Such a pivotal moment for every young woman, the loss of her virginity. Movies and television programs condition us to believe that this adventure should be shared with someone you love, who knows you and cares for you deeply. You should be giddy about this magical moment. Coy, but brave. I disagreed. Oh, I had a boyfriend. We were together for two years, so he knew me inside and out. Plus, we did enough bump and grind all over my mother’s house to qualify me as something of an expert in body movements and sexual noises. However, when it came to “going all the way,” your girl just couldn’t quite get there. In my mind, there was something dirty, shameful, and slutty, about losing your virginity in high school. I carried the constant fear that my peers would find out and they’d judge me as harshly as I have those who were open about their sexuality.
Our passionate relationship, my high school lover and I, ended when I left for varsity. I was an inexperienced 16 (and a half) year-old tertiary student, almost ripe and ready to get dirty. I suppose he saw the downfall of our relationship long before I did. Varsity guys can be difficult to resist. During that two months holiday between the last high school exams and the first day of registration, the dumb boys we knew blossom into men. Who can resist the unruly hair and struggling beards? Factor in parties, alcohol and kush, and you’re a goner. What really broke us though, in my opinion, was his insecurity. Oh, and the fact that he dumped me for my friend, but that’s a story for another day.
So, there I was, 16 years old, heartbroken and ready to get busy. The socially acceptable thing to do here would have been to wait for someone new who would love me the way it has been written for centuries. I had all the time in the world, so I was told. It’s too bad no one told my hormones. My mother’s sex talk hadn’t helped either. All she said was, “focus on school, you’ll enjoy sex when you’re older.” When I laughed at her choice of words, she retorted with a shrug, “well, sex is fun, you’re supposed to enjoy it.” Sex talk over. You may be happy to know that I did wait, for a whole year. 365 days of ignoring the needs of my flesh.
It was in my second year of university that I made the extremely logical reason to lose my virginity with an acquaintance. You read that correctly. I made a new year’s resolution to lose my v-card because, well, it had to happen sometime, and I preferred sooner rather than later. I also decided that I didn’t want a stranger, nor someone I would share an emotional connection with. I didn’t want to be one of those girls stuck pining over their “first”. No, I wanted someone I knew, but not too well. Someone good looking, but not pompous. With a stroke of good luck, I found him. Talk about speaking into existence!
It was a scorching February day. My best friend and I were sitting on the steps in true Gossip Girl style, munching on Nick Naks and grapes, engaging in one of our favourite activities on campus: people-watching. Then, there he came jogging past on his way to the library, my perfect man. Well, my perfect cherry-popper – let’s refer to him as CP. He stopped abruptly, perfect pink lips pursed, brow furrowed, face drenched in bewilderment. He greeted my best friend, uncertainty laced in his fruity voice. It turned out they had gone to the same high school, but he had somehow missed her the entire previous year. Did I mention he was cute? He was yellow bone, slim build, not too tall, hair cut in a perfect fade, and had the most beautifully shaped head I had ever seen. Back then, I had a serious issue with funny-shaped heads. You’ll be happy to know that I have matured. We were introduced and that was the extent of our conversation. CP and BFF weren’t close, so it was a given that he and I wouldn’t be either. I wish I could say that I was bold and immediately set out to get my claws on him, but all my drooling amounted to nothing more than wishful thinking. At that moment, all I was brave enough to do was mumble to my BFF, “hmm, he’s cute, nice ass.” I may have been a virgin, but I was still a little pervert.
The big event (D-V Day) happened exactly 20 days before my 18th birthday. A group of us, BFF included, had decided to go out to the local pub near the University. You guessed correctly: I was underage and therefore not allowed to enter – beginning a pattern of being bounced out of clubs, but those are stories for another day. After my failed first attempt to get inside, one of my friends came up with the brilliant idea to undergo a little make-over to disguise me. A headwrap, different jacket, and a distraction at the door later, I was in! Yay me!
We found a table and decked it out with 660ml bottles of Smirnoff Storm spirit cooler each, like the broke spenders we were. Clearly, on a mission to get wasted. The vibe was as ratchet as expected, and we were feeling it to the bone. House music blasted off the speakers, drunk students either danced like strippers or made out in the corner like porn stars, a football match played on the large screen, and boisterous conversation rang off everywhere. This was not the kind of place in which you wanted your parents to find you. In short, it was epic!
After a few minutes of downing my drink, not quite drunk enough to embarrass myself on the dance floor yet, a guy I knew came and started talking to me. Ever since that night, I haven’t been able to recall his face, name or from where I knew him. I didn’t even introduce him to my friends, nor did they try to engage him. What mattered was that was officially the first guy to try and pick me up at a bar. Well, a pub. This was to be my first experience of a drunken encounter with a guy, regardless of how uninteresting he was. Honestly, he was downright boring. I remember smiling awkwardly at him as he loitered next to me, creating small talk. Boredom aside, my night was going great.
Sometime later, which felt like minutes, our table was joined by CP and his friends. They weren’t the type to ask for permission to join, especially since they somewhat knew my BFF. No, they just sat down and took over the conversation. I didn’t have the heart to kick my loiterer away, hoping that he would do the sensible thing and leave of his own accord. He was distracting me from drooling over CP, who was seated opposite me. So rude! I kept throwing glances over at him and doing what any girl would do when their crush was around: laugh obnoxiously louder than normal. In a surprising turn of events, smooth as ever, CP came and sat right next to me, kicking one of my friends away to take his vacated seat. He then proceeded to start a private conversation with me, completely cutting off loiter boy. What was a girl to do? Two guys in one night?! I had never had this much attention before. Did I care that I was suddenly paying less attention to my first solicitor? Nope! I was giddy and extra hot from all the attention.
Mr boring finally left and I heard our whole table cheering. Apparently, they had all been watching as CP swooped in to claim me. It was a game, but I didn’t care. I was the prize that had been won by the most eligible bachelor. When the place became extra rowdy, it was decided that it was time for us to relocate back to res and do what people our age did: chill. An intimate party among friends. Another first experience for me. We left the pub and I followed my friends, and my new friends, blindly. It’s amazing how much trust we put in people. Not once did I question what would happen at this “chill” with guys who were practically strangers to most of us.
Our first stop was CP’s room to collect the merchandise. Kush. This was a quick detour and we were in and out of the room in less than 5 minutes. When we got downstairs, though, he pulled me aside and said: “Hey, I forgot my student card, please go back up with me.” In my naivety and general giddiness to be in his presence, I didn’t consider this for the ruse it was. I mean, he needs his student card to gain access later, keeping him company while he got it was the socially acceptable thing to do. We got back to the room and I stood by the door, arms folded and waited for him to do as he said, get his student card. I watched as he began rummaging half-heartedly through his things. Then he said, “You know, I don’t know where I left it. Have a seat while I look for it. Would you like something to drink?” It was only at that moment that it hit me: I was alone, in a room, with my chosen guy, very, very close to a bed. Took me a while, huh?
I proceeded to sit on the bed, suddenly very conscious of all my movements. He sat down next to me and confessed, “I really just wanted to get you here alone.” At that moment, the room temperature skyrocketed. I started to panic because even though I had fantasized about this moment and had consciously decided that it was time to lose my virginity, I did not think that this would actually happen. I planned and drooled but failed to prepare myself for reality. Rather than ride the wave, I got up to leave. This was happening! I mean, he was perfect. Too perfect. He sat there, swagger pouring out of him, giving me a sly smile and puppy eyes, making my heart pound and my vagina clench. He grabbed my hand to stop me from leaving and pulled me down to sit on his lap, meanwhile, all I was thinking was, “Oh my goodness, I’m on a guy’s lap.” My ears were ringing so loudly with the blood rushing to them that I didn’t even hear what he said before the kiss that started everything.
The act itself was, in a word, scary. I felt as though I was going in blindly, so I held on to CP to guide me through. No one experienced ever talks about the real stuff with you – the stuff they don’t cover in Life Orientation classes, the practical stuff and what happens to your body. For a long time, I had been a silent participant in many conversations between peers about what happens when you lose your virginity. Listening attentively, soaking up everything: the Hollywood movies about how it only lasts two minutes then it’s disappointingly over, the parts about how a guy can tell when he breaks through the hymen, details about a friend of a friend who felt so much pain that they just couldn’t go through with it, stories about how girls can sometimes pinch a guy too much. I prayed that I would not be the girl who pinches. I was afraid of excruciating pain, a few quick minutes of him wiggling inside of me and leaving a battlefield-sized bloodstain on his sheets. At one point, he turned me over to change positions and I scrambled off the bed in a panic because I thought he wanted anal sex. With the little that I knew, I knew I didn’t want that. What did I get? Mild discomfort, a little pleasure and a guy with a lot of stamina.
At first, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. His soothing and seductive touches helped, but I was reeling with nerves. Beyond the pain, my body started to come alive and I felt sensations I had never known before. Bumping and grinding was just scratching the surface. I don’t want to be the girl that complains about a man with stamina, but at some point, I started to get bored. True story. Eventually, I was just ready for him to stop, silently constructing a letter to Hollywood producers about their misinformation. Sex isn’t too short, it’s too long! When we were done, the first thing I did was check his sheets as they do in those stereotypical African movies, minus the fanatical joy when they find out the bride was indeed a virgin. I was mentally preparing myself for the awkwardness of the bloody massacre I would have left on his sheets. Perhaps it was the terrible lighting in that dim dorm room, or perhaps I was still reeling from my first sexual encounter, but, disappointingly, I did not see a thing. I thought my virginity would leave a monumental mark, even if it was blood on a cute acquaintance’s sheets. We headed out to meet up with the rest of our group, him looking very relaxed and talking animatedly, and me trying my best to shrug it off and play it cool for the rest of the night.
I bet you’re wondering if this was the beginning of a romantic love story, where it was meant to be a one-night stand, but we both couldn’t walk away. Better yet, he needed more, like in those cheesy romance novels I enjoy. No, it wasn’t. I got what I wanted that night, and he got laid. There was a brief spell where he proposed our coupling, and I thought, “hmm, maybe I should give it a shot,” but that didn’t happen. I had just been released from the virginity cave and I was ready to play. He moved on and so did I - to many more stories.
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