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No matter how much advice you received from friends, family and school, no one can ever really prepare you for that first break-up, how to go about your first kiss or what on earth to do when womanhood approaches you in the form of blood flowing from your nether regions. Our pubescent years are filled with tackling these ground-breaking life events in our very different ways, some of which we don’t always find comfortable to talk about. I sat down with a plethora of ladies and questioned them on just a few of the highs and lows of ‘femaleness’ and their experiences.
‘I did kiss someone when I was 3 but I don’t think that counts (it was magical). It happened again when I was 13 with a disgusting boy at a party, it was like a washing machine and then I was gone with the wind (again, magical).’
‘When I was 18, at a house party. He asked me if I’d like to go out for some air. At this point, I had no idea what going out for air meant. He just pushed his face into mine and frankly, it was awful. But he’s now gay so I feel like it’s all worked out for the best.’
‘He was my boyfriend in year 9. We’d been out in the park, he walked me home and we kissed on my front door step. Worst moment of my life, and I don’t think I kissed another boy for a year.’
 ‘I was 13 and it was on Wandsworth Common where everyone used to go and just get really drunk. Some creepy guy dragged me off and I swear, his tongue explored my face in its entirety. S C A R R E D.’
 ‘I was 12, nearly 13 and it just happened in John Lewis. Very middle class.’
‘We were on a family holiday in the summer after Year 8. One day, I had a massive argument with my mum because she didn’t like me buying boys’ clothes. That same day, I just started bleeding. Cried on the bathroom floor for hours. The sheer irony of that day still gets me.’
 ‘I was 11 and I didn’t know what a period was. I cried because I thought I was dying and then thought I was pregnant. Cried to my mum and told her what happened. She hugged me, congratulated me on being a woman and then promptly called all the females in my family. When I came home from school that day, my brother had found out and was discovered sat on the bathroom floor crying whilst looking at pictures of me as a small child.’
‘I got mine when I was 8 or 9 and told my mum who then slapped me across the face. Apparently it’s tradition.’
‘Mine was in year 7. I remember I was in History and needed to go to the toilet. When I got up, I accidentally flashed all my friends but didn’t really think anything of it. It was when I got to the toilet that I realised I had started my period. Half my class had seen my bloody knickers.’
First time you shaved or waxed your lady-garden?
‘I think I was going to a party when I was like 15 and some people were allowed to stay over. I’m not sure what I thought would happen but I wanted to be prepared at all costs, so I stole my mum’s blunt razor and got to work. It was a real hack job. I then stayed away from boys at all costs, no one needed to see that.’
 ‘Don’t remember when it actually happened but girls started talking about it so I went home and gave shaving a try. Probably for the best because I got fingered a week later.’
 ‘I actually went for the scissors first. I wasn’t really looking and cut myself a few times which fucking hurt. Then I found my dad’s razor and ended up with a terrible shaving rash and war wounds.’
‘I was 14 or 15. I had a free house, and this guy came round. We were getting drunk and getting off with one another. Things started getting hot and heavy so I told him that I needed the toilet and I locked myself in and shaved literally everything including my forearms.’
‘I remember my first time because I was in the bath and the shower head ended up between my legs and was feeling quite nice. Got quite into it and then the shower head came off.’
‘I was pretty young, between 10 and 12, and I didn’t know what I was doing. It involved a pillow. I was basically dry-humping a pillow. My mum walked in. It was under covers but she knew. She. Knew.’
 ‘I think I was 15 and this girl had sent a video of herself masturbating to a boy, who in turn ended up sharing it with everyone. Me and my group of friends were like, “well, gonna give this a go and see what all the fuss is it about”.’
‘It was a very long time ago and I thought it was the most incredible thing in the history of the world and thought no one else could do it, almost like a secret power. Used to do it all the time and then slowed it down, because it was getting weird.’
First time you did anything sexual with a boy
‘I was 16 with a long term boyfriend. He fingered me and that was it. It was pretty good, I can’t really remember it if I’m being honest, all I know is I didn’t want to touch his penis.’
‘Everything happened on the same night. It was so painful, we just went from one thing to another. Finger, penis, done, ouch. He got a condom from his parents’ room which I realise now is really weird. I was in so much pain afterwards and then ran to the toilet and cried. Then he bought me Ben and Jerry’s which we ate in bed. Cute.’
‘Kinda half gave someone a hand-job in an ICT lesson. Classic.’
‘It was on a beanbag in my mate’s house and it was weird because my hand was down his trousers, holding his penis but I didn’t know what to do with it. You know at primary school when you’d have to put your hand in a bag and try to figure out what was in your hand? It was like that. Like a blind man trying to peel a carrot.’
‘After 3 attempts of trying and failed miserably to have sex, we gave it another go. We were passionately kissing, clothes were off, he was on top and then next thing you know, he whispered in my ear that it was in. To which I responded ‘really?’ Afterwards, I sang ‘Like a Virgin’ by Madonna.’
‘It was actually not bad, it obviously hurt a bit. Bled a bit but not a lot because I dance. The next day when I was getting the train from his back to mine, I remember being at the train station and feeling really aware that everyone knew what I had done.’
‘I’d had sexual relations with a boy about 5 minutes beforehand, and being the horny hunni that I am, another guy who was interested started getting off with me and we were just canoodling in a dark room. Another friend entered the room and unsuspectedly started chatting to us about X Factor. It was simply not the time nor the place so we decided to move the party to the downstairs bathroom and my first real sexual position was standing up doggy style. When it was over, I went home and cried a bit because I was really hungover.’
‘It was with my boyfriend in year 11 who I’d been together with for 8 months. I invited him round thinking that it would be the day it finally happened. We had one condom. He got really nervous and ripped it. It was not the day.’
 ‘It was devastating. We had an intense summer romance over 4 months. One night at Crisis I got a text from him out of the blue saying ‘I don’t think this is going to work anymore’. I didn’t speak for 5 or 6 days afterwards. He told me I had to get over it and when I stalked him on Facebook, I discovered he had gotten a girlfriend. Since then, I’ve never actually fallen for someone else.’
‘It was primary school. He was actually quite a rebel and I was attracted to the bad boy in him. I think I thought I could change him, We’d double-date with another couple and all go to the playground. But then it just fizzled out.’
‘I went to a house party. I was just not feeling the relationship anymore and he kind of brought it up whilst we were sitting with his friends. We ended up breaking up there and then but I was still staying over and had to drive him back the next day. He kept trying to spoon me in the night. It was pretty awkward.’
 ‘I was on holiday with my first ever proper boyfriend in Cyprus with some friends. We were all walking down the beach and he ran into the sea with my best friend’s little sister and they literally started getting off and having sex in the sea. He tried to talk to me but I was like, you’re fucking dumb. But it’s okay because he’s gay now.’
‘On Facebook chat, he was just like, this isn’t working. I got finished on Facebook chat. Minute of silence for me please.’
‘It was year 8 and I went to a friend’s party. We were all in the pool and we decided to get with each other. Some of the girls were topless. I really just don’t know.’
‘I kissed a friend at a house party because we wanted to make two of our male friends kiss. We kissed but they didn’t so we were pissed. Also, one time in Market Bar, someone was aggressively trying it on with me and I told me and my friend were in a lesbian relationship. He told me to prove it and frankly, I don’t like being called a liar. Sparks flew.’
 ‘I’ve never done it properly. Just a little peck but who doesn’t do that?’
‘I was on a night out and dancing, proper going for it. I was swivelling around, slut dropping and then accidentally karate punched this girl’s drink out of her hand. I was like, “so sorry I’ll buy you a drink”. So I bought her a drink and then she decided to kiss me. Didn’t really mind. The bartender was like, no PDA in this bar and proceeded to squirt the girl in the face with the soda hose. A whirlwind romance.’
First time you got horrifically drunk
‘It was on the day of our last GCSE exam. My mum kindly gave me a bottle of wine which I downed all by myself. I passed out for about 4 hours. Came about and everyone started freaking out. I staggered towards the garden. The girl whose house I was at was like ‘please don’t throw up on my mum’s garden, she just paid £400 for it.’ I was like, “I’m so sorry”, and proceeded to projectile everywhere.’
‘Me and a couple of friends went to an 18th when we were 14. Took a litre of vodka from my parents’ alcohol cabinet and drank about an eighth of it. We were all sat in the corner being sick on each other. My friend called a taxi and I was sick in my coat but fashioned it in such a manner that it was like a bag, so when the driver tried to make us pay a sickness charge, I threatened to pour it on him. That shut him up real quick.’
 ‘I was THAT girl at the first party of sixth form. Went to a party and was fed straight gin. My mate’s dad had to take me home, stopping on the way so I could throw up on the side of the road. My mum answered the door to witness me fall out of the car and hit my head on the kerb. I threw up on my mum’s feet and then was put in my bed. Threw up there too. Was still throwing up two days later. My friend’s dad still asks about me: “how’s the drunk girl?”’
‘I was visiting my sister at uni when I was 16 and she threw a house party. I got smashed before the house party on Apple Sourz jelly shots. I passed out in her roommate’s bed and threw up in her shoe closet but it was alright because her shoes were ugly.’
 ‘In my defence, it was the first time I had ever been prescribed co-codamol and didn’t know it reacted with alcohol. I was 14 and at a friend’s house party. A few of us had some drinks beforehand, very casually. Her parents were quite strict. 10 minutes later, the alcohol and co-codamol reacted. I have a vivid memory of being on the floor of her bathroom and not being able to move. I would will myself to stand up but would flop to the floor like a jellyfish. Her mum had to drive me home. I don’t think my mum has actually been angrier with me since.’
‘It was at a BBQ and I was still dealing with having been broken up with for the first time. We starting drinking at like 12 in the afternoon. Had a couple big bottles of cider, then a lot of tequila, wine, Cointreau and then 3 shots of absinthe. I then remember waking up to my mother shouting at me, showing me a picture of myself in a hospital bed. Apparently, I threw up so much, I didn’t even have to get my stomach pumped.’
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Welcome to California's Esalen Institute, the Susan Sontag-approved retreat that'll transform your entire worldview. Once you get into your birthday suit.
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Brennan Kilbane is a former senior writer for Allure . Previously, he served as an assistant editor at Glossier. His writing has been published in The New York Times , the Verge, and GQ . If he could trade makeup bags with anyone in the world, he would choose Amy Sedaris.
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Each and every pore on my body is flexed shut. My anatomy — I’ll spare you the details — is visibly cold. I had thought November would be a mild month for Big Sur, California, and I was only half right: It was a beautiful and warm day to be naked outdoors among strangers, but by nightfall, freezing winds are blowing over the Pacific and into my bloodstream. Then I plunge my body into a hot mineral bath, and every cell in my body sighs.
This is hour seven at the Esalen Institute , where I’ve elected to spend the weekend in the hopes of shedding inhibitions, self-consciousness, and clothing for a few days of totally nude R&R. (Vacations are a lot less stressful when you’re not responsible for a beach bag.) I’m also devoting a total of nine and a half hours to unguarded self work with 30 strangers and two professionals who are also strangers. Annoyingly, I’m calling this “emotional nudity.” Do you get it? There is basically one place on earth that asks you politely to share your innermost thoughts and feelings and fears and insecurities with a group of people you have never met before, and, yeah, if you use the pool or baths, would you mind also not wearing clothes? Thank you so much. Welcome to Esalen.
Protected by a menacing stretch of cliff and a BY RESERVATION ONLY sign, the Esalen Institute has been welcoming guests at or after their designated arrival time since 1962. (If you arrive early, you will be asked to check in later. If you ask where in the area you can stop and maybe get lunch, the parking attendant will laugh.) It was founded by Michael Murphy and Dick Price, Stanford grads who were inspired by studies of higher health and peak experiences, and on Murphy’s family land, which boasted healing hot springs and arresting views of the Pacific. In the last half-century, Esalen has developed a luminous alumni list — Henry Miller, Joan Baez, Aldous Huxley, and Joni Mitchell, among others. To this day, it may be the only thing that Susan Sontag and Deepak Chopra have in common.
Esalen cultivates a kind of cultish mystique. Mentioning the institute prompts one of two responses from people: effusive acclaim or furrowed skepticism. Esalen featured prominently in the Human Potential Movement of the 1960s, a belief system focused on inner development (one that middle-aged men still employ today as an argument for swinging). The finale of Mad Men famously referenced the institute: Don Draper attends a workshop during a personal crisis and finds wholeness — along with an idea for a Coca-Cola ad. While the 1960s Esalen was extremely bohemian, the Esalen of today has modernized a bit. It has a cash bar and a Wi-Fi hookup (except during mealtimes). And last November, briefly, it had me.
My fear was that it was going to be, um, enlightened. When I arrived on Friday afternoon, my fear began, borrowing an Esalen term, to manifest: The first person I encountered, who checked in my car, was wearing a Sublime T-shirt. The second person I encountered, who checked in me, was an extremely kind white woman with a bouquet of blonde locs. What do you call those midcalf-length pants that are jersey and usually paisley, and you can only buy them at head shops? I saw 40 pairs that afternoon. My jeans and sweater felt like a tuxedo. For a miserable four hours, I was convinced I had made a terrible mistake.
Then everybody else showed up. Businessmen barking their last business commands into FaceTime Audio calls (the campus has very spotty cell service), yogis wearing beanies, thoroughly bleached women wearing expensive premium sportswear, a haggard couple who, I’m not joking, arrived in a yellow Volkswagen minibus. One by one they spilled out over the grounds, which are, I cannot say it enough: stunning. Esalen is verdant — everything within campus limits is remarkably green, thanks in part to a sustainable irrigation plan that involves processing laundry water. The lodging is rustic with comfortable flourishes, like soft duvets and hotel furniture. Everything smells vaguely of lavender oil.
My assigned roommate, James the nurse, is instantly my best friend. We are inseparable for two hours, until he goes to his workshop (“Esalen Massage: The Basics”) and leaves me. When he comes back to our room, an hour after I have already been here waiting for him , I furiously interrogate him about his whereabouts.
James, revealing himself to be a pathological liar, is no longer my best friend. Bonds are forged and destroyed at breakneck speed here.
My workshop, “A Different Perspective: Reframe Your Life Using Play, Embodiment, and Humor,” begins at 8 p.m., but I arrive early. Most of the conversation I overhear is from people who have already been here, who would love to give you, verbally and specifically, an itemized list of the last times they were here, plus other details that are riveting. Before one of my workshops, two Esalen regulars animatedly argue about which side of the room the instructors will instruct from. “A month ago, they started there,” one says, pointing to the southernmost corner of the room. The opposing counsel shakes her head. “It’s over there,” she insists, gesturing to the door. “I know. I’ve been coming here for years.” This goes on for 15 minutes, which only seems like a short period of time.
Then it begins. “What we discuss in the seminar must stay in the seminar.”
By 10 p.m., after hours of [ redacted ], the workshop lets out. Some seminarians head to bed. Since the mineral baths are open 24 hours, I break off, hoping to bathe under the stars. This is where the nakedness starts.
During the day, you can see clear over the sweeping grounds to where the mineral baths are, and if you squint, you can make out a spectrum of flesh-colored sunbathers on the edge of California. At night, you cannot see a sumo wrestler painted neon: The grounds are entirely dark, peppered with lamps that are a mean joke. It takes 15 minutes to walk across campus, but I spent nearly 40 ambling through the pitch. I con
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