Female, 16, Rhode Island
My virginity was dragging me down. Almost all of my friends had lost it when they were thirteen or fourteen. I thought that was disgusting, which was why I was still a virgin with junior year rapidly approaching. I had to get this over with.
I'd almost managed it at fifteen, but the day before our two-month anniversary, my first love broke up with me online. I had made a decision; I'd packed a condom into my bag anticipating the next day. But after getting dumped, I didn't have another boyfriend or even a kiss for almost a whole year.
It didn't help my cause that I was becoming more and more punk rock. It's actually shocking how many teenage boys aren't into that. Then I met Bryan. He was in a band, he had a lip piercing, he wasn't from my school, and he thought I was cute. Good enough for me. We started dating right after the school year ended, but by the beginning of July, he seemed to be getting impatient for sex. He started making comments about my virginity and ditching me more for his friends.
I could see my chance of losing my virginity slipping away, and I couldn't waste another of my teenage years in a dry spell. I knew I had to spread them or move on. I should have run in the other direction.
At the end of July, my parents went out of town. I knew I would lose it that weekend. I had access to a car and also knew I wouldn't get busted for doing what any sixteen-year-old would do for courage: drink. That night, we hung out with a mutual friend who knew exactly what was going to go down. I sipped a Jack and Coke, listening to Jimi Hendrix and impatiently watching my boyfriend and his friend play video games. When I started spilling my drink, I knew it was time.
On the drive back to my house I told him I loved him. I didn't mean it. I think I knew he wasn't the right person, but I figured if I said I loved him it would ease my guilt.
I'm pretty embarrassed to admit this, but my "virginity scene" was something out of a teen movie. I put on a Blind Melon CD (pretty much because it was the softest music I owned) and lit about twenty-five candles. We started making out on my bed, with the white-and-pink flower wallpaper slightly hazy from the booze, and "Toes Across The Floor" setting the mood.
He put it in, and, honestly, it didn't hurt. He had an average dick, but I remember visualizing what was happening to my body, and it really just felt like being fingered with a few extras in there. He pumped on top of me as I tried to grind back, dying to come. I didn't, and I don't think he did either. After about five minutes, he dismounted and rolled off of me. I said — and I'm forever proud of this — "Is that it?" He claimed he thought I wanted him to stop, although I hadn't given any indication that I did.
Shortly thereafter, he turned over and started snoring loudly. I lay awake for about an hour, thinking about what had just happened. I ended up sleeping in my little brother's room to escape the snoring and the loneliness.
As predicted, he left me. For a thirteen-year-old girl.