Constellations

mensa

Whatever happened to decent standards? You know, when romantic gestures were the norm, not something your significant other did every once in a while. When the guy was at least expected to buy you dinner a couple of times before getting to see what's underneath the clothes.

Apparently, hookup culture has polluted everything, including an average first time.

The first and last person I've had sex with was Corbin. I should've known from there that my first experiences wouldn't be all that mind blowing. It was in a random bed at a party during a round of Truth or Dare. We'd both had a little too much to drink and things just happened from there. He probably lasted about a minute and I thought Hey, maybe that is the best I can ask for. Not even five minutes later we rejoined the party and the next morning he gave me a call, asking if we could meet up again.

The relationship began on a booty call. Yeah, yeah, ridicule me all you want, but I had turned seventeen and I was under the impression that he was the best I could do. And he did a fantastic job of keeping me under that fabricated illusion because his true colors never showed themselves to me until the final months of our already-dwindling relationship. He never even officially asked me to be his girlfriend; his way of 'asking' was a couple mediocre hookups.

I guess I never really worried about how I presented myself to him. Our first time was spontaneous and I thought nothing could ever top that so I never really tried.

So imagine my surprise when I found myself stepping out of a rosewater bath to take on a ten-step skin care routine I had laid out specifically for nights that I felt like treating myself. It was nearly an hour long bath, just to put it in perspective. Only twenty minutes of it was actually spent enjoying myself. The remainder of my time was spent making sure that my skin was as smooth as a porcelain doll's.

After Dean dropped me off at Mercy's last night, my mind stumbled upon a spiral that kept me up until the wee hours of the morning. Me telling him that I loved him and how that can affect our relationship. Him suggesting we waited to have sex and I wouldn't be sure how long. Him calling me crazy in front of a waitress and I wondered if I really was. If my mind was obsessing over him this much, some part of me has got to be off my rocker.

But the whole waiting-thing taunted me more than anything else. What night would he decide to have sex with me? Was he leaving it up to me to initiate it? What if when we're really going at it I remember I'm on my period and I have to stop him? Do I really want to run that risk?

So as superficial and unreasonable this sounds, I've decided to always be ready. While I can't control my menstruation, I can regulate the other factors. What I'm wearing when he comes over. How I look. Do I look presentable enough for him to want to have sex with me? He probably could care less about those sorts of things, but I do. I want to make this the best experience possible for both of us. I want to look back years from now and reminisce on my first real time with a magical feeling.