Female • 16 years old • Pittsburgh
You could say I was a good student. He taught me how hard I should tug his hair to make him grin when we kissed, where exactly I should flick my tongue to make his eyes roll back in his head. He showed me how tight of a grip I should use to make his legs tremble. I passed every test.
I showcased my teen lust in my royal blue journal; every detail was documented. On the back cover I kept tally marks of everything that we did in what I thought at the time was a secret code that only I could understand: "BJ, III… HJ, IIIIII… "
I now know that even a six year old would probably be able to figure out my "secret language." But sitting in the backseat of my parents' car I would scribble on the pages, laughing about what my parents would think of me if they knew what I was writing.
"Everything feels so good, I can't wait to find out what sex is going to feel like…" I was ready, I took the prerequisites, it was time for that capstone course.
Illustration by Thomas Pitilli
I told that journal how perfect it would be. How could it not be? We went to our favorite place to fool around: the duck lake.
It was dark, but we had no blanket to romantically stargaze. Lying on top of a picnic table seemed like the most logical alternative. Where a family ate dinner hours before, I would lose my virginity. He stood off the table while I inched my body as close to the edge as I could. My t-shirt was spread out under me so I wouldn't get splinters in unpleasant places. And then, with a one, two, three and cry of pain it was all over. No pleasure, no fireworks. My journal was going to be seriously disappointed.
"So..," I mumbled awkwardly, "does this mean I'm not a virgin anymore?"
"That is what it means," he said.
That night I lied to my journal. I was too embarrassed to admit even to bound pieces of paper that losing my virginity was the least fun I had all summer. Months of plot development with no climax, pun intended.