Your adolescent years are the ones where you don’t know who you are. You’re finding yourself, creating what and who you would become.
At age 20, I’ve never had a boyfriend and I was soon getting tired of the right one to lose my V-card to. I thought to myself, “What if met the right one at 40? Would I wait till then?” I decided that it wasn’t worth the wait and that I could just fuck one random person and I wouldn’t feel any emotional attachment. I thought I was this strong person who could ignore whatever feelings that would come my way. I was wrong. I soon realized…
Who your first is isn’t important, but they become important.
I didn’t really dig into who he was. All I knew that he was pretty cool, had a couple of tattoos and was into photography. I went to his place and we just did it and that was it. After it happened, I thought that I wouldn’t care. But I did. I went home and started looking through Instagram and I found out quite a few things about him. He seemed like he just came out of a shitty breakup. The more I searched the more I found and the more I knew that he was indeed a fuckboy. Every day that week the scenes would flash in my head and I would be thinking about it. Soon, I was worrying about bumping into him at the clubs. And today I finally did. I was so scared that he would see me. Much to my disappointment, I wasn’t as strong as I thought I was. I was afraid that he would recognize me and tell his friends that he fucked this girl and that they would judge me. Because I wasn’t pretty enough, and I never will be.
So I did the cowardly thing – I left. I got out of there as soon as I could. I couldn’t stand being there. The fear of getting seen by him. And his friends. I got a cab and left. Once I got home, I started watching the stories that his friends posted online. I saw him grabbing a girl’s ass. I know it shouldn’t hurt but it did. Maybe I lowkey wished that we could be a thing. Maybe I thought that I wasn’t good enough for him, that’s why he never called me back. I know it should be a good thing that he isn’t interested in me, and I reduced the likelihood of getting fucked over by a fuckboy.
But if that’s the case, why does it still leave me longing for more?