So I went out to the club tonight.
And I met someone.
And kissed them a lot.
And grinded and got felt up.
And they convinced me to go home with them.
Nothing illegitimate, he was a really nice guy and so good looking and sweet and cute and I wanted to.
He knew I was a virgin and I told him I didn't want to go all the way. He said, cool, up to you.
And I knew it was cray but he kept saying I wouldn't regret it and didn't I want to feel good? And I did, I did want to feel good, so bad. He was so hot and such a smooth talker and good kisser and I said yes.
I don't know why I wasn't scared of being raped or murdered or whatnot but I just went with my gut. I texted a friend to let them know where I was/ who I was with but mostly I was just trusting and probably stupid about it.
I wasn't drunk or anything, I only had four drinks and I was totally clear. He respected me and he seems like a really genuine guy.
Unfortunately he is only here for the night and maybe I'll see him again, maybe not but he was right that I don't regret it. I feel good.
Was the sex good? Some of it was, I don't know, some hurt. Holy shit, the amount of blood when we turned the lights on. I thought I must just be on my period but then I remembered the whole virgin thing and hey, apparently, even though my sex positive sources told me with stretching there shouldn't be blood, there was a lot of blood.
Other points of note, I thought dicks would be pretty awful but everything was clean and neat and didn't smell like feet so that was fine. I don't know if he came, I hope he did but....
I don;t know, I didn't. I half faked it I guess. It's hard to fake when you don't know what real looks like, but I wanted him to stop cos it was kinda painful after awhile.
But he was lovely and sweet and had a rocking body and walked me home holding hands.
I'll write more coherently tomorrow. I am in slight shock and pretty sure full of oxytocin.
------
All is still well the day after. We texted a few times, I was out all day, I talked to my cousin and Mia. I am sore, which is lame but nothing that the internet says is particularly unusual. Next time I'm with someone I'll just be more assertive and say going that hard/fast is painful and not particularly enjoyable. Like, the amount of blood on the sheets afterwards was cray. Also embarrassing. Though I don't know why I should feel bad for that, it's not my fault.
I don't regret anything, I'm still pleased about it all, though I do feel weird about it. Because now I'm like, am I a virgin, am I not? What does that mean for my self description? Is my self image now changed?
I feel like nothing should have changed but on the other hand, I feel like I've joined this special club and now I have this understanding of what other people have felt/done that's through first hand experience, as opposed to just reading books and listening to friends talk and that is satisfying and good.
Surprisingly, what I don't feel is like a slut, or like this story is something to be ashamed of. It's private sure, but this is my private blog and only a few irl friends read it so telling here is not a big deal and other people I'm sure I'll tell in time when I see them in person.
----
I was talking to my friend Corey about this whole deal and I was trying to explain something to him that I don't know if I really did justice.
The guy I did it with, Nathan, he's a very insignificant part of the story. Like when girls imagine their wedding day, there's not much thought about the groom, it's about the dress and the bridesmaids and the flowers and the cake... it's the day that's all about you.
I thought about it like that for the first time when I was reading a critique of Steven Moffat, who is quite a sexist douchebag, but basically he was like 'girls chase guys and try to get them to settle down since they're children, while men try to avoid the whole deal as long as possible', which is bull. And using the wedding example as he did, girls aren't thinking about who they're marrying, the groom doesn't matter. It's about wearing a pretty dress and being the centre of attention.
Boys get superheroes to imagine dressing up as and having cool costumes and long coats and being the dude in charge, that's the equivalent fantasy. In my opinion anyway. I'm slightly off topic.
What I mean is that for me, losing my virginity was a similar type event in that it was hella important, but not because of him. It's special because it's the first time I took my clothes off in front of someone and didn't feel at all self conscious, it's the first time I let someone touch areas that no one but me has before, it's the first time I made a major decision that affects my sexual life. It's the first time I got to see a dick in real life since puberty and feel that I could physically make someone else feel super good through my actions. It was the first time I got to try a bunch of kinks in action and it was the first time I've ever had to relate to someone in that way, when we aren't friends but we are doing this weird, fun thing together. It was the first time I got to laugh while I searched for my underwear and had someone walk me home after sleeping with them. It was the first time for a lot of things but I is the important word in all those sentences.
It's important because it's part of my development and experiences and it's significant to me, but his role in it was purely.... catalyst? Helping hand?
It don't think of it as this journey we took together, it's just my story, that he got to be part of for a tiny chapter. And I'm appreciative of him for it. Plus he taught me how to kiss better, like every second time I'd go to peck him, he'd lean back and make me glare at him for teasing me, until he told me, that's code for put your hand on my neck and pull me in. Which led to the realisation that I can do that too :P That was the best part really, he was such a nice kisser. Similar to you-know-who, it was just lazy and nice and natural and teasing and fun but positive, because you are sure the other person wants you back.
Shit, I really don't want to compare this to you-know-who but now I have and the rest of the connections are clear in my brain now. They were veryyyy similar. Not in looks, just in attitude. I had the same level of comfort with both of them. Like, I remember with you-know-who, things like, kissing against a door and the door not being fully closed so falling back against it and cracking up, before him swinging round to the wall behind us. It was that level of assertiveness that they both had, Nathan would always shrug his arms up to push mine back up to his shoulders, so they'd wrap more tightly around his neck. Things that make me confident. And when I'm confident, then I am much more likely to initiate. Like, with you know who, I remember sitting on his lap, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him while grinning super hard. I didn't feel nervous, I had total self assurance at that point. Same with Nathan.
Basically just proving that I really did know what I was on about with you-know-who, he was right for me in that sense. Like, other crushes I look back on and realise we were in no way compatible, but you know who and I were--at that point.
And for the record, I didn't think of you-know-who a single time that whole evening.
------
It's pretty ridiculous how little this whole thing ended up meaning. How little I care.
It makes me slightly happy to think about, but honestly, it's nothing.
I didn't expect that really, I thought it was in my DNA to overreact and overanalyse but it ended up being one of those things that didn't need overthinking.
Actually, the one thing that I do remember vividly, not from that night or anything, but from a week later was... well, I'll call it a pregnancy scare but since we didn't actually have sex and I was overreacting x1000000, it's not exactly the right term. Just because I'm stupid and don't know as much as I think I do, I was scared that it was possible that precome could have touched my lady parts and I don't know, got vacuumed up?
And the feeling of disgust towards this imaginary, hypothetical fetus was insane. It wasn't what I expected at all. I didn't expect to hate the thing.
I mean, I've always thought I was a pro choice supporter, but would never abort personally. But I think I was well on the way to changing my mind when I considered it for reals-ies. Well, relative reals-ies. Maybe if it was actually for real, my feelings would have swung back around to keep-the-baby but it was an interesting feeling, like my body had been invaded and the parasite inside me was growing off me and it was terrifying, truly. It's why my arguments for abortion always rest on body autonomy. Babies/ fetuses require a living person to grow and be born, but that isn't a right.
Women do have the right to take away consent. They don't have to choose to live with a blood and nutrient sucking parasite if they don't want to, and that right comes above the fetus's 'right to life'.
And I met someone.
And kissed them a lot.
And grinded and got felt up.
And they convinced me to go home with them.
Nothing illegitimate, he was a really nice guy and so good looking and sweet and cute and I wanted to.
He knew I was a virgin and I told him I didn't want to go all the way. He said, cool, up to you.
And I knew it was cray but he kept saying I wouldn't regret it and didn't I want to feel good? And I did, I did want to feel good, so bad. He was so hot and such a smooth talker and good kisser and I said yes.
I don't know why I wasn't scared of being raped or murdered or whatnot but I just went with my gut. I texted a friend to let them know where I was/ who I was with but mostly I was just trusting and probably stupid about it.
I wasn't drunk or anything, I only had four drinks and I was totally clear. He respected me and he seems like a really genuine guy.
Unfortunately he is only here for the night and maybe I'll see him again, maybe not but he was right that I don't regret it. I feel good.
Was the sex good? Some of it was, I don't know, some hurt. Holy shit, the amount of blood when we turned the lights on. I thought I must just be on my period but then I remembered the whole virgin thing and hey, apparently, even though my sex positive sources told me with stretching there shouldn't be blood, there was a lot of blood.
Other points of note, I thought dicks would be pretty awful but everything was clean and neat and didn't smell like feet so that was fine. I don't know if he came, I hope he did but....
I don;t know, I didn't. I half faked it I guess. It's hard to fake when you don't know what real looks like, but I wanted him to stop cos it was kinda painful after awhile.
But he was lovely and sweet and had a rocking body and walked me home holding hands.
I'll write more coherently tomorrow. I am in slight shock and pretty sure full of oxytocin.
------
All is still well the day after. We texted a few times, I was out all day, I talked to my cousin and Mia. I am sore, which is lame but nothing that the internet says is particularly unusual. Next time I'm with someone I'll just be more assertive and say going that hard/fast is painful and not particularly enjoyable. Like, the amount of blood on the sheets afterwards was cray. Also embarrassing. Though I don't know why I should feel bad for that, it's not my fault.
I don't regret anything, I'm still pleased about it all, though I do feel weird about it. Because now I'm like, am I a virgin, am I not? What does that mean for my self description? Is my self image now changed?
I feel like nothing should have changed but on the other hand, I feel like I've joined this special club and now I have this understanding of what other people have felt/done that's through first hand experience, as opposed to just reading books and listening to friends talk and that is satisfying and good.
Surprisingly, what I don't feel is like a slut, or like this story is something to be ashamed of. It's private sure, but this is my private blog and only a few irl friends read it so telling here is not a big deal and other people I'm sure I'll tell in time when I see them in person.
----
I was talking to my friend Corey about this whole deal and I was trying to explain something to him that I don't know if I really did justice.
The guy I did it with, Nathan, he's a very insignificant part of the story. Like when girls imagine their wedding day, there's not much thought about the groom, it's about the dress and the bridesmaids and the flowers and the cake... it's the day that's all about you.
I thought about it like that for the first time when I was reading a critique of Steven Moffat, who is quite a sexist douchebag, but basically he was like 'girls chase guys and try to get them to settle down since they're children, while men try to avoid the whole deal as long as possible', which is bull. And using the wedding example as he did, girls aren't thinking about who they're marrying, the groom doesn't matter. It's about wearing a pretty dress and being the centre of attention.
Boys get superheroes to imagine dressing up as and having cool costumes and long coats and being the dude in charge, that's the equivalent fantasy. In my opinion anyway. I'm slightly off topic.
What I mean is that for me, losing my virginity was a similar type event in that it was hella important, but not because of him. It's special because it's the first time I took my clothes off in front of someone and didn't feel at all self conscious, it's the first time I let someone touch areas that no one but me has before, it's the first time I made a major decision that affects my sexual life. It's the first time I got to see a dick in real life since puberty and feel that I could physically make someone else feel super good through my actions. It was the first time I got to try a bunch of kinks in action and it was the first time I've ever had to relate to someone in that way, when we aren't friends but we are doing this weird, fun thing together. It was the first time I got to laugh while I searched for my underwear and had someone walk me home after sleeping with them. It was the first time for a lot of things but I is the important word in all those sentences.
It's important because it's part of my development and experiences and it's significant to me, but his role in it was purely.... catalyst? Helping hand?
It don't think of it as this journey we took together, it's just my story, that he got to be part of for a tiny chapter. And I'm appreciative of him for it. Plus he taught me how to kiss better, like every second time I'd go to peck him, he'd lean back and make me glare at him for teasing me, until he told me, that's code for put your hand on my neck and pull me in. Which led to the realisation that I can do that too :P That was the best part really, he was such a nice kisser. Similar to you-know-who, it was just lazy and nice and natural and teasing and fun but positive, because you are sure the other person wants you back.
Shit, I really don't want to compare this to you-know-who but now I have and the rest of the connections are clear in my brain now. They were veryyyy similar. Not in looks, just in attitude. I had the same level of comfort with both of them. Like, I remember with you-know-who, things like, kissing against a door and the door not being fully closed so falling back against it and cracking up, before him swinging round to the wall behind us. It was that level of assertiveness that they both had, Nathan would always shrug his arms up to push mine back up to his shoulders, so they'd wrap more tightly around his neck. Things that make me confident. And when I'm confident, then I am much more likely to initiate. Like, with you know who, I remember sitting on his lap, wrapping my arms around him and kissing him while grinning super hard. I didn't feel nervous, I had total self assurance at that point. Same with Nathan.
Basically just proving that I really did know what I was on about with you-know-who, he was right for me in that sense. Like, other crushes I look back on and realise we were in no way compatible, but you know who and I were--at that point.
And for the record, I didn't think of you-know-who a single time that whole evening.
------
It's pretty ridiculous how little this whole thing ended up meaning. How little I care.
It makes me slightly happy to think about, but honestly, it's nothing.
I didn't expect that really, I thought it was in my DNA to overreact and overanalyse but it ended up being one of those things that didn't need overthinking.
Actually, the one thing that I do remember vividly, not from that night or anything, but from a week later was... well, I'll call it a pregnancy scare but since we didn't actually have sex and I was overreacting x1000000, it's not exactly the right term. Just because I'm stupid and don't know as much as I think I do, I was scared that it was possible that precome could have touched my lady parts and I don't know, got vacuumed up?
And the feeling of disgust towards this imaginary, hypothetical fetus was insane. It wasn't what I expected at all. I didn't expect to hate the thing.
I mean, I've always thought I was a pro choice supporter, but would never abort personally. But I think I was well on the way to changing my mind when I considered it for reals-ies. Well, relative reals-ies. Maybe if it was actually for real, my feelings would have swung back around to keep-the-baby but it was an interesting feeling, like my body had been invaded and the parasite inside me was growing off me and it was terrifying, truly. It's why my arguments for abortion always rest on body autonomy. Babies/ fetuses require a living person to grow and be born, but that isn't a right.
Women do have the right to take away consent. They don't have to choose to live with a blood and nutrient sucking parasite if they don't want to, and that right comes above the fetus's 'right to life'.
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