There are so many movies where the girls lose their virginity and suddenly it looks hard to cope with the fact that they lost it to a guy who didn't really care about them. I was one year older than the boy, but I don't regret losing my v-card because I just wanted to get it over with. I don't want to give his name but I call him Fabio because my mother used to call him that.
"Do you just want to get it over with?"
It happened in March, we were dating for nine or ten months. We went to this Renaissance Fair that day and it was a lot of fun. I went to another Renaissance Fair with a different guy the next year. But the day I spent with him that time was one of his good days.
Recently, he was diagnosed with bipolar depression brought on by his years of drug use. His photo from his freshman year at Blake High School was vastly different compared to the guy standing in front of me now. He often went by the nickname Sushi at school because it was the only thing that he could eat with his braces. That was something we agreed on with that anyone could eat with orthodontic tools.
After the festival we went back to my house and hung out in the backroom listening to some music we liked. I asked, "Do you just want to get it over with?" At first he was clueless, but when I mentioned what I wanted to do, he was on board however skeptical he looked from the question I asked.
"I thought it would be a bit more romantic," he said after the sexual moment happened before dinnertime. We ate our steak and potatoes in quiet and sat in that same silence as we dropped him off at his house near ten that night.
I didn't care to listen and we walked towards the gas station near the entrance to the neighborhood as he was asking me my motive to lose my virginity in my own house with my parents and sibling home. I stayed close to the counter and looked at all the drug paraphernalia as he headed towards the back of the store near the beer. It was where they originally had all the condoms before placing them behind the counter.
He came back with a box and paid for it in cash. We hurried back while my parents were still outside doing the yard work and my sister was still asleep in her bed. The blinds were closed and the door was left slightly ajar, to keep a lookout for anyone coming into the backroom and catching us in the act.
It took about an hour or so, but the whole ordeal hurt like hell. In the end, I was happy it happened. He had to wash the small circle of blood around his pants before dinner at my house. When my mom asked him about the stain on his clothes he said he spilled some water earlier. She seemed to buy it. I chewed the inside of my cheek.
The whole ordeal didn't make me closer to him in any way, it just made me feel liberated. It was like I didn't have the one trump card every girl needs to prove she hasn't been touched. I felt good for doing something behind my family's back, but I knew it would put all of my relationships with anyone through a strainer because it would be easy not to trust me. Although, no one mentioned how much it would burn when it came to using the bathroom after a sexual encounter. I ended up wetting my bed in pain later that night and slept in the laundry room that morning to the humming of the washer and dryer. My mom found me around five that morning and helped me get into my clothes for the day. The cats were eager to get out because they hated the noise of the machines. I told her I had some water before bed and I didn't use the bathroom before I slept, she seemed to buy that too.
Why V-Cards Are Redundant
I don't get why Americans are so obsessed with the whole V-card. They say to keep your pants zipped until marriage, but obviously that doesn't seem to work with American youth.
The age of consent for most American states that I visited was 18. But what that means is that you are an adult and therefore your responsibility about what kind of mistakes you make in your life. However, teenagers are noted to be sexually active when they reach 15 or 16 years of age. Sometimes they don't become sexually active until they go to college where they are far away from the scrutiny of their parents. Somehow I got away with that for a long time. But it drove me and my sister apart for years. We've only rekindled our "friendship" when she went to college and started dating a guy long term.
In some states, there are chastity events where a girl won't lose her V-card because she made a pact with her father that he would be her shining knight in armor until the right guy comes along and the dad agrees to hand over his daughter like a piece of property. But these sometimes don't work out either.
The thing with teens and sexual urges is that as Freud would say, we are naturally curious creatures. How Freud put it was that we become fascinated by a phallic, sexual desire that in turn makes us immature. But now that I am a little older by a margin of a few years, I know that back then I wasn't being phallic, I was just being rational and doing the deed to prepare myself for any other mess of a boyfriend to come along.
Am I still with the guy?
Many people who lose their V-cards to the first guy they shag don't know that sometimes that romance is just pure hormones and nothing to do with being monogamous. After the sexual act with Fabio, we broke off after ten months because his outbursts of manic episodes became so constant it was like taking care of a small child. He never went onto lithium chlorate until about a year or two later.
I moved on and mowed down two guys and I'm stuck with the third one. Hopefully this charmer might last. I don't miss the boy who took my v-card and I don't regret it happening. Sure the second guy I dated wanted it to be romantic, but I knew that if it was a more romantic setting it would have made me dependent or obsessed with the one person. Unfortunately, the second guy was a bit of a prude and he was abusive, which made me want to keep my distance from him, but it only set him off even further.
I knew that I was older than Fabio and that it wouldn't last, however when the relationship ended because of a beautiful handwritten and hand-drawn note, I was distraught and that made me just want to become as stoic as possible in every relationship I would have afterward.
Of course when that conversation came up, there were other questions that followed in its footsteps. Do I regret that he was mentally ill? No, because I was mentally ill myself cramming every negative thought and comment down my throat as if it was a religious practice of wine and bread. I was later diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) which is like Munchhausen, but you're not making yourself sick for attention. BPD is a person who has nothing nice to say about their bodies because anyone who has been close to them would drag them down to the darkest depths.
Do I regret the fact that I withdrew from the relationship because it might have had anything to do with losing my V-card? No. I was having a hard time trying to see when the mania or the exploits would come that it just wore me down like an old tooth.
Did anyone else care if I was used goods? Not really. I dated one guy who had multiple intimate encounters with six other women before me and now I'm with a guy whose just had only one encounter with his whole lifetime which was basically me.
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