Nine Years Ago Today

     Nine years ago today, my hymen died.  Well, it probably died a few years earlier when I got kicked in the pool at summer camp, but nine years ago today I lost my virginity.  It’s weird to think that it was so long ago, because there’s a story from it that I tell all the time.  A “fan favorite” I call it.  My ex says he tells it all the time too, for the same reason.  But there are other parts of that night that I had mostly forgotten about, until I realized that today was the anniversary.
    I had been dating my boyfriend a little over a month, and he told me later that he hadn’t given much thought to whether or not he was “ready,” but was more focused on the fact that a girl wanted to let him do that.  So yeah, I was the one who suggested it.  Begged for it, really.  I thought being a virgin was lame, and that I was kind of old at sixteen (and a half) to still be one.  Knowing what I know now, it would have been better if we’d waited a little longer, but I’m glad it was him.
    We decided the weekend before that it would be that next weekend, and it turned out we hung out on a Saturday.  I wore jeans, a black shirt with tiny sleeves and lace at the top, and black lace undies.  I guess 10 Things I Hate About You had a bigger impact on me than I thought.  So anyway, he brings me up to his room, and after he locks the door I turn around and see a bunch of tea lights aflame on his night stand.  I’ve always been a nervous person, and fire makes me really nervous.  He was trying to be romantic, but I made him put them out.
    I mentioned to him before that I wanted music to be playing, and as someone who had pretty much only been exposed to pop, sadly I pictured N Sync or something.  I know, I know, how did the classic rock my parents listened to not get through to me?  I don’t have a good answer for that.  He obviously didn’t own an N Sync CD, and before he out on the one he chose, he turned to me and said, “Oh sorry, you wanted nice music, didn’t you?”  Not exactly what a girl wants to hear, but I kind of wanted to get the show on the road, so I said, “I don’t care.  What did you pick anyway?”
    “Symphony X,” he said.  I don’t remember any of the songs, but I’m 90% sure he put on the self-titled album.  What girl doesn’t want her first time to be have a prog metal score?  Like I said, it ultimately didn’t matter.  What mattered was that I was finally going to get rid of something that embarrassed me, and that I thought I shouldn’t have.
    I remember he didn’t want me to watch him put on a condom.  He later admitted this wasn’t smart, when he had to show me how to put one on another time and wasn’t feeling patient.  After that, countless attempts were made, and finally the show was on the road.  The painful, ripping-feeling show.  I thought this was supposed to be good?  When was the feeling good going to happen?  Part of that is what happens to everyone, but part of it is on me.  I didn’t know my own body, so my body didn’t know how to react to anything.  (“But you dated a girl,” you say.  “Didn’t she teach you anything?”  No.  This girl knew things and held out on me, and after I learned how much I had not known with her, I felt stupid for thinking I had any idea what I was doing then.)
    So after a while of not feeling good, and everyone asking how everyone was and everyone saying something along the lines of, “ok,” we decided to switch.  Since we were super experienced people, both of us (it was his first time, too), we decided we didn’t need to disengage before switching places.  This is the “fan favorite” part of the story.  So we try to flip over, both of us forgetting that his bed has tiny wheels on it.  The bed goes one way, and we go the other, crashing to the floor.  With the blanket tangled up with us, since in late October it’s too dang cold to lose your virginity without a blanket.  I start laughing, because this is a funny situation, and in between fits of giggles I say, “There’s no way we’re going to be able to get it back in, we should just call it a night.”
    He says nothing.  I look.  He groans.  “I hit my head on the radiator,” he says.  “I think I’m gonna pass out.”  All humor was gone from the situation.
    “Oh my God,” I whisper, and I can feel my blood baking my face from the inside.  “Are you sure?  Can I do something for you?”  No way in hell am I going downstairs to tell his parents that their son is passed out naked on the floor of his bedroom with a condom on his penis.  Because the condom part was the worst part, for sure.  No way they would have been able to figure out what we were doing otherwise.  Bare penis = anything may have happened, condomed penis = SEX!  I sat, partially on the blanket, partially on the floor, and stared at him.
    He shook his head.  “I think I’m ok,” he said.  “But you’re right, there’s no way it’s going back in tonight.”  We got dressed and cleaned up the bed, and I don’t remember what we did after that.  I went home, but I don’t remember if it was his parents or mine that took me.  The funniest thing about that night, though, was that I got my driver’s license that morning, so everyone was congratulating me, and not for anything specific, because what else could have happened that day?
    “Congratulations,” they said.  “You’re all grown up now,” they said.  “How does it feel?”  They said.  “Was it hard?”  they said.  It was all I could do to contain my laughter.