I Lost My Virginity on Wednesday, And I Regret It

Before I lost my virginity, I thought that my first time would be fireworks, rockets and waterfalls. I mean, that’s how the movies depict sex! In my circle of friends, I was considered the late bloomer – everyone had been humping and pumping for years and years. Initially, I was waiting for religious reasons – I mean, I couldn’t cite the Bible verse, but I thought that that’s what God wanted me to do. And, you know, I wasn’t trying to go to hell. But as time went on, I knew that I wasn’t going to wait. I was too curious not to. So I decided that I would wait – for someone that I knew I could trust. I met Mark the way that everyone meets nowadays – online. But things were as organic as they could’ve been from the very start. We talked about everything from music to movies to mundane tasks at our respective jobs. Our friendship ambled on for the first part of the year, with a few dates and a few make out sessions. He told me that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, but I knew that Mark would be a good friend – and if the times that we kissed could serve as an indicator, he’d be a good lover as well.
Months pass, and Mark and I finally planned to have sex. He knew that I was a virgin. He knew that he’d be my first. He knew that there’d be a possibility of me becoming “clingy” and reading more into the friendship than my feelings and his boundaries allowed. He insisted that he didn’t care, though.
“Before we start talking about emotions, let’s establish this – we both want to have sex with each other,” he said. “We should at least give it a try before we say how we’ll feel afterwards. And if that happens, we’ll just talk about it like we’re doing now.”
I thought that that was fair. And I’ve always been the kind to try anything once.
I arrived at Mark’s home the next day where he promptly took me to the basement and provided a change of clothes. We didn’t shoot the shit or dawdle…I knew why I was there and what I was there for. I thought that we’d start out by sharing a kiss – the same kiss that was part of why I was convinced to share this moment with him. And we did…for a little bit. But the entire deed was very distant, if that makes sense. Our bodies were connected, but I didn’t feel him there emotionally. The only words he uttered were “this way,” “don’t move,” “don’t speak.” He didn’t hold me, didn’t caress me, didn’t brush my hair from my forehead and look into my eyes the way I thought someone who actually cares about you would do. It was good, don’t get me wrong. He definitely knew what he was doing. But our emotional connection that I thought we had wasn’t apparent that night – even though sex is supposed to be the most intimate act in the world.
When we were done, he smiled and asked how I liked my first time. “Another satisfied customer,” he bragged. He immediately called a cab and while we waited, he laughed about how shocked I was by his size.
“Yeah, another girl said I had a pretty penis,” he told me. “Ain’t nothin’ pretty about this di…”
The taxi couldn’t have arrived any faster. I kind of never wanted to see Mark again. Ever. He paid for my ride to the subway station (against my judgment) and waved at me from outside the car. I realized that we didn’t even hug and barely looked at each other after a few blocks. A few hours later, I texted him to let him know that I made it in and thanked him for the evening as it was the polite thing to do. He replied, said he was glad I made it in and said you’re welcome. That was Thursday. It’s Saturday. And he still hasn’t texted.
I doubt that I’ll hear from Mark again – he got what he wanted. I thought that he was genuine and that he’d be here for me after it was all said and done. And I won’t lie – even though he’s clearly a douchebag, I’m bummed. I’m not sure what lesson is in all of this yet as everything’s still fresh. I do know one thing, though…I should’ve waited. My first time’s one thing that I won’t be able to get back, no matter how hard I’m trying to forget how it happened.
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