by Anonymous – Follow @BrownGirlMag
Having been raised in a very sheltered, South Indian-Catholic household, sex was one of the several things that my family and I never discussed. It was far too taboo to ever bring up. It was always just understood that good Christian girls did not have sex before marriage. Only shameless, whorish girls did, and no one would ever want to marry that kind of girl, right?
Though, I can’t exactly say that I was ever that super religious or a very morally upright girl. When it came to sex, I always had the expectation that my first time would happen with someone who was head over heels in love with me, someone who genuinely cared about me, someone I was married to.
During the first two years of my undergrad, I felt completely invisible to other guys. I felt really fat and ugly, compared to a lot of my friends. And I was always the girl who guys would constantly ‘friend zone.’ All my guy friends would talk about my amazing personality and how fun I was to hang out with…but none of them could see me in a romantic light.
I was 19 when we first met. He wasn’t what you would consider as hot – average height, a muscular build. He always wore a cap because he was insecure about his fading hairline, had a raspy voice, and the most charming smile. But he knew how to make me laugh – I was hooked.
We became best friends quickly. He would always tell me how much he loved my personality. When we hung out, we were constantly laughing by ourselves, at our own inside jokes, and teasing each other in front of our friends. When I found out from his best friend that he had a girlfriend of almost four years, I was a little disappointed, but I tried my best to push my feelings aside. But when he made it clear that he had strong feelings for me, all those feelings came rushing back.
The more time we spent with each other, the more attached I got. I was falling for this guy…hard. We would make excuses to get away from our friends and sneak off campus to be alone. He would hold me in his arms and kiss my forehead and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. He would tell me how he was waiting for the right moment to end things with his girlfriend, that things were extremely rocky between them. He would always say that he liked me way more than he probably should, and a tingle would run down my spine whenever he said that. In my eyes, it was a fairytale, our little secret, our own love story.
He promised it was just a matter of time before he finally ended things with his girlfriend. I was filled with impatience and happiness because, soon, he would finally be mine.
Deep down, of course, I knew that it was wrong to be getting involved with a guy who was technically still with another girl. But…it didn’t feel wrong. With him, everything just felt right. And as a firm believer in ‘everything happens for a reason,’ I brushed off the guilt.
In my eyes, this man was the epitome of perfection. I was completely in love with him, and there was no turning back at this point. The only concern I had was his inability to commit. He would always tell me how perfect I was, how crazy he was about me, and how if I was a Pakistani, Sunni Muslim girl, he would have happily introduced me to his parents. If I was a Pakistani, Sunni Muslim girl.
I knew the chance of us having a future together was very slim, especially since my parents would never be accepting of it. And yet, he would entertain conversations about our hopes and dreams, what married life would be like, how our kids would turn out. And, from his words and his mannerism, I genuinely believed he loved me as much as I loved him – that it was only religion keeping us from having a future together.
With my constant need to please those around me and my hopeless romantic mindset, I had this idea that fulfilling his every need would keep him happy and validate me more in his life. And I pushed aside my nervousness, my awkwardness, my fears, and blindly allowed him to introduce me to physical intimacy.
Even though we fooled around pretty often, I still genuinely believed that sex was not an option until after marriage. We discussed it on occasion, but I never actually thought it would happen. It was just another fantasy – the thought of it was exciting, but that was it – a thought, nothing more. But the closer we got, the more frequently sex would come up in our conversations. The sexual tension was building up and he was on his best behavior, constantly trying to explain to me how much he loved me and how badly he wanted to show that love, physically. I thought I was onto something, and it was enough to give myself to him. He eventually had me convinced that I was ready to share my body, my gift, with him – my first love.
[Read Related: #BrownGirlsTalkSex: I Lost My Virginity to the Wrong One for Me]
Thursday, November 14, 2013 – a day I’ve tried to block out, but will forever be scarred into my memory. I woke up extra early, shaved with the utmost attention to precision. I straightened my hair, wore my nicest undergarments. The whole car ride to campus, I kept telling myself that it was going to be amazing and romantic, but more importantly, that it was going to happen with someone who loved me wholeheartedly.
My best friend let us into her dorm room, like always, and left for class. The second the door closed, he reached for me and we fell into our pattern – the one I had gotten accustomed to. The smell of his cologne, the tight grip of his fingers around my hair, his warm breath, his heartbeat – they were so familiar to me. Before I knew it, we were both completely undressed. He got up and went to grab the condom from the pocket of his sweatpants. As I watched him from the bed, I felt this wave of fear overcome me.
Oh my God, this is actually going to happen. Is this right? He’s not single yet. He’s technically still with her. Fuck. But he doesn’t love her. He said he’s waiting for the right time to break things off with her. Crap. Will Mama be able to tell when I get home? She would be so hurt, fuck. No, this isn’t right. Not like this.
I was pulled away from my indecisive thoughts when I felt his lips on my forehead. His warm hands around my waist no longer felt warm and comforting. They felt heavy and unbearable. As he continued to kiss me, I could feel the tension building up, and I knew I had to say something immediately.
I put my hands on his chest and pushed him off. I shared my concerns and my worries and asked if we could stop. He kissed my neck and whispered, “You’re just nervous. It’s just cold feet. Don’t think about it.”
As I attempted to stammer out my worries and how I wasn’t ready, he pushed through. A wave of intense pain came over me and I couldn’t breathe. I had never felt a pain like this before. I felt helpless. He told me to bite down on his shoulder to ease the pain, but I couldn’t move at all. I simply laid there, with tears rolling down my face, as he continued.
When he finally finished, he sighed and rolled off onto his back. I kept telling myself that it was alright, that it happened with someone who loved me and cared about me, but for some reason, I felt cheap and dirty…and alone.
And so, I turned to my side and hugged him. I wanted to get rid of that empty feeling at the bottom of my stomach. But when I attempted to get close, he pushed my hand away and said, “Can you not?” That pit inside my stomach only grew bigger, as he quickly got out of bed and rushed to get dressed.
On my way home that night, I could feel that paranoia creeping up again. I was in so much pain that it hurt to walk properly, and I was terrified that my mother would know something was up. I made an excuse, hurried to my room, stripped off all my clothes, and buried them in the bottom of my laundry basket.
I quickly got in the shower and turned the knob all the way to the left. I felt a sense of relief once the scalding hot water hit my skin. I scrubbed at my skin, trying to get rid of that feeling. But no matter how hard I scrubbed, I felt unbelievably filthy.
Once I finished, I stepped out of the shower and looked into my mirror. I stared at the dark red hue of my skin from the shower, the curve of my breasts and hips, and looked up at my face. There wasn’t a trace of happiness anywhere on my face. My face looked so sad. I quickly dismissed the thought and turned to get dressed, when my phone buzzed.
I picked it up and saw his name, and the pit in my stomach was replaced with butterflies and my heart was elated, once again. I opened up his text, only for my smile to disappear as quickly as it had appeared.
Hey, look, about what happened today…I can’t do that to her [his girlfriend]. It’s not fair to her. I really care about her, and today was a mistake. Let’s just pretend it never happened, ok?
My heart froze and I felt my body sinking down to the floor. I felt the tears pouring out of my eyes, a wave of nausea washed over me, and I reached the toilet just in time. All I could think was:
What have I done? What have I given up? All for what?
I will never, ever, be able to get my virginity back. I will never be able to erase that day out of my mind. But I can share my story with the hope that it’ll help that girl – the one who isn’t sure about what she wants, the one who is convinced that the only way to keep someone around is to satisfy their every need, the one who feels that she needs to do something to validate her value in someone’s life.
My sweet, sweet girls – believe me when I say that, if he’s the one, he will bend over backwards to do what it takes to make you his. He will respect your every wish and put your worries over his needs. He will do everything in his power to keep that smile on your face, and he will commit wholeheartedly. Wait. You don’t have to wait until marriage, but wait to share your body, your gift, with someone who gives you all that and even more. You deserve it, every single one of you.