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He was also shirtless, except for three pages torn from , adhered to him by his surprisingly sticky sweat.

Using my sweet-ass vintage Wonder Woman t-shirt and the kind of perky boobs only a girl of seventeen can possess, I zeroed my sights in on Dan, a bassist who spastically jumped and thrashed through his band’s set of three-chord, throat-punishing songs.

We took off our pants, and I fumbled with the condom until I was finally in.

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Female • 17 years old years old • Pennsylvania I celebrated the end of my junior year of high school with my ultra-cool, apartment-renting, punk-rock-music-educating, twenty-one-year-old boyfriend dumping me. So when I ended up at a local punk-rock show he was also attending a scant few months later, I decided jealousy was the best weapon.

Of course, his mother and still-elementary-school-aged sister could easily be heard moving through the rooms above us.

But I was a frequent masturbator, and figured I was so in touch with my own body and sexuality that as soon as I let someone else explore, all those years of pent-up sexual frustration would erupt out.

I started living for weekend trips, sneaking off to the city for heavy petting in the park and quiet time at the museum.

I finally bought some condoms and we agreed to meet in the parking lot around lunch and skip school that afternoon. We couldn’t guarantee either of our houses would be empty and my little Nissan wasn’t exactly spacious, so we found an empty cul-de-sac in an abandoned development away from everything.

I parked the car and spread out a blanket on the rough field grass.We were staying at a pay-per-week motel in East Los Angeles, and no sooner had we checked in than I had him on the floor.We made out until our clothes were scattered about the room.A year ago, we started collecting your stories about having sex for the first time. But what made him perfect, despite the fact he only topped a hundred pounds when holding his bass, was the fact that he was friends with my ex. I don’t think Dan and I ever went on any outing you could actually classify as a date, but if we had, I approximate I gave it up on date three.Some of these have been hilarious, some awkward, some sad, and some sexy. We were in the cinderblock basement of his mom’s house, in a room made tough with liberal use of duct tape, band stickers and the central placement of his bass.Under false pretenses, three-thousand miles away from New York, I roamed around a foreign city, grinning at the realization that I’d actually pulled this off.

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