He’d lost it to a typical, Tara Reid type of girl who had been a cheerleader for the basketball team. She had walked in on him while he was using the bathroom of the hotel room that he and his friends had been partying in. He was bombed and she’d just walked in, and they had done it right there in the bathroom. He’d been standing up, and she’d sort of kneeled on the closed toilet seat. Which is weird and uncomfortable when you’re seventeen and have never had sex before and somehow you’ve always pictured yourself lying in bed while doing it your first time. With the lights off. With someone who is at least your girlfriend.

And, God, it had been uncomfortable.  He thinks he may have lasted all of about ninety seconds, but she hadn’t seemed disappointed. He doesn’t remember if that type of thing matters when you’re seventeen.

He does remember that he’d never talked to that girl again after he had gone home that weekend. Not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because on Monday at school she was walking with another guy. And the only thing he’d known about her back then was that her name was Lauren, she would be going to college somewhere in Philadelphia, and she’d worked at the Gap in the mall.

Not exactly the greatest love story of all time.

It’s these things he thinks about when he should be selling paper, or managing those under him who sell paper, or doing something other than staring at a blank spreadsheet on his computer monitor. He wonders if losing his virginity (such a pivotal moment of his manhood) in such a typical way had somehow set him up for a lifetime of typical. Like, when you have sex for the first time, that’s it. You don’t have another first time. So if your first time is less than venturesome or meaningful, but you’re still satisfied with the fact that, hey, at least I did it, maybe you’ll be satisfied with allowing everything else in your life to be just adequate.

He’d taken a risk once.

That risk had consequently turned into another risk, which had turned into yet another risk. And then he’d found himself back where he started. Only now his shirts are a little more expensive and uncomfortable and he has to look directly at Dwight all day. Not a winning combination.

And this is why he doesn’t take risks.

He still doesn’t refer to Karen as his girlfriend. He hadn’t mentioned her once to his family over Christmas, hadn’t talked about her to his friends, nothing. And it’s not that he’s afraid of commitment. It’s just that he’s satisfied to tell himself that they are merely seeing each other, they are dating, they hang out and do things and have sex. Yeah, maybe he feels bad once in awhile that he’s overly careful that no one in the office sees them together, and that he goes out of his way to make sure the cameras don’t catch them talking or touching, if he can help it. But in the long run, it’s better that way. She’d understand if she knew, he thinks.

He can pinpoint the moment when he’d resolved that he wouldn’t be getting over Pam any time soon.

* * * *

He goes out with Toby for a beer after work, even though it’s Wednesday and he doesn’t drink during the week usually. They meet at Poor Richard’s because neither one of them is feeling particularly adventurous and because there’s a pool table.

But when they get there they don’t play pool. He likes hanging out with Toby because they can both tell each other embarrassing things about themselves without really worrying about anyone else ever knowing. And he ends up telling Toby a lot of things, leaving a few parts out, not really naming names. It’s easier than he thought, sort of coming clean about it. He doesn’t really mention Karen, well, because. He tells Toby that he’s confused, and that it still hurts almost all of the time, and that he doesn’t know what to do to stop it.  During most of the conversation he replaces the word Pam with promotion.

"It’s just a matter of time, Jim," Toby explains.

"Right, but in the meantime?"

"In the meantime you do whatever you can to not think about it."

Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

Jim sighs and orders another beer.

"Toby," he carefully asks, looking down at the bar, tracing rings of water with his finger, "what was your first time like?"

* * * *

Karen comes over to his place on Thursday night and they watch a movie, as usual. And as usual, they go with something from his own DVD collection rather than going out to rent something new. If she notices that they always do that, she never says anything.

She sits close, but not too close, holds his hand but never tries to climb into his lap or make out with him during the movie. It’s these types of things that he appreciates about her. She’s not forceful or clingy. So he can deal with it. And he likes her. He likes her laugh, deep and husky, likes her sick sense of humor, her olive skin. He likes the things that he can see outright, things he doesn’t have to reach in too far to find.

The movie ends and they start talking about New Years’ Eve plans and she mentions maybe going to the city.

"I don’t know," he says, tentatively. "It’d be really hard to find a parking spot, and..."

"Oh. Yeah, no," she says nodding. "I, uh, didn’t even think about that. Well, we could always have a party. That would be fun. You’ve got tons of room here and Mark probably wouldn’t mind, right?"

Again, bad idea.

"Maybe," he says, screwing the left side of his mouth up. "But you know what, we still have a few days to figure it out."

And he kisses her, hoping that by doing so she would stop trying to make plans for a holiday that he didn’t think he’d be much into this year.

Luckily, she kisses back and doesn’t notice.

* * * *

Friday morning Karen announces to him that she and Pam have decided to throw a New Year's Eve party.