But I didn’t expect to hear things I didn’t want to hear at all – let alone have to answer them.
How was it?
The ideal answer would be this: it was
beautiful, meaningful, hot, and mind-blowingly amazing. There were
candles, silk sheets, and lots of lovely romantic words. We cried
together after our mutual climax because the universe is magnificent but
we are bound together by something sacred.
Or some kind of answer that paints the first time as the best time EVER because, yay sex! But that’s not always the case. Asking this question gives me the impression that the first time should have been über-special, and it makes me feel like I have to romanticize and invent details that weren’t there. Just to convince myself and others that the first time was beyond perfect.
But it’s not.
The first time was lovely. It wasn’t perfect. There were no candles. There was no romance. There was a lot of lust. There was pain. There was blood. And surprisingly, there was a little bit of laughter. That’s the honest answer to question I’d rather not hear from anyone.
Was it good?
Answer: I DON’T HAVE NO IDEA.
I was a virgin for reason and that
reason is because I have never done it before. So asking me if it was
good, great, or [insert adjective here] will seriously result in a blank
stare because, believe me, I don’t know what is good sex or bad sex
with another person.
When I’ve done it again with someone
the second, third, fourth, or –nth time, you can ask me again so I can
have a point of comparison.
Why did you do it?
We all have our reasons in losing our virginity. Sometimes, it’s because of love, because of something special that you feel in that organ that pumps your blood. Sometimes, it’s as simple as getting caught up in the moment of blinding lust. Sometimes, you just want to get rid of it to get it over with.Whatever the reason may be, it should be your decision. I have always believed that, at the end of the day, any decision you make should be done on your own terms. Sure, you can open your ears to solicited or unsolicited comments and suggestions because you don’t live in a bubble. But when you make that decision, it should be yours completely and unequivocally.
Once you pop, you can’t stop.
Losing your virginity is not some magical ON button for sexual activity. It is what it is. Telling me that “once I pop, I won’t be able to stop” pressures me into thinking that once I lose my virginity I should be some insatiable sexual vixen. But I’m not. I wish I was (it would have been more interesting, I guess), but honestly, I really didn’t feel anything change in me. I go about my day feeling the same, as if nothing happened. Sometimes, while walking, I stop and ask myself, “Is anything different?” and the answer is “Not really.”Conclusion: once you pop, it’s been popped. Period.
You are never going to get it back.
Yes. I know I will never get it back.The hymen doesn’t really regenerate overtime. Once it’s gone, it’s gone, and I knew that before having sex with someone. I also felt it “going away” because it hurt like hell. But telling me that I’m never getting it back makes me feel like I lost something that is supposedly important.
Don’t get me wrong; it might be important to some. But telling a newly devirginized girl that she’s not getting it back makes her feel like maybe, just maybe she should have held out longer and waited for something more enchanting than the experience she just had. Besides, no one would say anything about losing it and never getting it back if it weren’t for that purposeless strip of flesh called the hymen.
This is one of the most painful things I have heard from my friends. I’m never going to get it back, and I did lose my virginity, but I am not any less of a person because of that decision.
I’m not a virgin anymore. I’m never going to get it back, but everyone else should keep out of something that has already been done.
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