My First Time Doing It

Thank you so much for the comments and shares on the previous post. I’m really humbled to know that I speak the mind of most of you. I just wanted to let you know that I’m resuming my weekly updates, which means you can check out the blog every Sunday for a new article. And I sincerely hope that with each article you’ll become more enlightened on the challenges we face as gay men and women.

Intimacy is more than just sex

Everyone remembers their first time. Whether it is because of how young or how old they were, or the connection they had with that other person, there is no denying that the first time having sex is arguably one of the most important and unforgettable days in any person’s life. My first time was not that different, only that I struggled for a long time to understand when exactly it happened.

Virginity, and the loss of it, is one of the most dynamic aspects of the human life. We all have our own definitions of our virginities, and based on that definition, there is no identifying a universally-agreed upon action or activity that marks the loss of virginity.

If you are a frequent visitor of my blog (a family), then you remember a while back I talked of my first relationship with a certain Jay when I was in primary school, class seven to be exact (If you haven’t read that article yet, check it out on https://cardio97.wordpress.com/?p=239 ). We did all the things that couples do, young and naïve as we might have been. We kissed, held hands, took walks together, had sex (penetrative) at some point, and all that. I still remember the first time we did it, but more importantly, I still remember the aftermath of the act.

By the way, I was in class seven when it happened, a little under two months before his mother’s death. We were hanging out this one evening in his house, and one thing led to another, and in the heat of it all, he found his way in me. For some weeks now I had dreaded the day it would finally happen, I could feel us headed there, and a part of me really wanted it to happen, while the other part simply dreaded it, leaving me all the more conflicted.

Now don’t get me wrong. I loved the guy. At this point, our relationship was pure and full of love and affection, and I definitely knew our first time would be magical. Like I had always envisioned it as a child. But still, I was scared. Scared of what it would mean letting another man drill me. As a 13-year-old, I felt young, pure, and innocent. We had made out severally before then, and we were familiar with each other’s physiques, but penetrative sex was going to be next level.

Sex is the one thing that you can’t take back. I have read quite a lot and heard about secondary virginity and what have you, but I believe there is something that goes out of you with the first time you have sex, and much as you try, you will never get it back, really.

But that’s not why I was scared. I was petrified because of what I knew or thought I knew about sodomy. It was supposed to be a brutal punishment. A defilement of one’s manhood. In the community I grew up in, not so many years earlier, some two thieves had been caught stealing, and amidst the beating and being taken to the police station, their punishment had also entailed being sodomized. I think that’s why to date, I have issues with the term “sodomy.”

In my underdeveloped mind, I believed sodomy was taking the masculine power out of one. I held the act in comparison to castration. So, here I was with Jay, about to give out that power that I’d never get back. I wasn’t just giving my ass to another man (boy, really), but I felt like I was subjecting myself to a future life of being less. Less of a man. Less worthy.

I remember lying in bed with Jay, and the more he tried to push it in, the more I felt I was letting my mother down. I know that’s the worst thing to think of when having sex, but I had always been close to my mother. She meant the world to me, and I had always wanted to grow to become the man she was trying to raise. But I felt like I was giving all that up as well. It felt as if with the dick slowly sliding into me, I was moving further away from that man. And somewhere deep within, I could hear a soft voice saying, “Sorry, mum. I’m not the man you thought I was.”

Now I know you expected some graphically explicit scenes of my first time doing it, but I prefer to talk about what and how it made me feel and why I struggled to accept the fact that I was no longer a virgin. For the scenes of my first time, just make something up. Cheza na imagination msee. Lol.

I don’t know how many of you ever felt this way, but after the sex, I ghosted the guy for like a week, never mind by the way we were next-door neighbors. I remember going into this state of confused frenzy, trying to reclaim my lost power as a man, while at the same time refusing to accept that I was no longer a virgin. Every day after that for a week, I would go into the bathroom and try to wash as much “filth” as I could out of me, cleansing myself while finding comfort in the fact that I didn’t penetrate him., or had never penetrated anyone before.

Unlike most guys I know, I wasn’t in denial of being gay. I just couldn’t wrap my head around what the sex meant, and how much it would change things. I felt like bottoming had suddenly made me less of a man, and while I could try living with that on my own, I couldn’t let my mother down this way.

At this point, I developed a second understanding of virginity. More like created a version of the truth that would make me feel good about myself. I fought to embrace the ideology that losing my virginity meant I had to fuck someone (a girl), and as long as I hadn’t done that, I was still a virgin, the boy my mother believed I was.

For a very long time, I found comfort in this distorted version of myself I called truth until I came to realize that virginity does not refer to the state, or lack of penetrative sex in a person’s life, whether receiving or giving, but rather it’s the whole concept of giving away what one considers to be their power, sacred and intimately defining. Intimacy is not just about giving the bussy or dick. It’s about giving away that thing that means so much to you. But more accurately, it is giving it away in a passionate manner. When you give yourself passionately, freely, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and free, giving that person control at that particular time, and just letting the moment be, that’s intimacy, and that’s giving away your virginity.

A while back, one of my close friends asked me if I thought he was still a virgin because he had never penetrated anyone before. I remember telling him that he could or could not be a virgin, depending on what he considers to be most sacred, that thing that he only shares with the person he feels makes him complete. If you give that away, you give away your virginity. That thing could be a kiss, a hug, making out, or penetrative sex. Its something that when you give, your power goes away with it and fuses with the other person’s energy, and at that moment, you are one, and the world stops just for the two of you.

I know the contemporary understanding of virginity revolves around the whole concept of penetrative sex, but that’s not all to it. That can only be a deflowering. I came to realize that while I had spent years struggling with the first time I had sex, I had lost my virginity to the man I loved the moment I said yes to him. The moment I allowed him into my life, the moment we held hands, took those walks and locked lips. I had given away my virginity and continued to give out more and more power with each electrifying kiss. The sex was just the icing on the cake. The seal had already been broken. And that kind of power I could never get back. When I allowed him to make me weak on my knees, when I couldn’t stop thinking of him, and when the thought of him made me smile sleepily in the middle of a math class, I was doing it, over and over again.