It’s official. B. and I made love last night. I am no longer a virgin. Despite the pain, it was a sacred moment that I’ll never forget. Both of us laughed, both of us cried, and all at different times.

The odd thing is that I actually feel different today. It seems like a huge weight has been lifted from me. I feel NORMAL. I can’t tell you how great that feels. I’m blabbering.

Here’s the story. I had a bunch of nervous energy, so I left work early and went over to Walmart to buy some flowers and a copy of Atonement. Since there was no way I was going to risk a repeat of last week, I paid with cash. And since I was going to be standing in line with my purchases in full display, I also picked up an inflatable camping mattress and some Durex XXL condoms.

Back at the condo, I broke my old habit of never locking up when I’m home. I dead-bolted the door so that B. had to ring the bell. When the doorbell finally rang at 7:59, I froze on the couch. Part of me wanted to hunker down and not answer. When the bell rang a third time, a different part of me seemed to carry my body to the front door. For the rest of the night — or at least for most of it — I felt split like that, as if the sheltered part of me just decided to sit in the back seat and watch the other part of me go.

B. was wearing the same dress she wore when she ate the bad eel rolls.

She and I hugged and patted each other. I handed her the flowers and DVD. It looked like she wanted to say something, thought better of it, and said, “Thanks. Let’s go.” Then she turned around and started walking in that weird way of hers, as if she’s stumbling under the weight of a backpack filled with bricks. I followed.

I thought we were going to dinner, but she drove straight to her apartment. Just as well. My stomach was in spin cycle mode. B. had the lights dimmed and she was playing what I thought at first was classical music but was really musak. I know this because I recognized the tune of “Wicked Game.” We both drank from wine glasses that had already been poured.

B. hadn’t said much all night. In fact, I asked if something was wrong. Nothing was wrong, she said. Was she angry with me?

“No. I don’t want to talk, and I don’t want you to talk. I’m in a good place right now. I’m going to open my heart to you. And you open your heart to me.”

She led me by the hand into her bedroom. More than half of her bed was covered with stuffed animals and pillows of all sizes and shapes. The room smelled like peach candles. Oh yeah. Even though I may lose a number of readers with strong moral values, I feel compelled to warn you at this point that what I write may contain information of a sexually graphic nature.

As we took our clothes off, my head was spinning and my heart was pounding. A debate between warring factions raged inside my head. B said something like, “Remember — It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.” I didn’t know if she was talking to me or to herself.

It was one of those contradictory experiences in which time seems to be standing still yet the moment is over in a flash. As we finished undressing – by the way, things would have gone a lot faster if I had a pair of scissors — B made that weird look where she wrinkles her nose and flashes her teeth. We kissed and rubbed.

Then we climbed onto the bed.

While I have hardly any experience with sexual intimacy, I’ve seen my fair share of sexual acts, and I’ll just go ahead and say that it looks a whole lot easier to do on film than in real life. Putting the condom on was no problem. It was the next phase. I don’t want to be too graphic, but let’s just say I was aiming wrong. In fact, I got so frustrated that B actually laughed.

With B’s help, I finally went inside. At that point, instinct took over and I started bucking comfortably with B on top of me. She made strange bleating noises that made me laugh. We got into a rhythm that made me feel like I could go for hours.

Then it happened.

My brain shut off. I was thinking in shapes and colors. All I know is that I felt a deep connection to B. I’m sure my eyes rolled back in my head as I gave myself over to sensual celebration. We were like two wolverines caught in a dryer.

The magic moment didn’t last long. I don’t have the kind of brain that can be shut out for long. While still moving in rhythm, I started thinking about who B. had been with before me. Even though she had never mentioned previous boyfriends, I was sure I wasn’t her first lover. How many men had she been with? One? Three? Thirty-seven? One hundred and thirty-seven? Who were these hundred and thirty-seven jerks? I imagined them dragging the panties off a young B. in the back seats of cars or in dark basements, and I hated the horny bastards. Damn them!

I changed my position to get a better angle, and something bad happened. I came out of her a little bit and she landed down hard on Little Harlan. It felt like it bent in half. I rolled to my side and tried not to yelp in agony. Tears came to my eyes. I said I was sorry.

“Are you OK?” she said.

“I think so. But I think I’m done for the night. Sorry.”

We lay in bed together, both of us wet from sweat. I never realized that sex was so messy and wet – and warm. It was all very wonderful and very strange, from the sacred intimacy to the odor of dead fish inside an old man’s tennis shoe. I hugged B. She was crying tears of happiness.

I’m in love.

Isolation score: 0.0