By:  Grace Hiatt

We fell in love when we were 16.

I don’t mean the infatuation that can so easily masquerade as love when one is 16—I’m talking about the real, earth-shattering deal. He lived in Dallas and I lived in Indianapolis and we were truly, madly, deeply in love with an intensity that rocked our young minds. Add to this the fact that we were separated by what seemed an impossibly vast distance and could only see each other every few months, and you have a recipe for the kind of bittersweet angst that writers of teen sitcoms fantasize about.

We were both almost completely inexperienced—we’d each had one previous relationship, of the standard high-school variety, that had never progressed beyond tentative kissing. During our first year together, we gradually explored one another with the kind of innocent wonder that only two inexperienced teenagers in love could have. By the end of that first year, we had discovered the exquisite joy of orally pleasuring one another.  We delighted in our discovery that we could bring the other so much pleasure and regularly used it as an expression of our love for one another.

Now, I grew up going to church, and while I never really bought into the whole “virginity as morality” idea (which I'm convinced a bunch of jealous, insecure men came up with), I did and do think there is a certain logic to the idea that the level of physical intimacy in a relationship should mirror the level of emotional intimacy. At least if you’re like me and you have real trouble separating the two. Having been brought up in the church, it made sense to me that the ultimate level of physical intimacy—sex—should be saved for the ultimate level of emotional intimacy—marriage. However, I saw no sin in the way we enjoyed one another—it seemed appropriate seeing as we were about as emotionally intimate as we could possibly be without being married. Why shouldn’t we be as physically intimate as possible without having sex?

Except this went on for four years. I went to Indiana University for college—he came a year later to Wabash—a mere two and a half hours away! We could now see each other every weekend and our relationship continued to grow. But...four years! He was a wonderful man and never pushed for more, but I knew that he wanted it and that he was ready even if I wasn’t sure that I was. Regardless, I had come to the realization that there was only one thing I would really regret if I were to die tomorrow: that I had never had sex with him. So when we were 20, I re-examined my logic. We had a long, un-sexy conversation over the phone, discussing the original purpose of sex as procreation and the idea that if two people aren’t prepared to handle that potential eventuality—however unlikely, however careful they might be—they probably shouldn’t be having sex. Fooling around, sure! But potentially creating life?

So we talked long and hard about the “what if” situation and came to the conclusion that, while having a child together at this point in our lives wouldn’t be ideal, it wouldn’t ruin either of our lives and that we could handle the responsibility together. To satisfy my ingrained church-conscience, I asked if we could have our own private handfasting ceremony—just vows between us and God—which is all I figured really mattered anyway. We decided that when I came to visit him that weekend, we would take our relationship to the next level.

I called my mom first. I know, weird. But I’ve always had a wonderfully close relationship with my mom and I felt like this was a step I couldn’t take without her blessing. She was a little weirded out, but seemed thankful that I felt comfortable enough with her to talk about something like this. She said, “it sounds like you guys have really thought this through—I wish I’d been as conscientious at your age.” I figured that was as close to a “blessing” as I was going to get from my mom, so I took it.

When the big night arrived, I was a little excited and a lot nervous. He was unable to contain his excitement and eagerness, but did a good job of trying. We went out to Applebees, the nicest restaurant in Crawfordsville, IN (really), and then went back to his place, to the bed we’d been sharing for quite some time. He’d strewn it with roses and petals, lit candles all around the room and put on Sarah McLaughlin’s “Fumbling Towards Ecstasy” album. We knelt on the bed, joined hands, and before God and each other, vowed to love one another to the best of our abilities. Handfasting isn’t a “forever and always” thing like marriage, but it’s a pretty serious commitment. It might seem ironic that it took a Pagan ceremony for me to satisfy my Christian upbringing, but it made perfect sense to me—I’d never been a fundamentalist type. I’ve always felt that religious doctrine is mostly just a bunch of rules made up by people and has very little to do with what God actually wants. And I really don’t think God had a problem with two kids who loved each other committing their hearts and bodies to each other that night.

The stage was set. He had the green light. Somehow he managed to contain himself and selflessly lavished me with attention, making sure I was ready before…

Oh God. Ouch! I’d never dreamed it would hurt so much—I thought there must be something physically wrong with me—I mean he’d done everything right! He could tell he was hurting me and wanted to stop, but I wouldn’t let him. We laughed together, joking that many, many people less intelligent than us had managed to figure this out for generations, and by God we would find a way! Rather than the transcendent experience I’d hoped for, however, it was shockingly painful and I was just glad when it was over. When we tried again thirty minutes later, though, things were already getting better. By the end of that weekend, I understood what all the hubbub was about. I was no stranger to pleasure, but this was something deeper, more meaningful and, yes--rather transcendent.

My experience was about as close to the fairytale version as it gets, and it was still scary and painful. But it was definitely worth it and I don’t regret anything—if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t change a detail.

We stayed together for several more years, continuing to explore together just how awesome sex could be. Eventually life intervened and while we honored our vows to the best of our ability, we couldn’t live in the same place and long-distance relationships have a finite shelf life. And though we may not have ended up together, my first love will always be a huge part of my life, and we’re still friends who have shared something irreplaceable with one another.