‘I lay like a sack of spuds beneath him… I thought sex was going to be thrilling – it wasn’t’
AWKWARD, uncomfortable, painful, but maybe a bit romantic.
Here three women reveal what losing their virginity was really like.
‘It was a massive let-down’
Lynn Anderton, 61, is a life coach and lives on the Wirral.
“With my boyfriend thrusting away as I lay like a sack of spuds beneath him, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. I’d thought sex was going to be exciting or thrilling – it wasn’t.
I met John* in 1983 through work, and after a few months of dating, we booked a night away at a B&B in North Wales. Though I was 22, we hadn’t had sex yet and I was still a virgin, which wasn’t unusual in those days.
Even though we were going to be sharing a room, I wasn’t sure we would have sex because we hadn’t discussed taking that step yet.
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It’s a tough topic to talk about when you’re that age, especially back then when sex – especially outside of marriage – was much more taboo. I didn’t discuss it with my friends either, so I had no idea if any of them were ‘doing it’.
Whenever I’d wondered what having sex would be like, I’d imagined it as really romantic – a special experience that would feel amazing. Looking back now, that was maybe a bit naive.
After a day of sightseeing, that night we climbed into bed, started kissing… and it happened. It didn’t live up to my expectations at all. I had no idea what to do, there was no foreplay and he seemed to be in a massive race to the finish line. It was over in minutes, and I was left feeling totally deflated.
It was nothing like I had dreamed of, but we went on to get married in 1984, and had our son five years later. We had sex regularly, but it never really improved.
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I just had too little experience – both of what to do myself and what I wanted from a sexual partner. We didn’t talk about it, so I had no idea whether he was satisfied or not.
It was only when I was in my 30s and reading more women’s magazines, I began to educate myself about sex and realise there was far more to it than what I was experiencing.
By then, I was confident enough to start speaking to my husband about how I wanted it to change and what I wanted to try.
So we started investing more time in foreplay and I learned to know what felt good – for me and for him. It was a revelation. Not only did it improve things massively for us between the sheets, but it also brought us closer together as a couple.
Sadly, our relationship ended in 2007, after we grew apart. It was intimidating finding myself single and starting to date again, aged 46, but sex wasn’t one of my worries.
I knew my body and could communicate that to my partner. I had more sex in my 50s than I did in my 20s – and better sex, too!
There’s so much evidence showing how good sex is for your wellbeing. As long as it’s consensual and happens in a positive relationship, it can also provide an excellent connection between two people.
My first time may not have lived up to expectations, but I’m proof that if you put the time and effort into your sex life, it can get better.”
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‘He was the perfect summer holiday romance’
Michaela Lambert, 49, is an intuitive love and dating coach, and lives in Wiltshire with her husband Steve, 58, a golf consultant.
“Lying in bed in the arms of a handsome man, he gently whispered to me: ‘How is it for you? Are you enjoying it?’
Absolutely besotted with Claudio, my holiday romance, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that losing my virginity to him hadn’t been as pleasurable as I thought it was going to be, so I just smiled back and nodded reassuringly.
In 1992, I went travelling around Europe with a friend, before starting university. Faye was the one men always checked out, with her blonde hair and statuesque figure, while I, short and curvy, barely got a glance.
That was until I met Claudio in Marbella, Spain. Sunbathing on a rock at the beach alone, I had noticed a guy windsurfing nearby. Every time he circled near to me, he got a little bit closer. He was gorgeous – a true Adonis.
Eventually, he swam over and we started chatting. Claudio was, at 23, five years older than me. Half-Italian and half-German, he spoke perfect English with a sexy accent and he was on holiday with his cousins, staying at a penthouse his parents owned.
When he asked if I would like to have dinner with him that evening, I couldn’t believe he was interested in me, but I said yes without hesitation.
We had a romantic meal and a kiss that night, then spent the next few days together going for long walks on the beach and dancing in local clubs at night. I introduced him to Faye and I met his Italian cousins.
Faye decided she wanted to move on to our next travelling destination, and Claudio’s cousins were returning home, but we didn’t want to be separated yet and agreed I would stay with him at his parents’ apartment for a few extra days. Faye decided to travel on to Madrid, where I’d catch her up.
I knew by then that I wanted Claudio to be the man I lost my virginity to – he was the first guy I’d ever felt this strongly about, though I knew that it was going to break my heart when we inevitably would have to say goodbye.
Although we didn’t talk about it, I assumed that because he was older he would have had sex before. When we slept together for the first time, it may not have been the most physically comfortable experience, as I was nervous, but Claudio was so gentle and so loving that it didn’t matter if it hadn’t been mind-blowing. It had made me fall even more in love with him.
A few days later, we both had to leave Marbella, but I had no regrets about losing my virginity to a holiday fling. It gave me a sense of confidence that I hadn’t had before and I felt more grown-up. We stayed in touch by writing to each other for a few months, but then his letters fizzled out. I was devastated – I’d fallen so hard for him.
Of course, you get over your first love, and in 1997 I met George on a trip to Mauritius, and we went on to have two children, Marcus, now 21, and Mikhael, 13.
Devastatingly for us all, George died in 2010 from lung cancer. I was lucky to find love again five years later with Steve, who I met online and went on to marry in 2019.
That year, I set up my relationship coaching business to show women who find themselves single in their 40s and 50s that you can move on and meet someone else.
I’ve never forgotten Claudio. My love life began, but certainly didn’t end, with him.”
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‘I was slut-shamed
Polly Arrowsmith, 55, is a marketing director and lives in north London.
“‘Do you think we should have sex?’ my boyfriend suddenly blurted out. I blushed furiously – it was the last thing I expected him to say.
It was January 1984 and we’d only been together for six weeks, after I’d invited him to come with me to a Meat Loaf concert. I had a spare ticket and, as we’d known each other from school, I knew he was a huge fan.
He was funny and kind – and I was smitten. Seeing how infatuated their 17- year-old daughter was, my pragmatic parents made an appointment with our GP for me to go on the Pill.
But even then, I didn’t think we’d have sex any time soon. We were both virgins and neither of us were in a hurry to take our relationship to the next level.
But that night, he’d come back to my family home after we’d been hanging out with his friends, and up in my bedroom he was suddenly keen to do it.
I didn’t feel ready – but when would I, I wondered? Plus, was it that big a deal? It seemed like everyone in sixth-form was doing it. So we did.
It was awkward, uncomfortable, even painful. Needless to say, I didn’t enjoy it. It was only slightly better when we tried it again an hour later.
The next day, when I went to my Saturday job at a cafe, I felt like something momentous had happened. I couldn’t wait to talk to someone about it, so I cornered one of my friends the following week and told her what had happened.
She’d had a boyfriend for a year, so I thought she’d be the perfect person to speak to.
After a month all my friends dropped me.
But as her eyes widened, I suddenly realised I’d made a big mistake. ‘You did what?’ she spluttered. That was when I learned not everyone was having sex.
I’d assumed this conversation would remain private, but apparently the gossip was too good not to pass on. So, over the next few weeks, people would laugh and joke whenever they saw me, nicknaming my boyfriend ‘Pollyfiller’.
Back then, I was shy and hated being the centre of attention, so when everyone burst out laughing when I entered a room, it was my worst nightmare. ‘She’s such a slut,’ I’d hear people whisper as I walked down the corridor. I felt sick. I hadn’t done anything to deserve such treatment.
But the worst was still to come. After a month, all of my friends dropped me. They moved desks in class, and on a school trip to Scarborough I spent the whole three days on my own. I started to volunteer at the school tuck shop, just so I didn’t have to spend break times alone.
My boyfriend seemed to think I was exaggerating how bad things were and I didn’t feel comfortable talking to my parents. Struggling to cope, I dropped a grade in physics and lost my place at dental school. I felt less worthy and likeable and I became introverted.
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After 18 months, my boyfriend and I broke up, though we still had sex for months afterwards. It was a relief to move to Liverpool in 1986 to study marine zoology at university.
My first time was definitely my worst time, but it didn’t have a negative impact on my later sex life. Though if I could go back in time, I’d put off having sex until I was more mature.”