This morning after reading a young man’s sexual resume on one of my favorite websites, Nerve.com—written like an actual resume—I decided to do the same. And then I thought the better of it.   

At the age of 23, he’s had a mere handful of sexual experience, including his hands (there were some four years filled with masturbation-only experience). My sexual curriculum vitae makes me seem more like some kind of sexual researcher, than simply a sexually-experienced person. So I decided to turn my “resume” into more of a functional-styled document that highlights my special skills and experiences. And it doesn’t give away numbers. I don’t share numbers with anyone.  

I could start with my first masturbatory experiences. Honestly, I don’t know how many women started masturbating at the age of 13 and did it pretty much daily. Most of my girlfriends at the time talked more of wanting to kiss boys than figure how self-love could be just as fulfilling, if not more so at that age. While boys handled our delicate parts like they were excavating for dinosaur bones as they slobbered everywhere on our face but our lips, I figured out how to get off with a gentler touch—my own. Score one for me! My first orgasm happened at 14 with my own hands.  

The first time I got off with a boy would be four years later. Ski, the Polish guy I met through my girlfriend’s fiancé, was the lucky guy who would also take my virginity. He was stationed in Germany with Lee, Connie’s intended. They were both in the Army. Ski and I became pen pals, then lovers when he returned home. We fooled around for a couple of weeks before I succumbed to his advances and gave him my cherry. He proposed to me a month later; at 18, I was smart enough not to confuse sex with love. He married his high-school sweetheart, last I heard.  

Joe was my first older-man experience. I was 19; he was 34. He was also my first blow job recipient, somehow Ski never pushed the issue when I told him I didn’t think I’d be any good at it. Joe confirmed that I knew what I was doing, but it would be a few years before I enjoyed giving head. Like 14 years.  

My ex-husband Paul gets the distinction of the being the first man to unlock my multiple-orgasmic ways. We had been married for two years when we learned just how much fun my body could be in the right hands and mouth of someone I trusted. Too bad we divorced. Also, ladies, too bad the reason we divorced was because he was gay. Oh, cruel irony!  

Andrew is the man I often say claimed my second-virginity. He was the first man I had sex with after my marriage ended. It had been a year since I’d had sex with my husband and felt sort of pressured to do the deed again. I feared I’d actually become a virgin again or that my secret garden would turn to compost. I had to have sex. Andrew was eight years younger (so also my first younger man experience), but his sweetness was nice after the pain I’d survived. We spent one glorious weekend in a hotel room together. He was in the Air Force and on his way to Iraq. I have no idea what happened after he left.  

My dear Jerry gets the award for the first man I fell in love with, or at least tried to, after my divorce. He was younger, very tall and super romantic. But he still lived at home and refused to consider the possibility of the two of us moving in together. So, his immaturity coupled with my frustration finally killed my affections. He e-mailed me last year and we said we’d make plans to see each other (it’s been six years since our breakup), but that didn’t happen. I wish him well. And his parents, too. They still all live together.  

Bean is the first shouldn’t-have-gone-there guy I did it with. He was my employee and we had sex in my office on my desk. It started with his flirtatious text messages in the middle of a sadly empty time in my life. Loneliness coupled with the advances of a super-hot bad boy makes Dirty Girl a little crazy at times. It only went downhill from there for a time, but at least he turned out to be a much better person than I initially thought.  

I will cut myself off here. There could be awards given for the shortest sexual encounter, the weirdest one and others, but this is a blog, not a book. Also, I really don’t like to speak badly of my previous sexual partners. They’re part of the reason I am who I am today and I’m grateful for the experiences—good and bad.