I don’t even know what song was playing. If you read my previous article you know that that was kind of a big deal for me.

He didn’t love me and I didn’t love him so for the sake of protecting my feelings I lowered all expectations. It was naïve of me to expect the fictional fireworks, but I’d be lying if I denied part of me wanted that.  We had hooked up before and I had shut down his advances because I was nervous, scared even.

I keep on wondering what made this time different. Maybe it was because of the hug he gave me when he walked into my room. Maybe it was the jokes that he cracked while I laid my head on his chest. Or maybe it was the promises he made of all of the Pinterest worthy things we would do after.

Regardless, it happened.

There wasn’t any dedicated foreplay, whispers of sweet nothings, or really any indication that he felt anything for me, but I wanted him so badly in that moment that it didn’t matter. Initially, the sex felt great until my mind convinced me otherwise. He’s using you, circled around in my head — but I ignored it and tried to re-focus on the way that he held my hand. We went for a few rounds and he finished each time and each time the voice in my head grew louder. I silenced it, distracting myself with the way he traced lines over my skin and played with my hair.

I’ll be the first to admit that I am clueless on a Cher Horowitz level when it comes to intimacy, so I took these as signs that he had to care about me. That even though virginity is a construct, he acknowledged what I had “given” to him. At least, I chose to believe this as I lay awake, my mind too chaotic to sleep as he snored beside me, his arm wrapped around my body. I forced myself to believe this until even the morning when I realized he had left without saying goodbye. 

I finally started to stop believing it when he Snapchatted me a random picture that had nothing to do with our night. When I saw her stumbling to his room with another girl the day later, I realized how childish I had actually been.

I grew up Catholic, therefore the guilt of premarital sex hung above my head. I allowed the shame I was taught in church to steal away my appetite and interrupt my sleep.

Things got a little better when the dam of emotions broke and I finally gave a tearful confession to my less religious mother who assured me that I hadn’t done anything wrong. That what I did with him was natural. I was an adult, after all. Something I sometimes forget.

For the sake of complete transparency, I will admit that I am not sure if I regret it or not. I turn it over and over in my head and I can’t decipher the emotions that come along with the thoughts. I do wish that I would’ve taken more time to get to know who he genuinely was so that I could have spared myself the feelings of disappointment.

And though this retelling of events was a total bummer, it’s true what they say… you never forget your first anything.

Photo courtesy of the STAA Collective.