The First Time I Ever Googled Porn Was For My Boyfriend

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Warning: I talk about my experience with penis and the like, so Grandma, Step-Dad, other people who see me as a pure, chaste lil’ thing. Feel free to not mass-mail this one to distant relatives. Yay, internet!

Growing up, I was a bit of a late bloomer amongst my group of friends. I was the last one to be kissed. I was the last one to have a boyfriend. I constantly felt like I was last something. And let me tell you, this can really fuck with a young woman’s mind.

In retrospect, it seemed like kids in my area just moved at warp speed compared to others I’ve met (maybe something in that bored, suburban water), but I digress. My gorgeous waif-like friend would be hardcore making out with her boyfriend on the bleachers at the school dance, while I awkwardly bopped around, trying my best to avoid getting too physically close to any dudes. I had strict rules that my friends understood: if a guy started grinding on me, they had to almost immediately pull me away to “go to the bathroom.” To be honest, I still hate grinding as a form of dance (that is not like, in the actual bedroom). But back then, I was Fort Knox. Repressed while simultaneously frustrated as shit. Everything I knew about sex came from clinical conversations with my parents, and secondhand stories from friends. I didn’t know anything when it came to practical knowledge.

So when I finally entered into my first relationship, he became my first everything. Kiss, touch, “I love you.” The whole nine yards. And having had zero experience, while he’d just gotten out of a long relationship in which he’d had sex, I was kind of freaking the fuck out. I was incredibly into him, and so caught up in that fluttery young love feeling that I just wanted to make sure everything would be perfect. I was obsessed with the idea of being “the best he’d ever had.” But uh, I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. The kissing thing came naturally, but the first time I attempted a blow job…I mean. Honestly, I think I blocked it out of my memory because I was so fucking nervous. I think I kind of just looked at it, touched it a lot, put my mouth on it. My mind went blank and just thought. Penis. Oh my god. Penis. That’s a penis. I remember thinking, “Why blow job though…? I mean….I’m definitely not supposed to blow. Right? AM I SUPPOSED TO BLOW ON IT? WHAT THE FUCKKKK!!!!!” And so went my thinking the entire time. I can’t even remember if he finished himself off, or if we just went back to watching The Ellen Degeneres Show.

But I was determined, the second time I would be ready. I was going to give him the blow job to end ALL other blow jobs. I was going to blow him away, awe yeah. This shit was about to be historical. I was a good student, determined and dedicated. And I’d been told I had excellent study habits, so I kicked those up a notch.

First, I dove into Cosmo. I got a few helpful tips here and there. Something about a popsicle, or lollipop. The different techniques of hand placement and tongue movement. I was fascinated, making mental notes. I was such an awkward nerd about it that I actually would copy and paste the information I found most relevant/doable and put it together in a word document titled “DICK TRICKS.” I wonder if it still exists, wherever word documents go to die eventually. Some ethereal web heaven (or…hell?) along with shitty poems and letters to people I never intended to send.

After I had dipped my toes into some risqué waters, I was ready to try more. I literally Googled the word “porn” and immediately felt so freaked out, I closed out of the internet explorer before anything loaded. I was never a religious individual, but I felt for the first time like God had to be watching me and judging this behavior. I also had a very bizarre idea that God looked like a floating George Washington head in the sky, so thinking that was peering over my shoulder was really messing with me. I tried again, and found my way through a few sites. I didn’t even know what I was looking for. I was blinded by all the parts. Vaginas. Penis. Hands touching things. Sounds. It was sensory overload. And to be honest, none of it turned me on. I just felt even more freaked out.

I compiled my list and would secretly read it over at night. I would close my eyes and silently recite it back in my head. I pantomimed movements. This was like the Olympics and I was going to win that gold medal.

And then, it was time. It’s still fuzzy for me, because I was so obsessively focused on remembering what I read, that I forgot to be in the moment. He seemed super into it, and we awkwardly, yet very genuinely, high-fived at the grand finale. It was one of the first times I remember realizing just how terrifying and magnificent these first moments with another person can be.

These firsts, the moments when you feel out of your mind and foolish and like you have absolutely no idea what you’re supposed to do, those are the ones that stay with us. The fear and love, and heaviness of wanting to make sure it’s perfect. But also, knowing it’s imperfection is somehow so much better. I wonder if we can ever recapture those first, even after having so many since. Maybe that rush still exists. Maybe googling porn for the first time because you just want to please your partner is a moment you can have again, and again. We just have to be open to the anxiety and thrill of trying what we don’t yet know. TC mark

Ari Eastman

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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