Wednesday, September 22, 2010

So You Lost Your Virginity, Huh?

The following is a repost from a blog I recently discovered, called Trying to Find Me.  I haven't read anything that hit me like this did in a long time.  I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did.  I teared up while attempting to discreetly read it during a lecture.  Oops.  Check out the blog.  It's well worth it.
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There’s no way to go around it. I’ve been thinking about it a lot (not perverted thoughts about people losing their virginity but how people, particularly people that grew up in similar situations as me, have done it or if they have at all.) So, I’d like to explore the subject.

How did it happen? Was it a conscious decision? Did your conscious kill you after? Were you happy? Did it change your life? Did your parents find out? 
If you haven’t had sex, why not? Religious purposes or are you just terrified of getting pregnant before getting a ring on that finger?
My road to adult activities was a fairly slow and boring one until shit hit the fan.
Middle school consisted of me lusting after three guys; leaving “anonymous” notes in my main crush’s locker; writing in my little diary about those crushes, how “fine” they looked and how badly I wanted to marry Ryder Strong. Terrible. (Next time I go home to my parents’ house that little baby is coming out of retirement for some comedic relief!)
My first kiss was horrible. I was forced into a “relationship” by my acquaintance/friends in 11th grade with a senior that was obese, liked questionable music and was just unappealing in every sense of the word. He would hang around outside my classes and try to hold my hand when walking down the hall when all I wanted to do was run in the other direction. 
Anyway… We were hanging around outside after school with some friends and everyone was paired up. I was sitting as far as I could get from this guy and someone just haaaaad to ask if we had kissed each other yet. We said no. That escalated in everyone pressuring us to do it right then and there. I kept refusing but of course this guy wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to lay his wormy, greasy lips on me in front of witnesses. Somehow, while trying to escape the situation he caught me in a giant bear hug and planted his lips on mine for approximately 5 seconds…it felt like 5 days of torture. I squirmed my way out of his arms and promptly excused myself to do some chores at home. I think I ran. I hate running.
I spent the whole next day avoiding him at all costs, crafting a note that would effectively break his heart enough to hate me and never talk to me again for the rest of the year. I consider that a silver lining to the grey cloud of his affection.
My next encounter was in 12th grade with a friend. He was nice and loved the Smashing Pumpkins, (just like me!) and I felt comfortable with him. I just really needed to kiss someone else so that grease-ball wouldn’t be the only one on record. We made out all the time for maybe three days. Then it was over. I got paranoid about my parents somehow finding out so we just needed to end it. Plus he was kind of sloppy.
Then came RH. I didn’t like him at first. He was some guy that started talking to me online and eventually got on my good side. He wrote me poetry, got me into underground hip-hop and really introduced me to Sonic Youth, Jesus and the Mary Chain, Built to Spill and so on. We talked for months and months online and over the phone (which was risky business since I’d call from my parents’ land-line on a phone card). I ended up genuinely loving him and would write swoony things about him on my livejournal.
The opportunity to meet finally came. It wasn’t long at all and it wasn’t easy to make it happen either. (The full story probably won’t make it here but trust me, state lines were crossed and family double crossed.) But I just knew that he was it and that I was going to marry him (I was 19) so it made it really easy for me to say yes when he asked me if I was ready. You know, ready.
He asked me twenty times if I was sure and that we didn’t have to and all that because he knew he would be my first. I just kept saying yes. We made out all damn day and I didn’t know if I would survive after my parents found out so YES. We did it. It was uh, not exciting, but I didn’t care. I don’t think I ever really got a good look at his penis either so that area of a man’s anatomy was still a mystery to me when it came to seeing things in person. He was the one and I gave my virginity to him. This all sounds very “moronic teenager” but it was super romantic to me when it happened. After all, I was in love!
My parents never found out. Well, they found out about him two months after we broke it off but they never found out that he took my virginity. No, they found out about that a year later with someone else.
Ah yes, someone else. I refuse to say his name because this guy is a genuine regret. I’m not getting into his story because that would be long and sordid and a waste of time but I will say these few things about the situation. I was living at my university dorms for the semester, he stayed with me for a few weeks and I skipped most of my classes because of him effectively failing nearly every class.
Anyway, my parents found out I wasn’t a virgin any more! Good God Allmighty, I do not wish that experience on anyone.
I was called out of the room I was in, told to sit down and then they barraged me with questions and accusations like:
“Did he take your virginity?”
“Did you let him undress you?”
“Did he sleep in the same bed as you?”
“How long was this going on for?”
“Do you know how heart broken your mother is?” (She was standing right in front of me with tears on her face, yeah, I had an idea.)
“I’m going to call him right now and tell him to marry you, nobody will want you, do you love him? Then you should marry him and never come back here again.”
Things like that. Then I was dragged up to my room, my mom whipped out her Quran and made me swear on it that I would never have sex again until I was married and then I had to take a bath where I was to recite a special du’a with her standing outside and listening to make sure i said it! Apparently it’s some du’a that you’re supposed to say after you lose your virginity? I don’t know. Most of those months were blocked out of my memory.
I was called a slut and many other things. It was hell living at home. They withdrew me from the school I was going to and made me take classes at the community college down the street from where we lived. Things were bad for a very, very long time. Nothing like those Hollywood movies with supportive parents telling you to stick your crotch into freshly baked pies.
Normally I think an experience like that would just permanently fuck someone up for life but I kept going. I was a love sick girl with overbearing parents that would go ape shit at the mention of a boy after that day. I just had really bad luck. Being muslim with a nosy Paki/Indian community didn’t help.
I also think that whole experience made me say fuck what my religion says, it’s not healthy to not know anything about your body and what it likes and have your parents berate you for it. I am responsible when it comes to sex, never unprotected and always sober. Yes, I am terrified of getting pregnant, but I’m also not into repressing something that I know I like. It’s healthy and a fun activity even when you’re in a relationship that spans years.
My experience also makes me wonder how others have gone about it. If they’re muslim, do their parents know? If they do, what was their initial reaction? How has the relationship changed between parent and child? Do they even know about their kids’ relationships? It intrigues me. I don’t want to know about specific sexual encounters, but I do want to know how everyone else deals with this subject because my experience was sufficiently terrifying.

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About Me

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I am the product-child of the Women's Lib movement. I have a grade A education, a promising career and no immediate goal for children or a spouse. I will be 30 this year and I have spent many years in monogamous relationships. In and out of 1 to 2 year relationships, I always dated with the goal of meeting someone special. Most of the time I didn't date. Most of the time I found myself falling into relationship after relationship. These relationships were doomed to fail. They were all built on expectations that were, for me, unattainable. I love meeting new people. I find sex enjoyable and empowering and I am not happy when I am monogamous. So, after my last break-up, after taking some time to grieve, I decided to cut my societal puppet strings and get back in the game. I set out on a mission to spend the Summer of 2010 dating as many men as possible. My only initial criteria was attraction. My only limitation was - no love and no structured relationships. This is my date by date tale of what life can be like outside of the goals of relationships and love.
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