By Diane Micheil

It was the day after Christmas, 1993. In some countries I believe this is called Boxing Day. Let me add here that indeed, my box had quite a day.

Daniel and I lost our virginity to each other. Can you imagine? Finding two virgins in the same town these days is as likely as Oprah picking a worst-seller. We were the best of friends, the most curious of acquaintances, and the most uninhibited of our group as a whole.

He was 19. I was 17. We had met through mutual friends and from the day we met, Daniel and I had a special bond. However, in those days our group of friends all seemed to have special bonds with each other. Daniel and I liked to kiss and flirt - but so did the rest of this huge group of good-looking friends. There were many to choose from and we were all horny little teenagers with raging hormones and nothing better to do.

Our group's meeting spot was Old Ranch Road. This was our street. Our Peach Pit. Here, we hung out and did what typical teenagers do…we ran naked in the arboretum, nudey swam at night, made out in the bathroom when everyone else was outside - you know, the usual.

Daniel and I had been messing around with each other for close to a year. We were very experimental, very risky, very adventurous, and very secretive. We played, we tested, and we got naked every chance we had. That said, he and I were both still virgins, so it was ultimately pretty harmless. That is, until the "one-legged left-foot drive technique" was discovered and Daniel and I needed more.

We started our night at a friend’s "parents are away" soiree and at some point decided we should get away too. Daniel was car-sitting for our friend Ric, so the usual 2 seater was replaced by a 4 door blue jeep Cherokee. We decided to drive Ric's car up to Chantry Flats, a canyon in the mountains near our town. The Flats are commonly home to brush fires and late night drinking escapades, but we intended to use them for something else. We would drive to the very top and throw our virginity out the window.

Once parked and safely out of the public eye, we sat and giggled for a good twenty minutes. Should we, shouldn’t we? Was this really what we wanted? We weren’t a couple, but we were friends. We weren’t romantic, but we were incredibly attracted. We weren’t religious, but in God’s name we really wanted to do it.

We crawled into the back seat. Not beautifully or gracefully, but rather clumsily. We took off all our clothes and he sat back in the seat. I got on top of him and tried to take the initiative, but it did hurt and going at it from that angle was proving to be quite a challenge. Also, my legs are pretty long and even to this day I have to be pretty inventive in this position. It helps if the man is very well endowed. That’s not to say that Daniel wasn’t, but hey, what did I know? He could have been hung like a horse or packing a fruit roll up; at this point, it was all the same to me. So we changed positions angling for a better curve, a better fit. We found it. He was in and I was gone. We both were; and we were completely blown away at how good it felt. We kissed. We loved. And three minutes later we were laughing our asses off in the squishy backseat of an old car.

Already in rendezvous stage, we drove down the hill reminiscing about how we had lost "it," how we’d always be special to one another, and how we were happy we'd done it. Then as we rounded down the tight, dark curves of the Chantry Flats, the brakes suddenly gave out. First thought? "Yes, I can die, now that I have had sex." Second thought? "Oh shit. We are going to die now."

As we headed down the hill, the car gained speed. Daniel pumped the brakes as fast as possible and I held on to the seat for dear life. In this instant, I have to admit, I was reminded of fifteen minutes before and I was a little bit turned on. Finally some romance! OK a scary brush with death, but at least he was trying to save me. OK us. Well him really, I’m sure - but those are details. Ultimately, we ended up getting down the hill unscathed. Our sexual act had been reinforced and positively confirmed by nature and fate. We were meant to live and meant to have lost our virginity in the back seat of a borrowed car. Brilliant! Just in the nick of time.

I stayed at Daniel’s house that night, and due to first time soreness, I'm pretty sure we waited a day or so until we did it again. That morning though, we called Ric to tell him we broke his car. We did our best to avoid tricky questions, like, "what the hell were you doing in Chantry Flats last night?" The afternoon lull followed the morning jitters and we were a little calmer, but still laughing and kinda giggly. But really, everything felt the same. No new emotions, no new love. Just more of us and a bigger secret to keep in this secret love affair that I did in fact love having.

As we sat in the kitchen, trying to act normal with one another, Daniel asked if I wanted a "Cherry" Coke. "Sure," I replied as I turned away only to turn back to a can hurling, at light speed, toward my forehead. Before I could react, the edge of the can banged into my forehead, and dropped to the floor. Shocked, Daniel apologized and asked if I was OK. "Yes, of course I’m fine," I said. "No problem." In truth, I was a little embarrassed that he hucked the can at my head instead of bringing it to me, but what could I do? No longer a virgin but still a teen, I pretended all was fine even as it was written clearly on my face that I was not.

Specifically, Daniel pointed out the blood dripping down my forehead. I rushed to the bathroom mirror and there it was - a deep gash - my own scarlet letter was gushing blood relentlessly. Daniel had just given me unforgettable head and popped my cherry all in one toss. Before this moment, I was happy to have made it through my unsaintly act of the night before blood free. But sure enough, mama nature had other plans - I would not only bleed, but also carry a scar for life.

Daniel and I continued to have secret sex as friends for about a year. Then, we both discovered that there were many other people to explore. We were both practiced, well-equipped, and close to professional - and we still had to claim only one partner. We could also claim that we broke a car due to our tremendous love-making skills. Yes, we were ready to move on; but I admit, I still feel nostalgic when I see a Cherry Coke.

Daniel and I are still great friends and we still laugh a lot; and to this day, every time I look in the mirror, I see more than just that tiny scar on my forehead.