Regret? Not a bit...
Back in the day when I were a lad (sixteen to be precise) and the ladies started to take an interest in me and the opportunities started to present themselves, it proved a mixed blessing. At the risk of sounding like a total twat I didn't want to look back for the rest of my life knowing I'd dropped me shorts first time out with just any old biffer who hung around long enough.

First g/f was two years my senior but I was slightly freaked by one or two worryingly psychotic tendancies, not the least of which was a serious marriage proposal after a fortnight of dating. Next.

Second lass who latched on to me was four years my senior(!) but had a worrisome penchant for shagging anything that moved, so I passed on that also as I'd rather my first time didn't culminate in a trip to the local clinic and a course of antibiotics. Next.

Third lass was in one of my classes at college and during a break cigarette offered herself up on a plate. However, she was already seeing someone else. Homewrecker? Moi? Next.

Fourth lass was a sweet enough girl to start with but I began to realise she was annoying, clingy and posessed all the subtley of a runaway shit-wagon. Next...

Girl number five. Now we're talking! She was very attractive in a tall, blonde and Teutonic sort of a way (no, I'm not making this shit up - she's German) and I was well away. To my young eyes she was the very epitome of loveliness and to cap it all she was as much a novice as me. Hallelujah!

A good few weeks dating culminating in her being dropped off for the weekend, a trip to the cinema, a couple of beers and finally us returning home to discover that my folks had turned in for the night later we're both passionately rolling about the lounge, with clothes being scattered all over the place charged with all the youthful enthusiasm that two frisky but inexperienced sixteen year olds can muster. My pulse was racing and my life flashed before my eyes as I realised that this was it, I'd look back and remember this moment for the rest of my life... What's this? It won't fit! Why won't it go in?

Fucksocks. Bugger, bollocks and shite. And fucksocks again.

The poor lassie was understandably very nervous - hell so was I, my heart was absolutely in my mouth - but her nerves seemed to have slammed the door shut so to speak. Several hours of "let's just give it one more try" later and we'd got no further both finally admitted defeat and retired to our respective bedrooms with our v-plates still in place.

Argh!

Edit - to cap it all off, when we finally did do the deed Chesney fucking Hawkes was at number one in the charts... The shame.
Edit - actually that might be a blessing, it could just as easily have been "Do the Bartman".
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 27 Oct 2006, 13:48, Reply)