Losing your virginity is huge. It’s been built up since the birds and the bees talk, and everyone you know gives you a different description of what it’s actually going to be like.
Grandma preaches about how she waited for marriage and how the only man she ever slept with was your grandfather, which kept her from getting those dirty diseases the youngsters are getting these days. Your parents just beg you to wait for college when you’re out of their house, and protect yourself so you aren’t bringing home their grandchildren on your winter break. Then there’s your slutty friend who boasted about how great it was and had all the boys following her through the halls of high school.
But when we sit down and look back on how it actually was when we decided to lose our virginity, it isn’t easily summed up into one simple tip or anecdote. It was more like a 30-minute (if you were one of the lucky ones) progression into womanhood.
After reading The Frisky’s perspective on the stages men go through when losing their virginity, I was not only enlightened (seriously, who knew guys thought so much?!), but it got me thinking of my own first time and the stages I went through as it was all goin’ down.
Perhaps you can relate…
I’ve been planning this moment forever and the day is finally here. My hands are clammy and I’m going back and forth between clenching my vagina as if trying to ward off the impending penetration and dreaming about how romantic it will all be (based solely on my weekly viewing of The Notebook). When the time comes, I’m wearing my sexiest pair of undies but, ugh, why do my boobs flop out to the side like that when I’m laying on my back? And am I doing this right? Should I be making more noises? Does this position make me look fat? Suck it in. SUCK. IT. IN.
About 15 minutes into it, I am blindsided by a flood of emotion that comes out of nowhere. Am I…no wait…that is NOT a tear! Omg, it is a tear. I’m crying. This can’t be happening. It’s okay, he doesn’t notice. Just pretend it’s sweat. But why should I be ashamed? It’s not my fault I have a surge of estrogen that suddenly reminds me of the magnitude of the situation. It’s momentous and life changing. Do I love you? Should we get married? Omg, did I just say I love you out loud!? I don’t think he heard me. Say something dirty to cover it up! Wait! Do I love him? No! Maybe? No. Okay, maybe I do. Damn you, emotions. Okay, sanity regained. Let’s just do this.
Is this how it’s supposed to go? This feels…weird. Wait, what am I doing? OW! Did something just pop? That did NOT feel good! What are my parents going to think? They’re totally gonna know. My mom’s going to tell grandma; I’ll never be able to show my face at Christmas dinner. Why the hell am I thinking about grandma right now? EW! Is the condom still on? I don’t feel it. Omg, I’m going to get pregnant. I really have to pee. I think I am going to pee. I cannot hold it in. This is a nightmare. Oh wait, that doesn’t feel half bad… Hey, I kinda like this. Keep doing that. Make noises so he knows you like it. Mmmm.
I finally did it. I’m no longer “the virgin” of the group, which automatically disabled me from every girl chat about sex, men and late night rendezvous’. I’m not going to deny it, I feel great. I’m a real woman now! Perhaps there is a little physical damage, I’m almost positive I am going to be walking like I spent the night horseback riding come tomorrow morning, but mentally I couldn’t feel better. Oh wait. Go pee. But cover up; he doesn’t need to see your cellulite. Wait. Stop being crazy. You guys just had sex. OMG. I just had sex! My friends are totally gonna freak when I tell them. They need to know immediately. Ok, he’s facing the other way. Is he sleeping? WTF? Whatever, just grab the Blackberry and bring it to bathroom. Mass texting is in order!