In the fall of 2001, I entered college as an 18-year-old virgin. Instead of screwing every frat boy on campus, as I had planned, I ended up falling in love with the shy nerd down the hall. The first night I ended up in his bed he informed me that he would be more comfortable if we "kept our clothes on for now." He'd planned to become a monk until a year before we met, and he was easing himself into "sins of the flesh."
Just before Christmas break, he decided he was ready. We were going to lose our virginities to one another. I fetched the condoms. I loved him so much and I was so glad that I'd be sharing this magical moment with him. You know, candles and silk sheets and all that. But the sex was awkward and painful. Not at all the way I'd imagined.
Which brings us to the holiday memory. At Christmas, he came to visit. Something about being in my parents' home, all that pumpkin pie and wholesomeness, made us randy. When we got into bed that night sex finally felt like we had always imagined it! We stayed up all night and tried everything. He smacked me, and I bit him and pulled his hair. We screamed into pillows. That was the first time we really fucked.
Two years later, we're living together, in love and still fucking like porn stars. I even got a pumpkin-scented candle so we can recreate the atmosphere of that fateful night.
When I was 16 and a virgin, I asked a cute girl at our school dance if she would like to dance with me. Her eyes lit up. We danced for a long time, and during a slow song she wiggled up against me. I got an erection, which mortified me, but she giggled and whispered, "That feels good." A minute later she said, "I want to go somewhere private." We found a small room used for storage. She put her finger to my lips, dropped to her knees and blew me with more skill than anyone since. She finished with a swallow, tucked me back in and we went back to the party.
I realize that this is probably identical to the early sex experience of millions of American men, but that doesn't change the perfection of the memory.
I was 22, and my boyfriend was smoking so much pot he hardly ever wanted to get it on. I was getting edgy because I couldn't figure out how to get myself off, despite hours of trying.
On Christmas, tired of my family, I went to visit my best friend, a gay guy. Suddenly he announced, "I want some porn." We climbed into my car and drove to the 24 Hour Adult Bookstore. My friend, having listened to my tale of woe, said, "You really need to have a vibrator." So on Christmas night, $20 from Grandma in my pocket, I selected a little bullet-shaped vibrator. The clerk smirked. "No charge to the newbie," she said. When I dropped my gay friend off, he said, "Don't forget the clitoris. Merry Christmas you ho-ho-ho!"
At my parents' house I locked myself in the bathroom and turned on the shower to cover the noise. As the room filled with steam I began to explore. About 30 minutes later it became the merriest Christmas ever. I called my gay friend and thanked him.
After I hung up the phone, I realized I didn't need to have a boyfriend. I had plenty of people to hang out with, and now I could get myself off. It was a Sexual Revolution/Revelation for me. I went back to school and broke up with the pothead. Two months later I bought a heavy duty personal massager. We had many happy nights together until last Christmas, when my spouse bought me a Hitachi Magic Wand.
A few years back, my brother's girlfriend stopped by to give me some "Channukah Weed," saying that weed and sex go great together. Needless to say, we celebrated Channukah with eight crazy nights of extraodinary weed-fueled sex. Since then weed has been dubbed "Channukah presents" in my crowd. We spend a lot of time lighting up the mannorah.
During our campus Christmas break of 2001, we had a Christmas-themed party at our house. My girlfriend of two years had just told me she'd cheated on me, and this was my first party since our breakup. Much to my shagrin, she showed up.
For some reason, after many drinks, she motioned for me to go back to the bathroom with her. Once inside, she proceeded to blow me. When the time came, I pulled out to surprise her with a Christmas facial (which she would never let me do when we were together). My wad hit her right underneath the left nostril. When she recoiled in surprise, she took a quick sniffle through her nose, causing her to accidentally snort up my eggnog. This shock of snorting spunk caused her to vomit in the shower. I was wearing a Santa suit at the time.
I was 20 in 1989 and in Washington state courtesy of the Army. After a crappy chow hall Christmas dinner, about 10 of us gathered in one barracks room. In honor of the occasion and as a "fuck you" to the military, we all pulled out our illicit liquor.
Andy was tall, blue eyes, blond and charismatic. When the group of tipsy soldiers broke up around midnight, Andy and I went back to his room. He put on some music and sat down beside me on the bed. We talked about being alone on Christmas. We held hands. We kissed. That Christmas night Andy and I had tender sex for the first and last time. Neither of us wanted any attention paid to our "thing" because we had to work together and live together, so we let it drop.
Andy and I were deployed to Saudi Arabia in 1990, for the Gulf war. The following fall I left the Army. We lost touch until this past fall, when a friend of mine who's still in the Army ran into Andy in Iraq. Last Sunday, I received word that Andy was killed in a truck accident.
I've spent a lot of time thinking about Andy this week, about his athleticism, goofy sense of humor, about his honesty and sympathy and good heart. I wanted to share my memory of our Christmas together.
Thanks for sharing, ASLAL, WET, CTFOLINY, BASIC, SOHO, and RIPA. And happy holidays, everyone.