He was the boy that taught me that no matter how awesome a person is, and no matter how much you adore them, that it simply won’t work out if you’re not sexually attracted to them.

Maybe this is a lesson smarter woman than I have learned, but I was always the type to use boyfriend requirements that had “hot” right at the very bottom of the checklist.

The guy in question was a scary smart math nerd, with a mature, sophisticated view on the world that made it feel like we were the only two sane people in the world when we got together and chatted. Which we could do for hours. We were both at the same university and did that thing that you do in your early twenties: stay up late into the night discussing life, the universe and everything with the kind of excitement only two people who are cursing on each other can muster.

I was sexually inexperienced, but he was a stone-cold virgin. I was the slightly unhinged goofball and he was the very serious, very earnest young dreamer. He was very patient and non-threatening. He kind of stood on the sidelines, waiting for an invitation I suppose. We dated for a while, and he was gentlemanly and considerate. I’m sad to say, that was the first and only time I’ve attracted a guy who was that devoted to treating me well. But I guess that’s a confession for another time.

In any case, I felt the pressure to take the lead sexually, and this I did, one evening when I came over to his place and we did the whole dinner with candles thing. I had a glimpse of what angsty young men must experience all the time: the pressure to perform, to take charge of things, to make sure that everyone is having a good time. I was going to be his first, and even though he wasn’t in the least bit upset buy this, I still felt a lot of responsibility.

What if it went poorly? What if I gave him a weird complex or disappointed me or worse, what if he fell madly in love with him and then we broke up?

He made me dinner and we did our usual thing of chatting incessantly for hours. But it became clear that if something was going to happen, it would have to come down to me. So I suggested we take a bath together. In hindsight, it seems pretty weird that we didn’t kiss more, but I suppose we were both just two super cerebral people trying to navigate the crushing weirdness that first-time sex can be.

We took our drinks to the bath and ran it full of bubbles and then got naked. He was well built, and I could tell that he liked my body, too. So far so good. He was unlike the few other guys I’d dated before him. He wasn’t pushy. He seemed genuinely respectful and cautious …looking back now I don’t think I realized then what an honor it was that he was sharing that moment with me. Don’t we all characterized the sweetness of virginity as an exclusively female thing? But men have it too. And it’s touching and sweet and lovely and actually pretty hot.

We finished our bath and were both pretty tipsy. I suggested we make our way to the bedroom. He had a clean, simple house that just had that bachelor vibe written all over it. Are you imagining the kind of navy blue striped duvet cover that belongs in every single guy’s bedroom? That’s the kind he had. We kept the lights off and in the semi-darkness, we kissed a little more, me on top, still nervous as hell that he was expecting me to take the lead.

We were both sweetly naked, hot from the bath and smelling soapy. He touched me very softly and gently, like he was afraid to hurt me. There wasn’t too much fanfare. When he was hard enough I slipped him inside and we looked at one another as I settled all the way down onto him. He had a nice sized dick and to my surprise, getting into the flow of things felt easy and intuitive.

We were quiet and slow, and we both came together in just a few minutes. I lay on top of him for a while and distinctly remember looking down at him, maybe like I was trying to determine what, if anything, had changed. Had that been up to his expectations? Is that what he had wanted? I know the narrative is that young guys are just horny and happy to get it where they can, but I don’t think this is as common as we’d like think.

We did that thing where he didn’t pull out, but we just sort of held one another closely for a while, waiting for our breathing to slow. He eventually got up to get rid of the condom, and I did that thing where you artfully arrange your limbs on the bed so that you look pretty lounging on the bed when he returns. I remember he gave me a sweet little kiss, right on my left bum cheek, and then we snuggled till we slept, both a little in our own heads.

We eventually broke up. The chemistry just wasn’t there I suppose. In fact, for years afterwards he kept in touch, even after I tried to make a clean break. I felt guilty. Like I owed him more. It was a strange state of mind to be in. The other day, though, I saw his name in an article. Turns out he because a successful programmer and was now making apps and software in Berlin. And he had grown a beard.

I was his first, and he was my first – virgin, that is.

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