5. Cruel Intentions

Neither party in the me-losing-my-virginity process went in with appropriate delicacy. He didn't, because he was a teenaged boy, and I didn't, because I was embarrassed. I didn't want to make a big deal of the fact that his penis felt like a dagger, so I tried to emulate the Fonz, making a series of "hey, whatever, it's fine, fuggedaboutit!" faces that I'm sure confused my partner.

Just a few years before the death of my hymen, my mother was swayed by the ever-convincing argument that everyone I knew saw Cruel Intentions and, like, I would die — just die — if I didn't see it as well. The viewing lasted all of thirty minutes. If my mother and I had hung in there, she would've learned that the film isn't all cocaine crosses and lesbian kisses, and I would've gone into my deflowering a bit more prepared. When virginal Annette finally gives in to bad boy Sebastian, the moment is intimate and gentle. Sebastian pauses and asks Annette if she's okay. Apparently that's normal! Good to know!

And God, they kiss so much. No one told me how essential kissing is in sex. I never knew that in a home run, you have to round all the bases — you don't just take a step away from the plate, turn around, and high-five the umpire. And then, Sebastian calls a car for his girl! I can't count the number of times I've been left to scrap it out on a crowded train with my shirt inside out and no underwear on, hungry as hell because the only food he had in his apartment was Corn Chex with no milk. Cruel Intentions is how it is done, ladies and gentlemen. If I'd seen it — or any of these movies — at the right age, I might have demanded more.

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