By Jennifer Clark

The first time I saw a boy completely naked, I told him he looked like Jesus. At 15 years old, the image of The Man pinned to a cross nearly 2,000 years earlier, was the only reference point I had for male nudity. Jesus, I'm guessing, would not have corrupted me in the way my first boyfriend did…but more on the specifics of that later. In truth, my corruption began much earlier - at the counter of the local grocery store.

At the start of high school, my friend Tina and I, and several other girls spent hours sitting at that counter where we ate lots of chow mein and drank gallons of mocha-flavored milk. More importantly, we gossiped.

Tina was the most experienced of all my friends; and she freely shared everything about herself with anyone in earshot. I might also have disclosed stories of my sexual experiences, except that I had only one - the story of my first kiss, which happened one year prior to starting high school. This near-surprise collision with another person's face felt cold and slobbery, like something I never wanted to experience again except with a new puppy. Since this was my ONLY story, Tina’s tales of her exploits with her boyfriend took center stage. When she talked about an activity called finger banging, which I had never even considered as a single girl, I learned the truth about the birds and the bees: that people fooled around with each other for fun, and not strictly to make babies.

By far, Tina’s most shocking grocery counter confession was that she had given her boyfriend a blowjob. My friends and I made this the topic of conversation for the rest of the evening and for days afterwards. We guessed a blowjob would be like sucking on someone's nose. “Why would a girl want to do that?” we wondered. Her mouth would fill up with boogers and snot. The idea of such a thing completely grossed us out; and we laughed hysterically at the thought of Tina sucking on all of her boyfriend’s various appendages. I might not have laughed so hard had I known my single days were numbered.

Disrobed

Months later, I met Will, an older guy, through a mutual friend at a swim meet. A few days after we met, Will made a point to “bump into me” in the parking lot before school. He was holding a red rose. As we walked toward our classrooms engaged in friendly conversation, I asked, “Who did you buy the flower for?” I thought surely another girl had snagged him out from under me. Imagine my surprise when he calmly mumbled, "It's for you." Then, he asked me to go out on a date. I nervously accepted, but felt thrilled to carry a flower around school all day. I did not comprehend that this gift was a way for Will to mark me as his…not unlike a male dog pissing on a fire hydrant.

We went on our first date after one of his swim meets, during which I discreetly checked out the merchandise in his Speedo. Will didn't have a driver's license yet; so, his best friend drove us back to Will’s house, where we planned to enjoy dinner and a movie.

Once in the theater, which was technically his basement, Will stretched his legs across the couch and maneuvered his head into my lap. I flashbacked to a memory of my older brother and one of his early dating experiences, with someone my mom referred to as "a floozy." This “floozy” was resting her head on a pillow in my brother's lap when I walked in and startled them. I remembered my brother looking bewildered.

Will whispered something to me about cuddling, and I snapped back to reality. Cuddling? I cuddled with my mom. I cuddled with my dog. Cuddling with a boy? I was perplexed but admittedly curious. So, I let Will pull me down into a prone position next to him.

The leather cushions screeched embarrassingly. Will pulled at my arms and tried to kiss me. When I turned my head away, he whispered, "Will you be my girlfriend?" Apparently, in my teenage mind, this question proved something because after I whispered, "Okay," I let him kiss me. Then, I had my first make out session with the boy who would remain my boyfriend until my senior year of high school.

Leafless

Two months after our first date, Will's parents, who thought Will and I were responsible, left us to babysit his three-year-old brother while they went to dinner. The occasion: Valentine's Day. If only they’d known how irresponsibly we teenagers were about to act in that otherwise empty house, they might have skipped dinner.

Five minutes after the minivan pulled away from the driveway, Will popped a movie into the DVD player to entertain the toddler and the two of us scurried away into the adjoining bedroom. On Will's brother's bunk bed, we began to make out. Soon, our clothes were scattered on the floor around us. I don’t remember who took off my red pleather pants or my festive t-shirt with the red heart, which I had purchased specifically for the holiday. I don’t remember who took off his clothes. But I do remember that moment when I compared him aloud to the Son of God. I also remember the photograph Will’s mom took of us later that evening. In the picture, Will and I sat hip to hip on the living room couch, trying to smile innocently into the camera while hoping that no one could see the gigantic secret squished between us. The mascara smudges above my cheekbones and the mischief in our eyes could have and should have given us away. On my lap sat a white teddy bear with red heart patches on its paws – patches that I actually believed Will had sewn on himself. My raging hormones made me gullible I guess.

Will eventually passed the driving test and got his license, and we spent many intimate moments celebrating in the backseat of his mom's minivan. Innocent after school activities such as “doing homework” or “studying” became nicknames for far less innocent behavior. Sometimes we referred to our play as "baby thrusting." Baby thrusting wasn’t actually having sex we thought. As Vince Vaughn’s character in Wedding Crashers put it, baby thrusting is playing with "just the tip." Since we never got past “baby thrusting,” I “technically” remained a virgin throughout our two-year relationship.

Exposed

Now, here’s the thing that Will didn’t know - the part I often "forget" to tell when I'm recounting my early sexual experiences: I had my first orgasm in a hot tub with a girl. As I recall, the actual experience was not particularly sexy. It happened one night after I confessed to a girlfriend that the vehicle of pleasure I was riding with Will had been a one-way street. As we sat in her family’s hot tub, I admitted that I wasn't even sure what an orgasm felt like and that I was partially convinced I couldn't have one.

My friend erupted with information. First and foremost, she assured me that I would know when I had one. She further informed me about the greatest gift God gave women - the clitoris, which, in my naivety, I was unfamiliar with. Lastly, she taught me how to self-pleasure and how to teach a guy what to do to bring on that ultimate pleasure.

After all this instruction, my friend ordered me to sit over the hot tub’s jets where the stream would hit my clit. She ordered me to stay put even if the sensation seemed nearly unbearable. I think I blacked out. Her parents must have wondered about the commotion on the back deck. Either way, the embarrassment was worth the ecstasy.

Later, I went home and "practiced." "Practicing" became another term Will and I used freely to discuss our love life. Occasionally, I kept track of how many times in a row I enjoyed myself. I learned that more than 30 orgasms would leave my nether region sore… a disappointing lesson in anatomy. But twenty orgasms in a row was a pretty awesome amusement.

Skinny Dipping

My relationship with Will never developed the stability or trust associated with true romance. Throughout our two year relationship, friends and friends-of-friends would casually mention that they’d spotted Will making out with another girl at a concert or feeling up a girl at a party. As a result, I consistently worried about my reputation. I always internalized and carried the blame for his “cheatin’ ways.” Some of those insecurities still dwell within me; but thankfully, I've outgrown most of them.

In spite of all the things I discussed with my girlfriends from the grocery counter during those years, I never divulged much about the inside jokes Will and I had. I also didn’t mention that I had the stamina and sex drive of a dolphin, or that my most pleasurable moments were by myself and not with Will. In the years that followed, my friends and I committed many errors-in-judgment with men. But the lessons we learned have led to better and healthier relationships with men and with ourselves. I know that I’ve learned how important it is for women to stick together. But more importantly, I’ve learned that nothing is dumber than comparing a man to the Son of God, especially as he lies naked before me.