The Power of Sex

Finding Pandora re-opened the box to one woman’s first time. That’s where Christan Marashio learned about the power sex.

I’m a rather newish convert to Pandora. For those of you living in a cave, Pandora is an application that allows users to create various mixes of music by creating channels based on their favorite artists and songs.  One Saturday afternoon, I got the urge to hear some Sade as I searched for a dress, necklace and bra to buy for an upcoming date. With Pandora, channels that you create don’t just play songs by a particular artist, but they give you a mix of artists and songs that are all similar to the one you chose.

Recently, I selected my Sade channel again and prepared to do a tad bit more damage to my credit card by shopping online. The first song that played was “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak. I stopped what I was doing and poured myself some more wine. That song shot me back to the months before my senior year in college.

My two closest friends and I all decided to stay in Boston for the summer rather than head home for the break. I lived in my apartment that was directly across from the resident hall where my friends were housed. Residing on the same floor as my two girlfriends was a guy named Teddy (not his real name.) Teddy was a year younger and in the professional fraternity at our school. They wore blazers and carnations and were all very stuffy and elitist. During the beginning of my junior year, Teddy and I had a minor fling. That was back in the day where touching some breasts and making out constituted hooking up. Teddy was lanky, with a smile that hinted at things to come. He had a preppy hair cut and Harry Potter glasses. And braces. Braces. I know.

Somewhere between those evenings of awkward fumbling in my creaky bed and the hot summer nights of June and July of 1990, Teddy changed.

One night, I decided to have everybody over my apartment for dinner. That way we could all drink without getting into trouble. Teddy tagged along. A game of Trivial Pursuit became a drunken game of I Never. Teddy would tease me and say suggestive things, and I would shoot something back. This Teddy was different. He was no longer nerdy or awkward. His braces were gone, his hair was a bit more shaggy.  And then there were the rumors. The stories from some of the women he had slept with. Each one of them went on about the size of his penis and the rather masterful way he used it. For 21-year olds, this was scandalous news. Imagine us all hiding behind our fans, our breasts heaving in our corsets,  as we giggled over tea.

After a bit, people decided to leave. Teddy pretended to take off, but then sneaked back out — telling his floor-mates that he was meeting some of his fraternity brothers. He was extremely private. He had just been elected President of the Student Government Association and would take the role once school began in the fall. It was all very “Gossip Girl” meets “House of Cards.” It was my first taste of intrigue.

I don’t know why or how, but Teddy and I ended up in my bathroom. That’s where we started to kiss. Other than my sophomore year boyfriend, I had never had a man undress me. Teddy slowly unbuttoned every button on my top and pulled off my skirt with the finesse of, well, a 25-year-old. What I remember most in that moment was how my hands began to shake. I was so inexperienced. I was unsure of my own prowess and genuinely had no idea what I was supposed to be doing.I remember the beginning chords of “Wicked Game” playing on the radio that I had left on in my living room.

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.

There I stood in front of him in, just in my panties and bra. The more he looked my body over, the more pronounced the flutter in my stomach became. I wasn’t smitten. I was aroused. Ridiculously and intensely aroused. I had never felt that before — not in any of the various trysts and dates and hook-ups I’d had up to that point. I felt dizzy. He towered over me by several inches, so I had to stand on my tippy toes to kiss him. He would stop every few seconds to look at me, a smile on his face. He knew he had me. He knew how turned on I was. He had all the power.

It was his turn to get undressed. He took off his t-shirt and unbuckled his belt. This was it. This was the moment. I was finally going to see it. When he was down to his boxers, he suggested we head to my bedroom. The song played:

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do.

My room was dark, except for the street light coming through the huge round window over my bed. He reached behind me to unclasp my bra with one hand while removing my panties with another. I sat down on the bed, naked, not quite sure what was coming next.

That’s when he took off his boxers.  My eyes immediately darted to his groin. There it was. There IT was. Everything the girls had said over way too strong margaritas at our sorority socials was true. It was as long as my outstretched palm to well past my wrist. That’s when the panic began to set in.

What was he thinking he was going to do with that? What was I supposed to do with that?

He could sense my trepidation and sat down on the bed to kiss me. From there, I followed his lead. Every time he touched me it sent a jolt down my body. By the time his head was between my legs I had lost all inhibition. This was what the fuss was about. Now was my time. 

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.

By the time it came to penetration, my head was buzzing. As he hovered over me, slowly trying to slide inside me, the light from the window was cast on his face. He had this look. It was a mixture of desire and fear. It was a look I grew to recognize well into my adulthood. One that I anticipated. That look signified the moment he realized he was no longer calling all the shots.

It took a few minutes and several inquiries in the vein of, “Are you okay?” and “Does that hurt?” before we established a rhythm.

Yes. It did hurt. But I liked it.

Our first time didn’t last very long. We lay there talking for a bit before doing it again. We continued to meet secretly here and there that summer. We’d pass each other in the hall or he’d pop into my friend’s rooms when I’d visit and we’d pretend as though nothing had happened. I think that made it even hotter. During one of our clandestine sessions in his room he gave me a step-by-step instructional on the art of fellatio. He wasn’t being conversational. He was tutoring me.

So, after a night of bourbon and an Eric Clapton concert, I decided to show him just what excellent notes I took.

One by one, I completed the steps he had shared with me. Keep the shaft wet. Check. Use your hands and mouth. Check. Tease the tip. Checkity check check check. But most importantly… bring him to the edge and stop. Which I did a few times before finally allowing him to finish in my mouth. And then I completed my test by swallowing. In the seconds before his climax, he grabbed a pillow to cover his mouth to muffle the groans he emitted as he came.

I can clearly remember kneeling at the foot of the bed and watching his chest heave up and down. Her lay there, eyes open wide, mouth slightly open, breathing heavy. That smug smile that Teddy used to wear was now on my face. That was the moment that went on to define me sexually. It was when I learned that there was so much more to sex than just orgasms. There’s a power dynamic to sex. And in that moment, witnessing Teddy stumble to try and speak…

I had the power.

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For more Chris Marie check out her website, And That’s Why You’re Single.