September 14, 2016

How A Boy Like You Convinced Me To Give Up My Virginity

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Aily Torres
Aily Torres

“We could be side by side, ride or die, find your way to me tonight, let’s do it”. -Coin Laundry

Cheers to the first anniversary of my lost virginity. Or should we all take a moment of silence? I held on to you so tightly in my moralistic grasp. No one thought I could keep you for so long. But as the weeks, months, and years passed it seemed that I may never let you go.

I thrived in my ivory tower, never quite knowing when the time would come to send up my pure white flag and surrender a piece of me I became so attached to. My identity.

I wore my virginity like a suit of armor.

My shield. My untouchable shield. It kept those who were unworthy away. No one dared to ask for it. I wasn’t retreating. Until you came along.

You were unlike the others. You didn’t see my virginity as something to keep sacred. You saw it as a prize to be won. But instead of earning this prize through nobel actions you used your clever tongue. Your words like an artist’s chisel. Ever so delicately and effortlessly chipping away at the walls I took years build. Dancing around words like commitment.

Floating on words like someday and maybe.

My pure white flag was sent blindly and unabashed into the heavens. At age 25 I let myself sink so low to believe that if I gave it up, you would commit to me. Your words seeped into my veins until they became my pulse. I surrendered my identity to someone who didn’t deserve it. To someone who spent months asking for it, begging for it. Slowly but eagerly, chipping away.

I’m never sure if I should be impressed by your ability to break me down or disgusted with myself for allowing it.

After the blanket night fell upon us, I awoke and realized you weren’t my boyfriend. The conversation was never had. I asked you in the still of the morning; you replied, “I think that could work.”

So cheers to you. Beating the insurmountable odds and taking the piece of me I held on to for so long. For slowly and methodically chipping away at me until I surrendered. In the end, you walked away and said you couldn’t be my rock anymore, which is ironic, because you held the chisel from the start. TC mark

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