During our make-out sessions, I always felt like I was directing a blind actor on a cluttered stage. "Go to the right, no a little more, no back to the left, wait, too fast." It was always stressful, and over time, it became tedious. Mike had no creative ideas of his own. I'd never been with anyone so asexual. It seemed like if I hadn't climbed on top of him on our third date, nothing would have ever happened. But I kept thinking that he was the best person I'd ever known, and maybe things would get better after we got married. And I just kept thinking, what was a great sexual relationship in comparison to all this? It seemed so shallow of me to dump someone who had become my best friend just because he couldn't get me off without a world atlas.
Finally, after two years of dating, our wedding night came. Of course by now, I'd sort of lost the anticipation. So that night, we tried and failed. While he was getting ready for bed, I put on a transparent white nightgown my mother bought me for my big night. As I waited on the bed, with a fireplace roaring in front of it, I felt like I was in a clichéd play, only all my stage directions were missing. What was I supposed to do? Lie down and wait for him to take me, missionary style? The entire time we'd been dating, I had felt in charge of our sexual relationship, but I did not know how to get sex to happen. Apparently neither did he, because he simply started kissing me awkwardly as he positioned himself on top of me. It was not erotic, it was forced. He had not done anything seductive in the hours, let alone minutes, leading up to our big scene. I stopped him and told him I just couldn't do it. Michael didn't seem upset, only slightly disappointed that things didn't turn out differently.
We kept right on trying for weeks, for months, for years, and kept right on failing. He could never stay hard long enough to get inside of me. And I could never get excited enough to let him in. I began thinking, in my obsessive way, maybe I was just too small. Maybe I had some impenetrable vagina that only the strongest, hardest penis could penetrate. Maybe my hymen was like a personal Great Wall of China. But really, between his giant penis, his premature ejaculation problem and my tight-as-a-virgin-because-I-was-a-virgin problem, well, the whole thing was pretty much doomed.