I had never imagined or wanted my first time to be like this. I had romanticized visions of white dresses and wedding nights. I had not imagined a dark high school boy’s room. I had not imagined high on angel dust laced pot.
I had not imagined saying, “No...no...I don’t want to...no,” before giving in silently to “come on...my god you’re beautiful...come on baby.” Hands in my dress, mouth on my neck, staring at the ceiling.” This had never been covered in all my years of “abstinence education.” What would I do with my purity ring now?
I was equally relieved and horrified when it was over. The heavens had not fallen from the sky. I was essentially unchanged to the naked eye. I was equally relieved and horrified when we only stalked once or twice more. I never let myself be alone with him again, but I didn’t want it to appear to be what it was: my first time was just a one night stand.
So it wasn’t going to be the mythical white dress, wedding night dream I had been sold as vital. If I was going to be tainted and impure, from then on, it was going to be on my terms. It might be a boyfriend, a hot date, a spontaneous spark with another person. It might also be, “Not tonight...no...I’m not really comfortable with this.”
There might be an occasional bruised ego, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I would rather be a bitch that says no than a sweetheart who lies motionless, waiting for it to be over. Whatever it might be, it would never again be “no...no...I don’t want to...no.”