There is so much to say on this topic. This topic, of course, being why I waited to have sex until I was married to my husband, Joel Sexy-Pants Land.
I’ve decided to write it in parts so that for any of you who are dating and want some inspiration, you can get the full story, but not be so overwhelmed with ALL the juicy details (wink.) Or for those of you who are older and simply nosy and/or curious. You can read about my dating and sex life for MULTIPLE blog entries. You’re welcome, ma’am or sir.
I take life seriously. I always have. Once I understood that I only have one life, I was irrevocably freaked out. I have a moral compass that points very very north-forcing me as a teenager to tell my parents about even the tiniest of skeletons in my closet. I liked (and still do) obeying authority. I came home when I was supposed to as a teenager. I didn’t cuss. And I knew all the respectful ways to speak to my elders. Doesn’t teenage me sound like a good time? (I did cry when I was told I had to wear a one piece bathing suit to a birthday party and I didn’t love my curfew, ok?)
So I doubt it is a surprise to anyone who knows me that I waited until my wedding night to have sex.
BUT, it wasn’t a decision I made one day with one man. It was a series of decisions I made over the course of several relationships. Let us start at the very beginning, shall we?
6th grade Alyssa has her first “boyfriend.” (Whatever that means.) We went to school dances together and wrote each other notes in class. That was about the extent of our relationship…until his 12th birthday. During a game of spin the bottle, we kissed in a dark closet. Because no one questions the weirdos who make up these games. It was short, it was wet and it was weird.
I laid in bed that night thinking about my no longer virgin lips and decided that kissing was silly. I had no idea what I was doing and didn’t enjoy it at all. (I’m sure he wasn’t thrilled about it either.)
Fast forward to 8th grade year. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve bought my first pair of jeans from American Eagle. I now own a straightener and I’ve bought my first tube of bright blue eyeliner. I’m crushing it, essentially. And I’m dating a different boy. (Again, can we even call it dating in 8th grade?) We kiss. And still- more awkward do-si-do’ing. What is the right angle to lean in at? I don’t know whether to part my lips or keep them closed. And I don’t know where to put my hands. On his face? His chest? I’M 14–WHAT AM I EVEN DOING?
Maybe other middle schoolers are out there smooching away and loving it, but I’ll never believe them.
Why do we let middle schoolers act like they have a CLUE about how to be a lover and companion to the opposite sex? This is ridiculous. Unless you’re my best friends Megan and Jared who have loved each other since 7th grade, but they are anomalies. Unicorns, if you will.
I went on to date a couple more boys later in high school. The physical part got a little better, but still I always felt like I was forcing myself to enjoy something simply because I didn’t want to miss out on an “experience.” God forbid I be 21 and have never kissed someone. Cause wouldn’t that be the worst?
Oh wait, I married someone like that. I married a guy who waited in every way for me. He went to dances with girls and maybe had some crushes. But he never took a girl on date or shared any physical intimacy (not even a smooch, ya’ll) with one until me. He, unlike me, was smart enough to know that dating is rather silly. And it might not be the most productive way to spend the most formative years of one’s life.
He’ll tell you it wasn’t even intentional. He didn’t sign a commitment card or refuse to talk to girls as an adolescent. He didn’t stay at home locked in his room reading scriptures when all of his other guy friends were out at the movies. I asked Joel why he never pursued dating before me. His answer, “It wasn’t that big of a deal to me. It never seemed like it was worth it.” He also would admit that he was a little shy, probably somewhat nervous to ask out a girl. BUT STILL.
By now you must feel sorry for me and my first kiss with my now husband. Poor Alyssa. He didn’t know what he was doing did he? Surely he was a terrible kisser. There was no chemistry and he was uncoordinated and awful. OR he just attacked me, right? I’ve seen those videos where couples have their first kiss on their wedding day. It’s like two dogs fighting over a steak.
Okay, just, no.
Our first kiss was not special to me because of the “heat” of the moment. It didn’t shake me to my core because it looked like something you’d read in a Nicholas Sparks book. What was so earth-quaking moving about the first time our lips touched, was that I knew we would get married. I knew that his love for me was not the kind that would change based on circumstance, emotion or hormones. I knew he was, with each brush of his lips, confessing that I was more to him than a girlfriend. More than a pair of eyes, long legs and curly hair.
Although there was so much we didn’t know, we knew what was important. He knew he wanted me to be his wife. And I knew I cared for him so much that it frightened me.
To be continued…
And just for kicks and giggles, here are some of the first pictures we took together: