My First Time

I was never really a sharp kid and I always had average looks. I never socialised too much with people neither did I have an attractive personality that people would come talk to me. My confidence was usually on the lower side and I never really had the motivation to take big steps in life.

I know I’m pretty old now, 27 years and 5 months or so. But it’s never too late to start over, right? I’m sure there have been people experiencing their first time who’re even older than me. I never judged them. I was actually never in a position to judge anyone since I hadn’t myself done anything worthwhile in life. I had imagined myself doing it a lot, heard from my friends’ experiences, my parents’ experience, them showing me evidence and what not. It left a deep wound and permanent scars in my mind. Those images are still etched vividly inside my head and I can’t seem to let those memories go.

I know for a fact that my parents have done it. Almost all my friends have done it. Hell, I know for a fact that even my maid has done it. Is it really that big a deal? Does age really matter? I mean, isn’t it about quality and not quantity? I have my reasons for being so late. I didn’t go to college. I started working a little early. I moved out of my home and went to a new city. You know the struggles there, right? When you’re working, that too in an alien city, things are pretty difficult. There’s a language barrier, culture change, and it takes time to adapt. By the time you do get used to it, it’s too late. And I have never had too many friends.

I often wondered, whether I will ever get to do it or not. I had even convinced myself that I won’t get the chance. I used to tell myself, make myself believe that it is not that important. That it hardly matters and there are other important, bigger things to worry about. But then you see all these people talking about it, it’s all over the Internet, and you just can’t keep yourself from being a voyeur into other people’s lives. Everyone seemed to be happy about it. They all felt proud that they’d done it multiple times. I always felt left alone. I somehow started liking that feeling. I started to love being alone.

But then, I moved back to my parents’ house a couple of years back. They saw my plight. They could feel my pain. I never really said anything to them, it would’ve been awkward. But they could see it. They were my parents after all. Without me knowing, they were working on making my life better behind my back. And then a few days back, that moment arrived. They called me into their room and told me that it was time, that I was ready for my first time. I had a slight smile on my face. I couldn’t really believe it but they held my hands and said to me “We are with you.”

Come tomorrow, I will be a changed man. I will experience something that I have been longing for all my life. Tomorrow onwards I will stand proud with my fellow men and tell the world that I have also done it. I will have another item checked off my bucket list. I will complete myself as a man just a little bit more. My confidence will rise and I will not feel ashamed in front of men/women younger than me who have already experienced it.

I thank my parents with all my heart for being there with me. And when tomorrow comes, I know, they will be there with me. Watching my every action, every step. They are also going to do it with me. It’ll be great fun, I’m sure. I might not be in great shape, but I’m still going to get up on time tomorrow and get ready to do it. I know, once I get done with it, I will come back a better man. I will finally have a peaceful sleep. Hopefully, it’ll be poetic and might just change the world.

I will be going to vote tomorrow, will you?