Losing your virginity. Popping the cherry. Swiping your V-card. We’ve all had that discussion at some point; been questioned about whether or not we’ve had sex. Like most of my friends, I was taught that my virginity was this sacred thing to be kept and given away at the right time to the right person. But as I grew older, it became more apparent that this “right person” wasn’t going to be making his way into my life any time soon. By the time I hit college, it felt like all of my friends had already had sex and I was the odd virgin out. I wanted to be able to participate in those gossip sessions, wanted to have my own funny stories to tell and my own experiences to share. And frankly, I just wanted to have sex. I began wondering if losing my virginity to a random guy during a one-night stand would be that big of a deal.
Here’s the truth: it wasn’t.
Courtesy: MTV
Let me set the scene. Your friends are all out of town. You’re relaxing in your bed, probably binge-watching The Office for the ninth time like the boring, basic b*tch you are and it’s nearing three in the morning; real #SadBoiHours. Your friends have stopped paying attention to you, having the audacity to fall asleep at acceptable hours. You’re bored. You want to shake things up. So, you do what you do best: turn to dating apps for attention and entertainment to spice up the days that feel blander than the unseasoned chicken at the dining hall.
You message a few guys on Bumble, probably a couple on Tinder too, and go about your evening. You don’t expect any answers until morning, but despite men being the predictable creatures they often are, you pick up your phone to see a notification from Alex* (*name has been changed.)
“Why are you still up haha.”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Touché.”
The conversation continues playfully until you invite him over to “cuddle.” Come on. Surely, you’re not naïve enough to think that’s all that will happen. Right? Wrong. Dumb b*tch hours are twenty-four-seven, baby.
He comes over. You spoon for a bit. He kisses your cheek, then your mouth and then he’s undressing you. You ask if he has a condom (he does.) You don’t tell him you’re a virgin* (*half-virgin if we’re being technical, but for the sake of this piece we are not). You’re embarrassed and want to get it over with and afraid he won’t sleep with you if you tell him. It’s painful because, despite this guy seeming to know what he is doing, he clearly does not know what he’s doing.
Courtesy: The Muse
After somewhere near 10 minutes (you’re surprised because you were expecting it to go a lot faster, and honestly have to give this kid props for his ~endurance~), he gets verbal.
“F***, I’m about to cum.”
You can’t help yourself. You laugh. It just comes out of you. (That’s what she said.) But honestly, who says these things unironically? He seems to get offended, not understanding that you are not in a porno and normal people don’t say these things with such gumption. At least not people you would ideally be having sex with. He says it once more before he finishes, asks you where the bathroom is, throws the condom away and begins putting his clothes back on. You’re kind of in pain, wondering if you’re bleeding at all (you are, and it happens on-and-off for like two days afterward.) You expect him to at least, like, cuddle or something after, but he puts his shoes on and that’s that. He doesn’t ask you if you enjoyed it, doesn’t seem to care if you did. You walk him to the door. He doesn’t even hug you before he leaves.
Was my first time magical? Not by any means, but it definitely could have gone much worse. He was, for the most part, respectful and didn’t force anything and for that, I’m obviously grateful. The real question, the one I’m sure you’re dying to know: do I regret losing my virginity to a random boy from a dating app and never seeing him again? The answer, which I know would horrify freshman-year me, is no. I don’t regret it. Do I wish it had been more special? Of course, I do, but if I had waited around until that “right” person came around, I’d still be waiting.
Courtesy: Comedy Central
That “virgin” label hung over my head for so long. I worried that guys wouldn’t want to date me if they found out I hadn’t slept with anyone. I was embarrassed that I was one of the last of my friends to have sex and by the time I did it felt like I was finally ridding myself of this huge burden. I’d been made to believe I’d feel like a new person but losing this thing we call “virginity” didn’t change who I was. I was still me, except with a little more groin pain, if you catch my drift.
If the definition of virginity is just not having had sex, then why do we, as a society, make girls the only ones who feel responsible for holding onto it? Boys have sex for the first time at some point too, many of them probably during a one-night stand. But we don’t have the same conversations with our sons as we do with our daughters. We don’t teach our sons that their virginity is precious. That, like girls, their bodies are to be given to the right person at the right time. When a boy has sex for the first time it’s celebrated, unpolluted by the same taboo that contaminates the conversation around girls’ virginities. Why don’t we celebrate girls in the same way?
The truth is, no matter your gender, your body is not to be “given” to anyone. It’s yours. Periodt. If you choose to wait for the person that feels right to you, that’s great. If you choose to have sex for the first time with someone you meet on a dating app and never really speak to them again, that’s also great. Either way, it’s your choice, and no one else has the right to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do with your own body. My choice to have sex, the same as a man’s, does not change the fact that my body is mine and mine alone and that I can do what I please with it. No matter how many people I’ve slept with or how many I will sleep with, my body will always belong to me.
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