The 26-Year-Old Virgin

While I’ve certainly never claimed to be a great ladies man (have you read my stories???), I’m ashamed to admit that, outside of priests who have taken a vow of celibacy, I’m probably in the absolute last percentile of how long it took me to lose my virginity.  And my first instinct is to spend the next 2000 words making excuses for why it took me so long to get my dick wet.  But that would just be whining like a little bitch, so instead I’ll steal a line from The 40-Year-Old Virgin as way of explanation:

“It just never happened.  When I was young, I tried, and it didn’t happen.  And then I got older and I got more and more nervous because it hadn’t happened yet.  And I got kind of weirded out about it.  Then it really didn’t happen.  And then, I don’t know, I just kind of stopped trying.”

Seems as good an explanation as any.  I’ll expound upon it only with this: I come from a family that doesn’t drink alcohol.  I’ve never seen my Dad have even a sip of alcohol in my life (his father dying in a drunk driving accident that he caused from the passenger seat might have had something to do with that).  I’ve seen my Mom have about three strawberry daiquiris in my whole life.  Drinking was never part of our family culture, and so my older brother never drank either.  Without good solid alcoholic role models it took me a long time to find the joys of the hooch.  I think it was senior year in college before I ever got drunk.  And it wasn’t until I moved to San Diego and met my boy Tripod that I finally became a full-blown alcoholic.  By that time I was about 24 and pretty much a wreck with the opposite sex, so it would still take another two years before I finally broke through to the promised land.

This is the story of that night.

I was out drinking with my buddy Sandpaper on a lazy Saturday night.  One of those nights where we just didn’t feel like getting all dressed up, driving out to the hot spots in town, droppin’ a wad of cash, so we opted for our neighborhood dive bar, a place called the Hearth House.  The place was a shit hole, but it was less than three blocks from our apartment and the drinks were so outrageously strong you could get shitfaced for pocket change.  (One night I ordered a double gin and tonic, just to see how strong they would actually make it.  The bartender gave me a tumbler full of gin with a few ice cubes, not even a splash of tonic.)

This was back in 2002.  You might recall that was the height of the Golden Tees craze.  I don’t like to brag, but I was pretty goddamn good at it too.  (I think never having played real golf before gave me an advantage; I would try shots no legitimate golfer could fathom on a real golf course.)  I also focused my complete attention of the game when playing.  While I would usually be drunkenly ogling hot ladies while hanging with my friends, when playing Golden Tees I was focused like the ninja.  Other than talking shit to my friends and dancing around celebrating Great Shots Points I was oblivious to the entire bar.

Maybe it’s the theory of girls going for jerks, or only wanting what they can’t have, or some such shit, but whenever I was in full-on Golden Tee mode girls would actually show interest in me.  A few times before I’d been hit on by total strangers while working my game.

But this night would be the stuff of legends.

I’m not gonna lie, she wasn’t cute.  Average height, average body, brown hair, decent rack, ass a little too big for my taste (just like her belly).  And it took me awhile to realize it, but she had a bit of a mustache too.  Not a terrible one, but the kind that women nowadays have the sense to wax because, let’s face it, NO guy likes that.

She came up behind me while I was lining up for a big approach shot on the back nine.  She started rubbing my bald head and I was nothing but annoyed as I short-armed my shot and missed the green.  I was already starting to turn and say something rude to her when Sandpaper, sensing opportunity, jumped in and started working her like a used car salesman.  Within moments he had ordered a fresh round of stiff drinks for us all, pulled her friends over (both of her friends were hotter than her), and soon it was a small party by the Golden Tees game.

I don’t remember when I actually stopped caring about the video game and started thinking about getting laid.  It was probably a couple holes after Sandpaper had stopped paying all attention to the game and I was beating him sufficiently that it wasn’t even fun to talk smack anymore.  So we started letting the girls take some shots for us, all the while plying them with more alcohol.

The girl (we’ll call her Suzy, because that was her name) was clearly into me, and after a sufficient number of Hearth House megadrinks I was starting to warm up to the idea of fucking her.  I swear to God, I actually remember the drunken rationalization that went through my head:

No, she’s not hot.

But you’re a 26-year-old virgin and you’re getting dangerously close to dying alone.

Did you think your first time would be with a supermodel?  Would you even want your first time to be with a girl you actually liked?

Oh look, she has a tongue stud.  That always looks fun in porn.

You just gotta get one out of the gate.  Get yourself in the game.  Once you’ve bagged this 4 there will be a world of 10’s ahead of you.

So I decided to go for it.  All in, balls to the wall.  With Sandpaper as my wingman we put on the full court press for the rest of the night.  By last call we were all a retarded drunken mess.  One of the girl’s boyfriends had appeared on the scene, and one of the bartenders also appeared interested in one of the girls.  (I can’t remember if it was Suzy; probably not.)  We were in the parking lot, all discussing what to do.  The girls lived at an apartment complex not too far away with a swimming pool.  But they had no booze at their place, and neither Sandpaper nor I had any swim trunks.  Conferring with Sandpaper and confirming that we were in it to win it, I told him to keep everyone there in the parking lot.  Meanwhile, I jumped in my car and careened drunkenly up the hill to our place to snag booze and swim trunks.

I came screeching back into the parking lot some ten minutes later, we rounded everyone up and headed in a caravan of vehicles for the girls’ apartment.  I don’t think there was a sober person in any of the four cars.

By this point I was approaching drunken blindness.  Details at the apartment complex are sketchy at best.  It was a huge place, and numbered in no discernible order.  I remember wandering around forever looking for their apartment, having no luck whatsoever, finally finding them at the pool and having Suzy walk me to their place so we could change into our trunks and make cocktails for everyone.  It had to be past 3 am by this time.

At this point I have to make a public and formal apology to my good friend Sandpaper.  In my haste back at our apartment I had only been able to find one pair of swim trunks.  I frantically searched the mess of my bedroom, looked through his bedroom, couldn’t find anything.  Somehow I found a pair of women’s soccer shorts.  Don’t ask me how they were in my room (this was long before I crashed and burned with the smokin’ hot women’s soccer All-American Coconut; I’ll tell that story some other time).  But however they found their way there, in my drunken state I remember holding them up, thinking to myself, “Sure, these will fit Sandpaper,” and running out the door with them.

Well, they didn’t fit Sandpaper.

The poor guy looked like an extra on the set of Hoosiers.  They were so short and uncomfortable he looked like a complete buffoon.  He was pissed at me too.  But, being the good friend that he is, he sucked it up, strode out to the pool with his moose knuckle on full display, and dove into the pool.

Again, details are sketchy because I was getting drunker by the minute, but I remember making out with Suzy in the pool for lengthy stretches of time.  I remember one of the girls went to bed, leaving only the girl with the boyfriend.  They had been fighting about something, and now the boyfriend was passed out on one of the deck chairs.  Sandpaper, meanwhile, was trying to keep the girl occupied so I could work on Suzy.  But as some point I remember him coming over to me in the pool and saying something along the lines of, “That chick just grabbed my junk!  I think she wants to fuck someone to piss off her boyfriend.  This is gonna be a great night!”

Finally, sometime around 4:30 (totally guessing here), Sandpaper and I decided it was time to head home.  I have no idea what happened to the other girl and her boyfriend.  I just remember being back in the apartment with Sandpaper and Suzy; he was rounding up our shit to leave and telling me it was time to shit or get off the pot.  So I asked Suzy if she wanted to come home with me.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“I know it’s not a good idea.  But do you want to come home with me?”

(I swear to God I actually said that.  Who knew I had that kind of asshole game in me???)

“Will you bring me back in the morning?”


And that was all it took.  We piled into my car, Suzy and I getting in the backseat to make out while Sandpaper chauffeured us home. Cheers again, Sandpaper, you should be in the Wingman Hall of Fame!

Now, I should explain here that I had a crappy little Pontiac Sunbird at this time in my life.  It was about a ’94 model, had over 100,000 miles on it, and was on its last legs.  It had a 4-cylinder engine that whined when you stepped on the gas.  Sandpaper thought this was immensely entertaining, so as I was making out with Suzy in the backseat he was repeatedly stomping on the gas pedal as hard as he could to hear the engine whine.  He did that the entire ride down the highway, stomp on the gas pedal, giggle as the engine made the sound of a dying animal, then take his foot completely off the gas and coast a few seconds before doing it again.  In the back of my mind I knew this wasn’t a good idea, but since I could literally see the end of my virginity in sight I just didn’t give a fuck.  I had bigger fish to fry.

Back at our place Sandpaper went straight to his room and shut the door, making himself invisible to give me my moment.  Suzy wanted to smoke so we had to make a stop at our patio before retiring to my messy bedroom and heading straight for the bed.

It wasn’t pretty.  She wasn’t pretty.  She had a pierced nipple, which I’ve always had a thing for, but that was about it.  I have no doubt that I was one of the worst lays of her life too.  It’s not that I was too quick; this wasn’t the typical teenager getting laid for the first time and blowing his wad in 30 seconds.  No, this was a 26-year-old man who had never done ANY of the shit he’d seen in porn for the past eight years and trying to check it all off the list in one night.

I went down on her for about two minutes.  Then I asked her to blow me.  But that didn’t last long either because I desperately wanted to stick my dick in her and make it official.  I wrapped my dick up with a condom for the first time.  (Side note: I can’t even guess how many condoms I bought between the ages of 18 and 26, futilely hoping that someday I would have need for one.  Dozens?  A hundred?  God only knows.  Is there anything sadder in this world than knowing you couldn’t use a condom before it hit its expiration date?)

Once inside I rolled through all the positions I could think of.  Missionary, cowgirl, reverse cowgirl (only to discover my dick didn’t bend quite that way, ouch!), doggie, some kind of half-spoon thing I had seen in a porn once.  She must have thought I was a hamster on crystal meth.  When I finally came I just collapsed on the bed beside her, thinking to myself:


By this time it was after 6 in the morning and the booze was beginning to leave my bloodstream.  I was exhausted but I figured I should try to get one more fuck in while I actually had a real live female in my bed.  She wanted to smoke first, so we went back to our patio, where she smoked while I tried to put just enough moves on her to convince her to let me bang her again.

Unfortunately, our patio faced the sunrise, and once she saw that she was enthralled.  She kept saying how beautiful it was (our patio overlooked a strip mall and a Costco, it was most definitely not the romantic sunrise you’re imagining).  Suzy made me sit and watch that fucking sunrise with her for another 20 minutes before I finally managed to coax her back into bed for round 2.

And round 2 was only mildly better than round 1.  I wasn’t quite as ADD about trying every position in the book and we actually fucked for a solid while.  But then there was a moment where it felt like the condom had come off, I freaked the fuck out, and even after pulling out and seeing I was indeed still protected the moment was lost.  It was time to take Suzy home.

Remember how Sandpaper had been fucking with my car the whole way home?  Well, as I was driving Suzy back to her apartment in the shameful light of morning, my engine started overheating.  I practically had to coast into her apartment complex.  After the obligatory kisses and promises that I would call her (I never did), that this wasn’t just a one night stand (it was), I sent her on her way and drove about half a block away from her place before I had to stop and let my engine cool down for 20 minutes before I could start making my way home again.

I had to stop three more times on the drive home.  It took over an hour to go less than five miles.  My car was fucked.

But you know what?  I didn’t care.  I had become a man!!!!!!

I got back to my place and slept until about 5pm.  Then I made Sandpaper follow me while I took my broken down car to the repair shop.  (It would end up costing me $1500 to repair.  Thanks, Sandpaper.)  While driving me home he offered me a hundred dollars to call Suzy up and have her come over that night and fuck her again.

“Nope,” I answered, “it’s time to turn the page.  That door is now closed.  I’m a new man.”

In the immortal words of Mike Gundy, "I'M A MAN!"


  1. I have 3 responses:
    1. Seriously…your car was in the parking lot? You lived like 15 feet uphill from that bar
    2. GoldenTee is still my favorate game
    3. Well done 🙂

    • 15 feet??? Drive by there sometime and take a look at how high up the side of that hill it is. At least 100 feet, with a fence at the top. Nobody ever tried it. So, although you could practically throw a rock from our balcony and hit it, it was a good 3-4 blocks uphill if you tried to walk it. We only made the walk once, one New Year’s Eve. And we almost got arrested for public intoxication…

  2. Freaking amazing man.

  3. Uh, congrats?? 😉

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