They tell us sex is everything. It’s penultimate. It’s love. It’s the biggest culmination of emotion and physical awakening.
They tell us sex is sacred. Save it. Give it to someone special. Wait for love. Wait for him. Wait for her. Wait.
What the hell are we supposed to do with that. As girls we’re given this virginity present. And we’re supposed to carefully choose who gets to open it. Our delicate little gift that needs protecting.
If life were a movie I would’ve lost my virginity on a hammock under the stars to a boy with innocent eyes and a first boyfriend title.
But life is messy. And I waited.
Until one night I drank a little too much, wore a little too little, and laughed a little too loud.
If he had asked I would’ve said no. But he didn’t ask.
And afterwards I cried. I couldn’t stop crying. I cried in the arms of my friends and I couldn’t tell you where or why the tears came.
I had a new label. I could no longer call myself a virgin and that scared the hell out of me.
Since that one boy there have been lots of boys. And here’s what I’ve learned.
Sex is not everything. Sex is not nothing. Sex is sex.
And as with everything in life– it is what you make it and who you make it with.
