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I thought only about two things on the way up: make-out sessions with college sophomores, and how delicious all of the vodka concoctions would taste on the way down. At a college rager, amongst waves of red cups and cigarette butts, I met someone who would become the first love of my teenage life. I didn’t have to think twice about ditching my friends, and spent the rest of the weekend trying to impress and out-cool my new beau.

He was from Los Angeles, black-haired, clad in vintage specs and a white t-shirt. Before him, I’d never wanted to give anyone an inch, let alone a mile.

We took off our pants, and I fumbled with the condom until I was finally in.

While he fumbled around looking for a condom, I pulled my jeans and panties down, but left on my tank top, half because I was still so shy about my body and half because the chilly basement temperature. Still above me, Dan leaned back and whispered, "It gets better than this." I stumbled to the bathroom to clean myself.

A year ago, we started collecting your stories about having sex for the first time. But what made him perfect, despite the fact he only topped a hundred pounds when holding his bass, was the fact that he was friends with my ex. I don’t think Dan and I ever went on any outing you could actually classify as a date, but if we had, I approximate I gave it up on date three.

Some of these have been hilarious, some awkward, some sad, and some sexy. We were in the cinderblock basement of his mom’s house, in a room made tough with liberal use of duct tape, band stickers and the central placement of his bass.

I came back to find Dan lounging in the recliner, staring blankly at the TV.

We spent the rest of the night watching a marathon of the dating show .

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