Spin Me I Pulsate.

When I was 15, going on 16, I lost my virgnity.

OK, so I didn't lose it so much as wave it around a few times, heave back and throw it as far away from me as possible. I was done with it. I was glad to be rid of it.

Didn't anyone else find it to be like this big black hood that weighed heavy on you, like a big sign everyone could see? I couldn't see around it, and I wondered what was on the other side. It was bothersome, it was boring, and well, I wanted to be wanted.

Steve and I screwed around periodically. It was nothing we ever discussed, we were only friends at school, ok friends, we'd joke around, eat lunch, but that was amoung a group of people, all friends. We were all friends together the way a group of people with nothing in common except tormenting religon and french teachers together can be. But when we'd all get drunk on the weekend, Steve and I would inevitably hook up.

I don't remember feeling any type of lust or even attraction towards this guy normally. He was nice, a super nice guy, but not super attractive. He was "a friend". So why we came together like a moth to a flame when drunk, I don't know. Perhaps it was just because we were there. Perhaps we both felt like "friends" so often that it made sense to go off together.

It was nice, in it's own way. And yeah, I'm sure there are some Mom type people, horrified at the thought of their daughters having seemingly useless, promiscious fooling around with someone they aren't romantically entangled with.

But you know what-THAT is exactly what I liked about it, and why to this day, I think so fondly about Steve. There was never any pressure, no need to "DO" the deed, no need to hit this base, or make out for X amount of hours. We simply enjoyed the pleasure of eachother, and our bodies. We made no commitments to eachother, never had to say "I Love You", never had to pretend it was something other than it was.

The night I finally said "to hell with this" and said yes to his subtle, but continued prodding, I had drank WAY more Southern Comfort than any girl should, really. But I don't remember feeling very drunk. I do remember the excited look in his eye when I said I was ready, the loud "WHOOP!" he made when he jumped off the bed and ran out to a friends room looking for a condom. He genuinely wanted me, genuinely wanted to be close. He couldn't have faked the look in his eyes.

He never pushed me to it. He always asked, in much the same way you might ask if someone wanted tea-not really expecting them to say yes, but offering just the same. He never pushed beyond asking that once most nights, and even if he repeated himself, I could still say no and not feel any less of a person in his eyes. He wanted it, but he knew he'd have to wait for it, if it happened at all.

When he returned, and it started, I'll admit, I was scared. I was scared, stupid scared, and even with a condom, I wouldn't let him stay inside very long. And it hurt, but likely because I was so bloody tense with the unknown. Scared that I was loosing something, scared because I was becoming something else. But his eyes never wavered from mine, and I never saw anything but fondness, affection and pleasure in them.

The rest of that night goes down in a drunken blur. Everyone else knew, and later, congratulated us for doing it. For finally "popping the cherry". It was a big deal, and it felt like I had finally been initiated into some new club, I had finally become a woman, because I had chosen my time, and I was at peace with when and who I lost it to. I had made my choice, and I am forever indebted to Steve for making that moment in my life something that will always put a sly, quiet smile on my face. Steve made me realize at a very important time, that I was a wonderful, beautiful creature worthy of him, worthy of many, and most importantly, worthy of myself.

Now if only I could forgive him for the red bikini underwear he had on.

Posted by thordora on Tuesday, May 23, 2006 at 2:05 p.m. | Permalink