Why Losing Your Virginity Isn’t All It’s Cracked Up To Be

So all the Christians out there can shun me now. I have been deflowered. I am a woman. I’m not a virgin anymore.

I haven’t been one for almost a month now, and quick update: I feel exactly the same.

As a teenage girl, you make it out to be this glorious, romantic thing in your mind. There’s flower petals and music playing in the background and everything is smooth. There’s a gooey film of honey around the whole moment.

There’s nothing awkward about it. It’s just you and him and you’re happy. It doesn’t hurt. There’s no blood. It’s perfect, everything you could’ve imagined, and you love him.

I hate to ruin your dreams, so I won’t. Keep the candy-coated moment. I honestly hope that happens for you.

My first time was not smooth; there was nothing sweet or loving about the moment. It was a bundle of desperate sighs and grabbing. It was a frat house, a random guy’s bed and a red flannel comforter.

There was vodka on our tongues and my hair entangled every part of the moment. We were making out and everything was slow; it was still but everything was moving at the same time. Then it was fast and rushed. It was hot and my $60 shirt was suddenly on the floor. My tiny black bra slipped off the bed as he pulled me closer and closer into him. I don’t think my skin has ever been so close to anyone’s skin like that before. They meshed together. We had the same skin for a minute, I swear.

His clothes came off quickly after that, he’s a college boy. He didn’t ask if I wanted it. I think he felt our magnetic skin too. I’ll never forget the initial shock. It wasn’t painful, it was honestly a little bit of a let down. I’m not planning on recounting the entirety of our time in the bedroom because this is not porn, but I didn’t come out of that room a new woman. I’m still the same.

I think when I thought about losing my virginity, I had this moment after losing it planned out in my mind. Like I would walk out of the room with a cape on my back billowing in the wind because now that I’m no longer a saint, I can do anything. I walked out of the room almost exactly the same way I came in. Drunk, and a little horny.

I wish I could say it changed me. For a couple of days I pretended I felt different, but it’s just not what it’s cracked up to be. We’re told to save ourselves and that your first time having sex should be with someone you love dearly but it all comes down to the same thing: Fucking.

I’m not going to pretend it’s not a big deal, it is, but I’m happy with the way I ruined myself. It wasn’t the gooey, wonder woman moment I dreamt up in my head, but it ended up being better in a way I hadn’t planned on.