Losing My Virginity

“Well, you’re not a virgin anymore,” he said.

It was hot outside. He had blue eyes. Charming. Tan muscles built on a farm.

This isn’t what I asked for. What if I get pregnant? What just happened? I’m shaking. I need to pull over. Wait, no…what if he’s following me? I’m only 17. This shouldn’t happen to me. I’m a good person. I’m a Christian. Am I a virgin? I can’t tell anyone. They’ll think it’s my fault. I set myself up. It’s my fault. They’ll say I’m a slut. How could this happen? OK, get it together. You’re almost home. No one can know this happened. Get it together. Fix your makeup. They won’t have any idea.

When I was 17 years old, I did NOT lose my virginity. Something I was so proud of was NOT taken away. I did NOT set myself up for this.

Summer 2011. July 4. Friends and family invited me to a fireworks show at a local neighborhood.

“You have to meet him! You’ll love him!” I met a tan boy from south Georgia. Charming and attractive. We talked for a while at a barbecue as our families celebrated the Fourth of July. This was an all day event.

By dusk, he asked me to take a walk around the lake with him. “Ok,” I said with a grin.

He held my hand and I thought he was cute.

We got on the opposite side of the lake from where the crowds were. Under a tree, in the dark. He pushed me on the ground and got on top of me.

That’s about as far into the story as I can bear to write. It’s not OK. Ever.


Originally published at thewishdish.com on April 8, 2016.

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