If there’s one thing girls can always bond about, it’s an embarrassing hookup story. Trust us: we all have them. So don’t be shy! Read this OMG reader hook-up confession and then send your own to email@example.com
My first makeout session was therapy material. I was on my very first date at age sweet sixteen with a guy I worked with, and was bubbling with excitement. It had started out really cute – we walked around town together, grabbed a pizza, and headed down to the park for a picnic. There’s a really nice park by the river in my town, which seemed like a picturesque spot to spend the evening.
We settled down on a patch of grass near the water and went through the typical “first date” checklist; quizzing each other on school, life, and interests, and of course, previous relationships. I had a pretty clean record. His history was a bit more colorful… at least by his account. He claimed that he had lost his virginity at 14 and had a couple of girlfriends since. He made himself sound pretty experienced, which I was a tad skeptical about. Then he said he was ashamed of his sexual history, and that he wanted to be “pure” for me. I took that with a grain of salt – I couldn’t care less, but he was making a big deal over his apparent promiscuity.
Things got weird from there. He leaned over and kissed me while I was still clutching my pizza crust. Unable to do anything with my hands, I just focused on the kiss, which was getting kind of uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to know what he was doing at all. Every movement of his lips confirmed all of my doubts about his apparent relationships. I may have been inexperienced, but this was a virgin kiss if I’ve ever had one. As it progressed, he kept twisting his head further and further to the side, until our faces were nearly at a right angle. In retrospective, I think he was trying to coax me to the ground and pin me, using only his head. I’m sure it seemed sexy in his imagination.
Then, he started running his hand up my leg. Don’t forget, we had both been eating pizza, a notoriously messy food. He left a faint but noticeable trail of tomato sauce up my leg a he crept closer and closer towards my underwear. Being a horny teenager on her first date, I had worn my prettiest, laciest “just in case” pair, but this was not how I wanted it. When I felt his saucy fingers tugging at the white lace, I put the brakes on. Being fingered in a public park by pizza-hands was a bit too much for me. When I got home and stripped down for a shower, I noticed tomato stains on my underwear. I haven’t eaten pizza since.
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