My first kiss at sleep away camp was sloppy and wet. I remember thinking during the kiss, *this is it! I’m doing it! This is french kissing!* That night as I tried to fall asleep on my top bunk i felt his juices dry on my face, and thought of them that morning as I washed my face. His saliva around my mouth was a memento, proof that I had kissed him. I thought about and relived that kiss countless times. That is, until he dumped me for a friend, the beginning of a trend that followed me for more years than I care to acknowledge.
My first sexual experience was not terribly difference. I thought *this is it! I’m doing it! This is sex!* It was equally sloppy and not as satisfying as that camp kiss. He too would go on to sleep with a friend the night of his senior graduation.
Not sure if this is a sign that I should pick better friends or boyfriends or both.
This past weekend my husband and I did it, twice. Saturday night, he acquiesced after oral persuading. Sunday I forwent my nap because we had the house to ourselves. Today, Tuesday, I am still sore and think about our activities when I go to the bathroom or change. I should be used to his size by now, but, and perhaps it’s related to the pregnancy, I have a physical souvenir.