Flavor of the Week: Before You Die, You See the Ring

Every girl remembers her firsts: her first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first sexual encounter. One boy had been two out of three of those for me. Brett was my first boyfriend and first kiss—and more than a decade later he’d be another first for me.

We met in the sandbox in third grade. Standing tall at 4-foot-something, with a razored hairdo from supercuts and sky-blue eyes, Brett was the Spin Fighter master of the playground and, thus, the man of my dreams. It was puppy love at first sight, and by junior high we were kissing behind the shed in our friend Spenser’s backyard. Everything was perfect for about three weeks. Until he left me for my best friend Kylee.

I should have let her have him. After all, our kisses were straight out of There’s Something About Mary. His tongue reached so far down my throat that I was sure he’d lure up the pizza I’d had for lunch. Looking back, this should have been a sign, but in my teenage insecurity, I chalked it up to my own complete lack of skill.

Fast-forward 13 years. I’d long since moved away, only going back to my hometown annually to visit family. On one fateful trip, however, Spenser was hosting a party at his house and all my old buddies were expected to be there. How could I miss that? The night started innocently enough: lots of drinking, card games and, when we no longer had the patience for games, the chugging of alcohol. It was no surprise that halfway through the night, I had my sights set on Brett once more.

We caught each other’s eyes over a round of Kings and, during an intermission, I grabbed him and dragged him into the dark depths of the guest bedroom. We fumbled to the bed, tore our clothes off and scrambled under the sheets where, if all went according to plan, we would consummate my 13-year crush.

It took all of five minutes for me to realize that Brett was lacking in technique. it took about 10 more minutes to realize that I should probably call it quits and get back to the festivities. The time had come, it seemed, to stop him—but as his head started moving south, I thought, far be it from me to interrupt a man on a mission.

Unfortunately, brett was no more adept with the bottom set of lips than he was with the top. His stubbly whiskers were scratching my lady business and soon enough I was ready for another drink. I pulled him up and suggested we head back to civilization. leaping out of bed and tossing on my clothes, I turned on the lights and headed for the door—but soon stopped dead in my tracks.

On the floor in front of me was something very familiar. It was a small, circular shaped piece of plastic—my birth control. I use the NuvaRing®, which is inserted every month and hangs out in my vagina, dispensing hormones until I get my period, when it’s taken out for a week before being replaced by a new ring. At that moment, however, my ring was nestled in the beige carpet of spenser’s parents guest bedroom.

I snatched it up and whirled around to brett, who stared at me blankly from the edge of the bed.

“What the hell is my birth control doing on the floor?” I roared.

“Oh, is that what that is? I don’t know, I just pulled it out and had no idea, so I threw it over there.”

“You pulled something out of my vagina and didn’t bother to even ask what it was?” I shrieked incredulously.

Another blank stare. “Sorry,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled on his pants.

Stupid boy aside, I had a dilemma. Did I put it back in or throw it away? I didn’t have any extra NuvaRings in my suitcase, nor did I have a refillable prescription that enabled me to get more. I was facing either a month of being impregnable or a month of knowing that my birth control had long passed the five-second rule. I ran to the nearest sink, soaked the ring in anti-bacterial soap and popped it back in, shuddering the entire time.

It was clear that no matter how clean I got my birth control, the dirt from rolling around with a guy that inept was the kind of filth that was hard to remove.

I headed back to the party, vowing never to hook up with Brett again and thanking my lucky stars I hadn’t slept with him—we had already had more than our share of firsts.