Yesterday was the anniversary of me losing my virginity.
I'm not going to say how many years, exactly, but I will tell you I was in college, and it was October 7th. I don't remember the date because it was so life-changing, or anything. I just have a weird mind that remembers obscure dates for everything.
I can tell you I graduated high school on May 24th and college on May 12th. I can tell you an ex-boyfriend's birthday was January 2nd, and one of my tenth grade boyfriends and I celebrated our anniversary on June 6th. I don't know why this stuff sticks in there...it just does.
Heh. Seriously, we did. It got even better with time, as we learned each other.
The thing I remember more than anything about October 7th was facing myself in the mirror later that night and wondering what the big deal was. Not because I was disappointed, but because, honestly - I was raised evangelical Southern Baptist and I guess part of me was still sure I was going to implode from the weight of sin upon my tarnished body and stained soul.
Only, I didn't feel that way. I didn't feel that way at all. I didn't feel used or dirty or sullied or worth less in his eyes, or in mine. He treated me well, he cared about me, and he went on to become my first serious long-term relationship. We learned a lot together, he and I. We didn't work out, but I don't regret any of the time we spent together, and to this day, I don't regret our physical relationship. And I haven't had a serious relationship partner since that gave a rat's annointed arse whether I had some mileage on me or not.
This is me, of course. Your mileage may vary, and that whole scenario may go against everything you believe in. And that's okay. You do what's right for you.
I know girls who had regrettable first encounters, due to alcohol, or uncaring partners, or because of a need for acceptance or validation, or because of other, sometimes horrific circumstances.
That wasn't my experience, and I never really reflected on just how lucky I am that it wasn't.
Of course, now that I'm divorced and too terrified to date, I tell my friends I've regrown my hymen and it's now teflon-coated. I wouldn't be surprised.
Sooner or later, I'll find a good guy again; one who's attentive and treats me right and maybe the sparks will fly again. Only now I've lived alone as a homeowner long enough that I now know how to use a screw gun.
I can fix the damn bed.
I can fix the damn bed.