Dress 2: The boy next door

The thing about the boy next door is, well, I was still with dress number 1 when dress number 2 (just my casual jeans and a tee ensemble) was so carelessly slung across my conservatory floor. Yes my morals leave a lot to be desired, but at least it makes all you other anonymous sluts out there feel better; I aim to please. So anyway, he lived across the street from my house, and I thought he was gods gift to me. Problem was, we seemed to have established a very good 'friendship', because we both had sweethearts we were with. Even though I fancied the pants off him, things stayed that way for at least 6 months.

It came to the end of my time in high school and I always had friends over at the weekend celebrating our new found freedom from exams and teachers and school, and there was usually copious amounts of alcohol involved. On one occasion my best friend went missing, and was found curled up in my dogs kennel. Another saw the same friend parading in front of my parents in my step dads tight whiteys, but that's another story all together! Anyway, I fuss what I'm trying to say is things usually got out of hand, and my child hood sweet heart never could handle his Lambrini, so it was often the neighbour left at the end of the night helping me clean up and extract WKD bottles from the conservatory roof.

There was one night when we ourselves got too drunk to tidy. In all fairness we gave it our best shot... we usually set up camp in the conservatory so we could all listen to some 'tune-age' as we would call it, whilst we drank our under-developed brain cells away, so that's where our clean up began. And ended. To this day I don't know how I went from nudging bottles into a corner to bouncing semi-naked on top of him in a room made entirely of glass, but it definitely happened. Then there was a little bending over and lying spread eagle of the coldest of tiled floors, before it was all over as fast as it had begun.

I did feel a little bit guilty for cheating, but mostly I felt robbed that I couldn't tell the whole world of this amazing notch my bed post had achieved! I mean, now he's a serious munter who I wouldn't touch with a barge pole (not even for giggles) but back then, when I had only slept with one magnetic young boy, he was a god amongst humans. And I was the human he had so carelessly chosen to fool around with when drunk. Yes, to say I was proud would be an understatement. The love story ended there though; he started dating another of my friends and I decided that sticking with what you know is always a safe option and stood by my sweetheart.

However, my boy next door had done filthy things to me I never knew possible, so knew my fairy tale wasn't going to jump to the happily ever after chapter just yet; there was way more drunk sex to come. And I was ready for it.

Dress 1: Childhood sweetheart

So the first dress to hit the bedroom floor was probably my school uniform (cringe). It was my with my childhood sweetheart; I used to think he was the best thing since sliced bread! We had done the awkward try a few times, but to no avail; he was either trying to stick it in my belly button, or I was crossing my legs, or something along those ridiculous lines that meant we had never actually sealed the deal.

It was at his house, on the bottom bunk of his (at the time) incredibly cool bunk beds, where the magic happened. I say magic, because there was clearly another force at work that day. Never, in the history of losing the big V, has it happened quite like this. I'm going to tell you exactly what went down (literally) that fateful night, and I swear on my shoe collection it is the gods honest truth. Please don't judge my magnetic vagina.

So there we both are, lay on his bed watching Pirates of the Caribbean, me staring longingly into Johnny Depps eyes as he talks about rum and the lack of it. He (my guy, not Johnny Depp, although I freaking wish!) got a little bored, so we retreated under the covers and started to fondle. I was still staring longingly into Johnny Depps eyes, I mean, have you seen him?! Things were getting steamier in the bunk bed though; we were now both naked from the hips down (except socks, of course) and he was about to go down. However, might I remind you I was young and in love, and still a hopeless romantic, so just as he was sliding down I pulled him back up from between my legs for one last smooch. Afterwards he would taste like vagina, and I wasn't down with that shit. Much to my shock, believe me, I felt something slip between my legs, where his tongue would have been hadn't I stopped him, and into me. Oh dear. I actually remember my exact words, "Please tell me that's your fingers in there?". It definitely wasn't his fingers. I had lost my virginity, by mistake, while gazing at Jack Sparrow dancing around a bonfire. What the actual fuck?

Of course I didn't make him remove it, although I was absolutely petrified, and his inbetweeners-esque thrusting still haunts me to this day. Now when I look back at the day I lost my virginity I feel a little bit robbed; I like to think that Johnny had got me so riled up and horny that I was just wide open, ready for anything to slip in. Truth is, my fella probably just had an extremely small dick. My friends believe me as little now as they did when I rang them, 5 minutes after the magic happened.

Dress number 1, my childhood sweetheart; magic, magnet or meant to be?