I can’t stress this enough: I have always felt that I was different from my peers. Not in a bad way, per se, but enough that I know that I’m not like my friends. That’s true when I came to sex. While my friends in high school were off “hooking up” and experimenting with the opposite sex, I was in a sexual limbo. I went from being terrified of sex, to wanting to at least wait until marriage (after all, it can’t be as terrifying with someone you love and trust), to not wanting to do it all, to thinking it might not be so bad to try it. I was seventeen when I finally decided that I was absolutely ready to have sex, and eighteen before it happened. It wasn’t like I wanted to do it with just anybody; I at least wanted to do it with someone I was comfortable with.
Then, the first weekend I went home to visit family, my best friend let slip to her older brother that I found him attractive (that’s a gross understatement, by the way. Her brother is sexxxxxyyyyyyy). Somehow, he got my number and we started texting. I told him I was a virgin, and he offered to fix that for me. Trust me, I jumped at the chance to bed Ben. However, that’s all I wanted. Sex. Don’t get me wrong, Ben is ridiculously handsome, but he wasn’t boyfriend material. So, we set up a date, and two weeks later, it happened.
To me, it was more of a favor than anything. I don’t have any weird, naïve notions that Ben ever liked me or wanted to be with me, I don’t obsess over him, and no, I don’t sleep around a lot. In fact, I can count on one hand the people I’ve been with since. I didn’t want to have sex so I could go whore around campus, I wanted to do it for me, and only me. In a way, I think it made be a stronger person because I didn’t give in to peer pressure (and boy, was there a lot of it!) to lose my virginity to some random guy at a party or after Homecoming. It gave me a better sense of who I am, and because of that, I regret nothing.
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