Nobody "Took" My Virginity, And What's the Big Deal About The First Time We Have Penetrative Sex Anyway?

Why is having a penis inside of my vagina such a landmark event, but having my first orgasm doesn’t even rank?

Jul 22, 2013 at 6:00pm | Leave a comment

No one “took” my virginity. I did it myself. 
 
My second year of college I was at a party one night, holed up in the kitchen of my friend’s apartment with some girlfriends and looking for an exit from their discussion. As always happened when people began discussing their sexual history, I wanted to sink into the ground and emerge only after a penis had turned up to deflower me.
 
 
In this particular case, however, there was no hole to jump into before the conversation turned to me. I had to make the mortifying admission that I was still a virgin. 
 
“But you’re so pretty,” a friend quickly responded in a sweet, comforting tone. 
 
“What’s with the ‘but’?” I thought. “Who was arguing with you?”
 
But I knew why she said it. Someone jumping in to assure me that I was not one of those "ugly" virgins was the kind of reaction I had come to expect. It was better than the thinly veiled variations of, “So what’s wrong with you?”
 
If I wasn’t already thinking of sexual experience as a litmus test for attractiveness, I certainly was any time someone rushed in to let my hymen and I know we were still pretty. Because that’s what having sex is all about for us, a means to validate our physical attractiveness. Never mind getting off, that I was very clearly missing the male stamp of approval was the most distressing part of my situation.
 
I guess it’s also easier to say, “But you’re so pretty,” than, “You must be so horny.” 
 
“Your boyfriend’s going to love you,” she continued, in regard to my vagina’s status as uncharted territory. 
 
If only I could have just said I was holding out for a boyfriend who would love me. I might have avoided so many awkward conversations if I had been waiting for a boyfriend, for a husband, or could point to some concrete reason as to why I remained sadly virginal, because seeing as I wasn’t hideously ugly, I needed some explanation people could wrap their heads around.
 
But I wasn’t holding out for any such thing, not for a boyfriend who would love me, not even for one who just kind of liked me. Nope, I'm just socially awkward.
 
But if I hadn’t been so programmed to believe that sex is only valid when a penis is involved, or that sex is primarily about proving my attractiveness to men, then I might have actually had a way to approach those conversations that didn’t end with me caving into my own awkwardness.
 
By that time, I’d already learned how to give myself an orgasm, and was happy to do it anytime I wanted. What did it matter that no one else had taken part? Why did I need to wait around for another person to come along to "take" my virginity? Why do we even still use these medieval labels? Why is having a penis inside of my vagina such a landmark event but getting off doesn’t even rank?
 
And I’m not hating on penises, I think they bring a lot to the table, but looking back now, learning how to give myself an orgasm was a far bigger leap forward than the first time I had anyone’s penis inside of me. I mean please, none of them went where I hadn’t already been before. I popped that cherry on my own, so why is someone else supposed to get the credit? 
 
image

Why is the penis so much more important than me? Why do I have unused penis candles sitting around at my house?

 
I went home that night and told myself that I would have to experience the proper kind of sex one day soon before my teenage youth and beauty slipped away. Fortunately for my vanity, I did. Unfortunately for the rest of my mental well-being, it was a horrible experience.
 
I was dating a guy at the time, someone I’d met through a friend. After going out one night I brought him back to my place and told him he could sleep over. As all concerned parties expected, we had sex; unbeknownst to me, this person I was relying on to usher me into womanhood decided to slip the condom off in the middle. He then went to the bathroom to get a tissue to wipe the cum off my leg, so don’t let anyone tell you chivalry is dead, ladies.    
 
When I confronted him about his apparent preference for the pullout method, his reaction was a lighthearted, “I’m clean.” Which is fabulous, but no one ever said I didn’t have herpes.
 
Never mind that I wasn’t on any kind of birth control at the time; I always assumed condoms would be sufficient because I was under the naïve impression that everyone cared about safe sex. I got an apology text from him the next morning while I was at the library writing a paper. We had sex again, he pulled the same stunt, and I chose not to address it.
 
I told friends that I’d slept with him, but I left it at that. I was content enough not to be stuck anymore with the virgin label, no longer the awkward blot on people’s conversation. And I didn’t want to be faced with the question of why I let him get away with it.
 
I didn’t give it any more thought until a few months later when a friend casually recounted to me how a guy had slipped the condom off on her while they were having sex. I didn’t tell her that a guy had similarly taken advantage of me, but I appreciated her honesty. I still do. 
 
I still think about it too any time another guy tries to get out of a using a condom, and it still bothers me every time. Yeah, it’s still the first time I slept with a guy, but I no longer consider it to be when I lost my virginity. Why should such a negative experience deserve that title just by default?
 
image

I get that you don’t like them. But please don’t try to convince me they feel worse than being pregnant or contracting whatever infection you may be toting around.

 
I no longer think of the first time I had vaginal sex as the moment I lost my virginity, and I resent the presumption that being a heterosexual female means I should allot that experience any more value than it deserves. There have been far bigger turning points in my sexual history.
 
Learning that I could have sex with someone purely because it felt good; learning how to have sex with someone as a means of intimacy; learning how to have an orgasm by myself, and then with someone else. Those were important. But this idea that the first time I had a penis inside of me was a revelation, that’s bullshit. 
 
No one “took” my virginity and made me a sexual person; that’s all bullshit, too. I’m the one who made myself a sexual person. No one got to know my body before I did it first. There was no one who stepped in and showed me how. No, that was all me. I did it first. I get the credit.