Who would I be today if I never had sex?
If I waited for someone I loved?
If I waited for someone I was daiting?
If I lost my virginity to another virgin?
If I waited for seventeen, or sixteen?
If I lost it to someone my own age?
If the first time I was on top?
If I’d tried it with a girl?
If I hadn’t used a condom?
(There should be an entry, forthcoming, about the use of condoms. I can count the times I didn’t use condoms. I can’t count the times I’ve had sex.)
If the first time I’d only done oral?
If the first time wasn’t good?
(He was a stranger.)
If it hurt?
(He was big. One of the biggest I’ve had. Does it ever hurt the first time? You hear talk of adrenaline rushes. I was listening to Californication on repeat those days.)
If I’d never pierced my dick?
(The timeline’s hazy here. I know I pierced my dick sometime around my sixteenth birthday, which was sometime around the time I first got fucked. I remember part of the psychological underpinning for piercing my dick was that I’d need a month to recover, that I couldn’t hook-up. Was I delaying a repeat performance or the initial repose? It was probably two months after the first, a month after the first time bareback, when I didn’t know how to say “Yes, but…” When I thought everything was either yes or no.)
If I were uncut, and he wasn’t, or if he was uncut?
(The first uncut dick I sucked. I remember that. He was small, and German born. He told me how on Sesame Street there, the opening number had a bunch of naked kids dancing around. He loved classical music, and he said, “they left you your frenum, and you put a needle through it.”
A year and a half later, he fucked me again, but it was like lifetimes in the future. The first tiime, I hadn’t thought of myself as a sex-worker. When fear, uncertainty are lost, the magic is lost, too. That last time was a transaction.)
I remember now the first man in Philly who paid me to fuck him. He was a regular. I was funny about bottoming that first year. I don’t remember why, but it probably had a lot to do with the shared bathrooms in the dorm. There was nowhere comfortable to douche. He had a parrot and collected firefighter memorablia. I could show you his building. He was a regular, but then he wanted me to bottom, and I asked for more money then and never saw him again. I remember seeing him two years later, which was like lifetimes in the future. He was sitting on the front stoop with a young guy, petting his hair. I was tripping balls; he didn’t notice me. That moment stuck. I’d never thought of myself as replacable.
Who isn’t replacable?
So what are we waiting for?
(If I’d waitied, or if I’d been born years later, I’d have been given Guardasil, I’d have one less thing to worry about. I can’t think of any other identifiable difference.)
The preemminent what-if, of course, is what if that first man, the one I haven’t yet mentioned, is What if that man hadn’t taken me to the Motel 6 and paid me to probe my ass with stiff plastic dildos—i.e., what if I hadn’t been offered money for sex? I’m not ready, right now, to think about that.)
You can’t think about sex without thinking about your first time, but the truth of the matter is I’ve had many first times:
The first time I plaid with myself,
The first time I saw another dick,
The first time I looked at my asshole in a mirror,
The first time I saw a hard dick,
The first time I measured my dick,
The first time I saw porn,
The first time I fingered myself,
The first time I stuck something other than a finger up my ass,
The first time I came,
The first time I took a picture of my dick,
The first time I made an internet hook-up,
The first time I got fucked,
The first time I had bareback sex,
The first time I topped,
The first time I could have had sex but was too afraid to ask for it,
The first time I was paid for sex,
My first toy,
The first time I shaved off all my pubic hair,
The first time I fucked a virgin,
My first boyfriend,
The first time I slept in another guy’s bed,
The first time I had sex while high,
The first time I had sex while drunk,
The first time I had sex while tripping,
The first time I had sex when I didn’t want to,
The first time I had sex without coming,
The first time I engaged in heavy fetish play,
The first time I tried to count how many people I’d had sex with,
The first time I videotaped other people having sex without participating,
The first time I told someone I was sex worker,
And there’s more, but I’m getting bored. What I’m thinking is that there’s so many firsts that a single what-if interogative is inconceivable. The only one that would fit would be, “What if I were a nonsexual being?” That’s like asking, “What if I were a panda?”
(I feel like, now, getting bored with writing, and trying to be conclusive, I’m losing the energy I built up in remembering all this. My drive is to dig out my old notebooks, the records of my behavior, but they won’t satisfy anything. So I’ll just stop Now.)