the 5th anniversary of the loss of my virginity

It was my senior year of high school, on the night of thanksgiving. i had just turned 18 about a month before and had known him since the end of the fall rowing season - about 4 weeks prior. he was a student at the local community college and had his own small house in a neighboring suburb. i was introduced to him by some friends who'd been going to parties at his house on the weekends. i started going with them when my weekends freed up, and we developed a bit of chemistry. i started going to his house on weeknights, after going home from school for dinner and homework, then straight from his house to school in the mornings - to "theology" class - the same course in catholic doctrine we had to take every year.
anyway, that thanksgiving i had dinner with my family as usual, then went to his house for his annual thanksgiving party (he had an annual party for every holiday. even the national holidays of other countries). This period of my life, these 5 months, is the only period of my life during which i drank beer. he, unlike myself, LOVED the shit, and had me running out for a purse-ful of cold beers from the case outside every ten minutes.
i liked that it was my job to make sure he always had a cold drink. i trained myself to have one ready when i could tell he was close to finishing his current one - i'd switch out the empty can with the full one while he played cards and wouldn't notice. it was my way of making him rely on me, of ensuring that he'd get to used to me and want me around. this is when i developed a strategy i continue to use to make a man i want want me back. i learned to make myself not just a part of a his life, but a subtle improvement on his life. i was there with the cold drink before he realized that his current drink was empty, about an hour before he was ready for bed i snuck off to clear the clothes from his bed and make it - i was not intrusive. i did little things that made his life a little easier, but always in ways he didn't notice, i improved practically insignificant details that he'd never thought to improve, i could find things he thought he'd lost... i even drove him everywhere because he didnt have a car.
My friends warned me about him before i ever met him, that he was a "player," that he kept a handful of girls on rotation, and that he wouldn't hook up with a girl without fucking her - no making out and blowjobs all night. but, and remember i was a baby when i reasoned this, when we first hooked up he went for the condom but settled for bjs when i told him i never had nor was ready for sex. so, "see? he's different with me. maybe he plays those other girls, but look how considerate and sweet he's being with me. he must really care."
So after four weeks, i decided he'd earned it. it was thanksgiving and we were all getting drunk - and then falling down and passing out and wrecking shit and making a mess of his house so he decided we should go to bed and i told him he could do it.
He fucked me for about 10 minutes before he passed out. it hurt. i didnt cum for the first time until years later.
let me reiterate what happened: not only did i not cum, i had to slide out from under him and his penis out of me, because he PASSED OUT.
My first experience with real sex led me to believe that sex was terribly painful for the person on the receiving end and fucking boring (to the point of actually falling asleep) to the opponent.
This may explain some of my relationships to those among my readers familiar with my personal life and why i keep picking men with daggers where their hearts should be.