My first boyfriend—and father of my child—was the boy I lost my virginity to. In fact, we were both virgins at the time, and we had been dating for about six months before we decided to take that step together.
Before sex, there was lots of your typical high school courtship. There was shy handholding. There were steamy-windowed make-outs in my car. There were the initial passionate exchanges of I-love-you’s on my mom’s couch. There were cuddly sleepovers at friends’ apartments when I was supposed to be staying at my friend Rachel’s house.
We attempted the whole sex thing a few times before I think it can actually count. I was nervous, and all of the fidgeting with condoms and positioning didn’t help my teenage insecurities. I would completely psych myself out. He was gentle and respectful about it all and encouraged that it could happen whenever I was ready.
However, one night we wanted to be alone together, so we did the cheesiest, most typical teenager shit you could imagine: we got a freakin’ hotel room. Heck, it was more like a motel. Regardless, we only got a little way into doin’ the deed before it hurt, and we had to stop.
I don’t think that counts, mainly because I remember having an instance a few weeks afterwards that made me think, “Oh, so this is sex.” We were in my bedroom at my house, and if I remember correctly, we were having some solo-hang-out time before my mom or brother got home.
How stereotypical-teenage-sex is that?
I really don’t remember too many specifics. I remember that it was slightly awkward yet quite nice and orgasm-inducing for both parties involved.
Further down the road in our tumultuous relationship, I yearned for the compassion and love he had previously shown towards me. He and I were sexually active with each other for about six months before I got pregnant. Our relationship faced some radical highs and lows, and after three years, I couldn’t handle the extremes anymore. I shut my eyes and made the leap into single-parentdom.
I am so happy to say that I am currently in a relationship that has allowed me to re-learn what genuine appreciation is all about. For a while, I doubted that this type of comfort existed, but believe me, all you fellow-doubters; it totally does!
For a long time, I associated sex solely with getting pregnant, and the thought of it terrified me. Every time I ate too many slices of pizza and felt bloated, I’d convince myself I was actually carrying a baby. Every time I felt even the slightest bit of nausea, I would think up different ways that I could break the news to my family. I was programmed to be terrified.
I am no longer terrified. I am happy. I am educated. I am free.