When it comes to flat-pack furniture, the picture on the box always looks so simple, yet the reality is usually anything but. Confusing diagrams, a weird little Allen key that doesn't look quite right, and the occasional strained wrist and mystery bruises. Our sexpert explains that first-time sex with someone new isn't all that different.

When it comes to flat-pack furniture, the picture on the box always looks so simple, yet the reality is usually anything but. Confusing diagrams, a weird little Allen key that doesn't look quite right, and the occasional strained wrist and mystery bruises. Our sexpert explains that first-time sex with someone new isn't all that different.

Before I start I need to confess something... I've never actually been to IKEA.

I've never eaten the famous meatballs. I've never followed the little arrows through the mysterious Scandinavian labyrinth of display bedrooms, colour coordinated kitchen utensils, and innovative storage solutions.

And yet, like all great cultural institutions, I have an inherent understanding of its ethos, mythology, and sacred rites: the sacred rite of optimistic wandering, followed closely by the ceremonial "How did you get us lost?" argument.

I know about the tiny pencils, the product names that sound either deeply profound or faintly obscene, depending on your maturity level. I mean come on, if someone says they've just got a new HÖRNFLÖP or BJÖRKNÜT, my first thought is not gonna be "bookshelf".

Obviously I know about the magical meatballs, and, of course, the smug confidence that this time you'll get it right, totally on the first try, with minimal swearing and bruising, and there definitely won't be a mysterious spare screw left at the end.

And look, when you think about it, the first time you sleep with someone new can be a lot like that.

Exciting. Confusing. Slightly disorientating. And, if tradition is to be believed, probably improved by meatballs.

FÖR-PLAYÊ

Every IKEA assembly adventure begins with optimism.

You clear some space. You put on some music. And you confidently decide that instructions are for other people.

I mean, you've assembled furniture before... You've been in relationships before...

You know how shelves work!

Except this isn't your old bookshelf.

Sure, you might have successfully assembled a perfectly respectable Billy bookshelf for the past twelve years, but that doesn't mean you automatically know what's happening with this brand new entertainment unit.

This one has completely different pieces, strange little quirks and a manual written in a language neither of you fully understands.

The first time with somebody new is less about expertise and getting it right, and more about curiosity and figuring out what's what.

KLÏK

You've laid out all the bits. You've turned the instruction sheet around a few times to see if it's actually the right way up. You've wiggled some knobs and tightened the screws and suddenly, not necessarily perfectly or even particularly neatly, there is that moment when everything clicks.

This is the point where you realise you've stopped worrying about whether you're doing things correctly, and realised you're actually having fun and something cool is taking shape, albeit awkwardly and not like the last one you did earlier.

ALLEN KËY

Every piece of IKEA furniture comes with one tiny Allen key.

A weird little bent piece of metal that somehow holds the entire enterprise together.

I don't understand Allen keys. Why are they shaped like that? Why are they always slightly uncomfortable to use? And why does something so important look like it came free inside a Christmas cracker?

The sexual equivalent, I suspect, is a sense of humour.

Small and a little warped. Easy to overlook.... Yet absolutely essential to keeping a good connection strong.

Without it, you're just two frustrated people, surrounded by confusing instructions, an elbow in the way, and a niggling thought that you've assembled something backwards, and that bit just doesn't go.

MEATBÖLL BREAK

I still don't quite understand the meatball thing. Seriously, who looked at a giant warehouse full of wardrobes and thought, "What this place needs is mystery meat and gravy"?

And yet everyone just accepts it. Not just that, people speak of the meatballs with the same reverence usually reserved for evangelical religious experiences or the Bunnings sausage sizzle.

But apparently, once you have navigated the maze, argued over bath mats, and piled your trolley with fun and jaunty cushions, the meatballs are your reward.

And honestly, if you know me at all, that just feels right. The older I get, the more convinced I become that good sex needs intermissions.

Snacks, a drink, and a brief discussion about whether your hip always makes that noise or if tonight's just special.

Seriously, nobody gets a medal for powering through. Stop. Laugh.  Have the metaphorical meatballs.

UTGÅNG

From everything I hear, I reckon IKEA stores are deliberately designed so that leaving is harder than arriving. You think you're heading towards the exit and suddenly you're in soft furnishings.

New relationships can be a bit like that too.

You begin with attraction, then, before you know it, you're discussing childhood embarrassments, favourite words, and whether or not the moon landing was faked.

Relationships are weird. You set out looking for one thing and accidentally discover twenty others along the way. But perhaps, like the subtle arrows and pathways guiding to household items you probably don't need but definitely do want, that's the whole point.

Sex for the first time with someone new isn't really about getting it right. It's about wandering. It's about curiosity. It's about discovering that another human being is every bit as strange, funny, complicated and gloriously specific as you are.

Sure, there may be a mysterious spare screw left over at the end. There may be a strained muscle, a bruised knee, or the growing suspicion that you've assembled something slightly backwards.

But if you've laughed, learned a few things, and found yourself wanting to stick around for meatballs afterwards, I'd call that a successful first build... Some assembly required.

Instructions optional.
Meatballs encouraged.

Until next time, happy assembling, my friends. 

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  boynextdoor215

  37M Melbourne City Centre, VIC,

   AU

  First time sex is complicated so sticking to the basics is one way to go. Start off with some foreplay and then move on to sexual intercourse if it's something that you're both eager to do.

  To avoid becoming overwhelmed, do what you enjoy doing and are good at, and try not to pull out moves that you have never tried.

  If you plan on seeing each other again in the future, leave your partner wanting more. Focus more on their pleasure than your own.

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