. My mom, being as awesome as she was talked the guy into letting us clean up the disaster area that was this house, in partial trade for the car. Long story short, an entire weekend of gutting a house of trash and 300 dollars, and the car was mine. The radio had horrible reception, the air conditioning was quirky, and reverse gear was damn near impossible to do. After I taught my self to drive it, which is a whole other story, that car and I were inseperable. I drove Foxy (the name I gave her) into the ground. She got stuck in 3rd gear on a hill. My mom had to drive behind me to get it over the hill so I could try and get it home. I cried when I realized that she was not worth fixing, and I will never forget that car.

JeniDecker (over 2 years)
Giving Birth the first time: During the delivery of my firstborn son, I’d acquired a souvenir that would hang about long after Jake was weaned from the bottle. In fact, my little friends—and notice that word is plural—continue to accompany me on my travels and travails in life; a tiny bunch of deflated mini-grapes just inside my anus like a dormant volcano. Most of the time they rested and I didn’t even know they were there. Until they became angry. Jake’s birth had been a family affair. On the guest-list: My mom, my mother-in-law, my sister, and my two, teenage sisters-in-law. Oh, yeah, the husband was in and out, but between going downstairs to chain-smoke and availing himself of the cafeteria, he wasn’t much help in the actual process. He’d mostly just stare between my legs and get the same look on his face that he had the first time he saw a deer being gutted. So, that’s a grand total of six civilians staring at my who-ha during a span of eleven hours, along with the nursing staff at Arnold Palmer Hospital for Children and Women. Of course the doctor made an appearance near the end, but I don’t really count that since I saw his face for all of about five minutes. Then, presumably, he went back to his golf game. I don’t think the human body is meant to withstand a three hour pushing session. I’m not talking about three hours of labor. I’m talking about the part of labor where your knees are up by your ears and you’ve got a mother and a mother-in-law each holding back a leg, screaming, “Push! Push! You’re almost there!” Think of it like taking a three hour crap. You’re bound to come away from the bowl a bit drained and your lower crevice won’t be feeling, generally speaking, all that delighted to be there. A few hours later, I had a precious bundle of joy in my arms and hadn’t given my herniated area another thought. Until I stood up for the first time. I did not feel I was exiting the hospital in the same condition I’d entered, that’s for sure. I left carrying Jake, a few of those great baby blankets the hospitals have, a cool new formula bag and a shit-load of medicated witch hazel pads. Clearly the nursing staff knew it would be an issue, though nobody ever addressed it as they signed me out of the hospital. Not once did someone mention, Yeah, by the way. Those aren’t going anywhere. You will now and forever have a memory that’s taken up residence just inside your booty-hole, lest you forget what happened here, today. --from I Wish I Were Engulfed In Flames (a humorous Autism memoir)

vegonzalezz1 (over 2 years)
The first time I drove was something memorable. My family and I were at a birthday party for one of my uncles and, as always, I had my head in a book. All of my cousins and both of my younger sisters were riding around my uncle's ranch on go-carts. Since I was deemed a stick-in-the-mud for always reading, my uncle encouraged me to "have some fun for a change. How are you ever going to enjoy life if you are reading all day?" Tired of those kinds of comments I gave in. After I was instructed on how the gear shift and breaks worked, I got into the go-cart and began to drive. Everything was great for the first five minutes. However, as I took the final turn to park by my uncle's fence, the accelerator got stuck and the breaks wouldn't work. I crashed into his chain fence. "The best part", according to my sisters and cousins, was as I slammed into the fence (which contained six goats and a flock of geese) all of the animals ended up on the large mesquite tree in the center. Needless to say that my uncle felt I was "better off reading" than destroying his property. To this day, every time I get into my jeep to drive my family feels the need to take cover. -V.E. Gonzalez

LovelyLoya (over 2 years)
My First Varsity Cross Country Meet. A majority of my life I had played basketball, volleyball, golf, etc. But never had I ever thought I could run long distances until my high school cross country coach recruited me my senior year after I had missed volleyball tryouts. I looked at him like he was absolutely insane and he said "I've seen you play basketball, you're fast". How running across a court in 20 seconds is the perfect criteria for cross country is beyond me. Well, after a couple weeks of being "too competitive" with my teammates at practice (the idea of "racing yourself" has never caught on to me) the day came for me to be bumped up to varsity. I was so nervous, I was only filling in for a teammate that day. The meet was out in the middle of the desert, dirt and sand kicking up, and the ability to breathe was minimal. The gun was shot and we were off, I thought I was doing well until the group seemed to be getting further and further in front of me. I looked back and saw a few girls and thought "As long as I'm not last, I'm good!". Well, turns out those girls behind me gave up or twisted their ankles and I didn't know until I approached the finish line and every team was cheering for me- I was dead last. I was so frustrated because I knew there were girls behind me. Either way, I got better those following weeks and went to the state championships. I can still run 2 miles in about 16 minutes and I'll make sure I can till the day I die.

tamib (over 2 years)
My first time riding a bike without training wheels was quite the adventure. I had prayed, pleaded, and begged my parents for a hot pink, Barbie bike. I finally received that marvelous, pink bike for my 5th birthday. She was a beauty. There was only one problem--no training wheels. As soon as I saw this, I began to cry. "But Daaaaaaad, I don't know how to ride without training-wheels." He assured me everything would be alright and began to teach me how to pedal and balance without the help of those trusty little wheels. Soon, I got it down, and finally my dad let go of the seat and I pedaled down the street with a victorious smile on my face. I began to pedal faster and faster until...SPLAT. I ran over a fat toad in the middle of the street. I was so shocked and devastated that I immediately toppled over and began to sob, in the middle of the street no less. Needless to say, I will never forget my first ride without training wheels.

FannieMay (over 2 years)
The first (and last) time I rode the Superman roller-coaster at Six Flags was in high school, maybe junior year. I do like a lot of the rides there, I do—just not the ones that go upside down. For me, upside down equals instant nausea and a throbbing headache, but not wanting to wait all alone, I grudgingly went along with my friends. When the workers finally buckled us in I got confused and wound up with my arms tangled in and out of the harness, laughing hysterically as other people in line laughed at me. After they helped special ol’ me, the ride started and my friend J jokingly asked if I needed to hold his hand, and much to his surprise, I did and refused to let go. I kind of blacked out as we were moving, but afterward, J’s hand was aching from my death grip and he couldn’t breathe, he had been laughing so hard. He said all you heard was a shrill shriek, the only pause coming as I occasionally gasped for breath. Eight years, later, he remembers those two minutes perfectly and still does a spot-on impression of Fannie-on-Superman-screeching.