The other day I heard the song Wicked Game by Chris Isaak and it made me think about the first time I ever had an orgasm.

I was about to be a senior in high school and dating this dude, let’s just call him M, who was (newly) in college. I was very sexually inexperienced. I was actually terrified of sex, not because I wasn’t interested, but because I was so worried I would end up getting pregnant and ruining the plans I had for myself. I believed that sex was better suited for college, when I could get on birth control and make sure there would be no babies. So I kept that shit on lock down, which really wasn’t that hard because until I met M nobody was even trying. (I did end up having sex in high school, with my next boyfriend actually, but that is a story for another time).

So anyway, M and I were making out in my room, as we often did, and then he went down on me, and fucking whoa. I had an orgasm after like less than a minute, and totally freaked out. I made him go home. Haha. The music video for Wicked Game was playing on VH1 while this was happening.  It’s weird how you remember stuff like that.

M didn’t give up easily. He wanted to bang and he tried and tried. He wanted me to give him a blow job. I refused. He wanted me to have sex with him. Nope. A hand job was the best he was getting. It didn’t help matters that he had a giant penis that I was legitimately terrified of having anywhere inside of me. 

You would think that my refusal to give him any significant sort of sexual satisfaction would have had him running for the hills, but nope. He became increasingly obsessed with me. After only three months, he was confessing his undying love, begging me to put off my plans to leave the area for college, and saying we were going to be together forever.  So I did what any reasonable seventeen-year-old girl would do, I fucking bailed.

Unfortunately, M didn’t take the news so well. He started stalking me. He called me constantly. He would show up at my school even though he didn’t go there anymore. I worked at the local library and he would come in when he knew I was working. He went to my friends houses and harassed them regarding my whereabouts. He would drive by my house all hours of the day and night. I caught him following me in his creepy rape van at least five times when I would walk to my grandmother’s house (she lived a couple of streets away from me). I kept this all quiet for the most part.  The deal breaker was when I saw him trying to climb our fence so he could look (or possibly break) into my bedroom window sometime late one night. 

I finally broke down and told my step-dad, which I had been avoiding because my step-dad was not exactly the most rational and/or peaceful man, but I was freaked out. I told him the same night as the bedroom window incident and my dad left the house shortly thereafter. I have no idea what the fuck happened that night, but I never saw M again.  The only reason I know he’s not dead is because he contacted me several years later on Myspace while that was still a thing. He let me know he was still down to hook up, because of course he was.

Anyway, it’s sort of funny how hearing a song triggered all these memories. I haven’t thought about this stuff in a long time.