I do not remember losing my virginity.
It’s not because I was terribly drunk or stoned or pressured into it and tried to erase the memory from my head. I just don’t remember the event because, for me, it was not significant.
I know I technically lost my virginity to my first real boyfriend, Nic. We started going out at the end of high school and I was completely taken by him from the first night we went breaking into neighborhood pools. Over the summer months, we fell in love. I know I never told him I was a virgin. I know he had no inkling that I was and I was really smug and proud when I revealed the news to him months later. I know I probably lost it in his parents basement. But unlike most people, who remember every little detail surrounding the story of their sexual becoming, I just do not remember.
Maybe it’s because losing my virginity had very little to do with my sexual becoming. Every woman knows that having a penis inside of you does not suddenly sweep you out of your girlhood. Yet, there is this illogical and arguably archaic importance put on “losing your virginity”. As if it’s this thing that is taken from you. It’s heteronormative. It’s limiting. And, I assure you, that for me, it was not special enough to even remember.
But you know what was special? Figuring out how to pleasure myself. Mastering a blow job for the first time and knowing I could make my boyfriend feel really satisfied. Being confident enough with my own body to let someone else explore it completely. The hours and hours spent half naked with my first boyfriend in his bed, talking about everything from music to books to gossip to our imagined futures. Those things had significance and since those moments in my life (along with the horrible, awkward, defeating parts of sex and womanhood), I’ve been obsessed with the psychological, philosophical, biological and cultural implications of human sexuality.
I’ve been writing about sex for my entire 20s and learning about it since the day I was born. I’m fascinated with sex. I think we all are. Yet, when it comes to talking about it, we still tend to act like it’s this private, top secret thing. Sex is our world. It’s so powerful. It’s limitless. It’s constantly in flux; even our given biologies are not binding our assigned genders anymore. Shit is really getting interesting. Finally.
My aim with writing about my sex life has always been kind of selfish. I try to work through my own questions, fears or nuances by airing them out for whoever to see because it makes me feel powerful to tell my story in a situation, where I have been told since day one, that I do not hold the most power. Or that, because I am a woman, my sexuality is something that can be controlled or decided for me. Well, fuck that. There’s a big difference between the innateness of sex and what is sexy. Sex is raw, awkward, messy, and full of pleasure. Creating something sexy is a whole other beast, yet somehow these two ideas stem from the same root, and that root is ripe for discussion.
So, as much as this weekly column will explore sexuality, gender, and love in relation to popular culture, it’s also less about me and more about you. I’m willing to throw myself under the bus to make you feel more connected to your own personal power. Sex is everything in our world and I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all, we just have to start to play with significance. My experiences are your experiences are your friend's experiences. As I explore them, I want to hear from you, too.
Let's have sex.
You can reach Mish with your Qs andcomments at [email protected] or via Twitter @myszkaway
