After the first time I had sex with a woman, I remember thinking, what’s the big deal?
Granted, I had had at least one thousand self-induced orgasms before this big event. My sexual fantasies progressed to the highest level of female lover, and, in my mind, I had made love to Raquel Welch, Sophia Loren and even Betty White, many times.
The first woman I was with looked like Betty, only heavier.
Don’t get me wrong. For the record, we went at it for nearly three minutes, with almost one minute of foreplay, and we laid there for ten minutes in afterglow. Then, we were back to the bar, where I held my shot of bourbon in the air and said something romantic like, “Yeah, baby, that was great.”
At the time, I weighed about 300 pounds, and she was large. We were lucky her antique bed didn’t collapse. It was also the first time I attempted to put on a condom. I never mentioned it, but it disappeared. We exchanged phone numbers and kissed. I didn’t go in that bar for another six months, and I stayed away from that part of town.