Like A Virgin... cont.

I don’t remember how old I was when I first became aware of virginity and what it meant. But in any case, I knew by the time I was in high school that virginity was something that was meant to be a gift to your husband. It is a tangible thing that one hands over at the appropriate time. I’m not talking really about religion or morality here, because I think that most cultures value virginity no matter what their religious beliefs. A lot of value was placed on it in my family. I remember “the talk” with my Mom about how I should wait until my wedding night. I remember being a little perplexed at the idea that anyone would ever want to marry me, let alone take my virginity. That day came a few years later.

I was 16 when I had my first kiss, and by the time I was 18, I’d really only kissed a couple other boys and my first experience where my virginity seemed to be of interest was the summer after I graduated. It wasn’t an obvious play for my innocence, but I knew that if I said yes, it would have happened. It was a little taste of power and of shock. I didn’t realize how desired I would become. I held on for another year after that. I joined the Air Force and made it through Tech School doing all the things girls do to avoid having sex. My boyfriend would take me for romantic strolls at night and attempt to persuade me to join him for negotiations on the 9^th hole of the golf course behind our dorms. I resisted, of course. I was saving myself…. For something, maybe not marriage, but I was planning on making it special. I think back now and I wish I would have just agreed. A warm starry night out in the grassy hills behind the dorms would have been more romantic than the event that was in my future.

On my 19^th birthday, I went to a party in a motel in Baltimore. Motel parties were all the rage in Tech School because none of us were old enough to get into a club and the next best thing was getting off base to drink and hang out with all the other students. My Tech School was a joint service school and all the services were represented in my circle of friends. That night, my boyfriend had watch and so I went out without him. The whole night is a bit blurry in my mind and when I think back, I remember feeling very sorry for myself and lonely. Being away from home is hard and when the only comfort you have are your friends, you are forced to develop trust in people that you don’t actually know very well. This trust may have been the worst choice I ever made. Even worse than drinking underage or agreeing to kiss a boy who was not my boyfriend.

The boy in question was a tall, dark and handsome marine. I had no real acquaintance with him other than a brief chat or two on our smoke deck outside, but he had dated one of my girlfriends for a bit and I considered him to be in my circle of friends. He sauntered up to me in the hallway and said, “Can I kiss the birthday girl?” I remember thinking that it was wrong of me to do so, but I felt flattered that he would even be interested in me and I gave in. The kiss turned into kissing and me being pushed up against the wall in the hallway. He pulled away and lead me down the hall to one of the rooms full of people. I was handed a drink and began to chat with other people in the room and he sat over on one of the beds talking to his friends. The rest gets hazy…

I remember kissing on one of the beds and then noticing that the room has emptied. My clothes were off and we were both lying naked on a sheet on the floor in between the beds. The room was dimly lit and I felt embarrassed about being nude. I sat up and tried to pull the sheets up, and he pulled me back down next to him. We kissed some more and then I start to pass out.

The gift that I am supposed to give my husband weighs heavy on my thin shoulders. Raised with strong morals, I feel a strong pull towards doing right. But that same pull that allows me to do things that aren’t right. I punish my parents and the church and everyone who ever said I wasn’t pretty or whatever. I want to prove that I am nothing like anyone thought. The words to extricate myself from this situation won’t come to my brain though. I can’t speak. I can’t think clearly. I can’t remember his name. I can’t remember my name. I sleep. I wake. I can’t breathe. I see him above me and a sharp stabbing feeling. I close my eyes. I know what is happening and I’ve stopped caring. His hand covers my mouth and he tells me to be quiet.

I awoke on the floor beside him and sat up carefully so as not to wake him. The white sheet was still below me and is stained with a large spot of dried blood. I calmly remembered the night before and stood to find my clothes. I went to the bathroom and washed up with a washcloth and noticed a dirty one in the corner already stained with a bit of blood. I felt a choking feeling in my throat and the feeling of shame and regret swell inside my stomach. I got dressed quickly and noticed as I pulled on my clothes that my inner thighs and breasts were covered in bruises and my bottom lip was black and blue. I felt so humiliated. I thought maybe I could just deny everything and no one would ever know. I could go back to my room and pretend like nothing ever happened. “He must have thought I was disposable. If I had been prettier, he never would have tried this.” Now everyone would know that I lost my virginity with some guy who wasn’t my boyfriend or even someone I cared about. I had gone from a virgin to a slut in one night.

Cleaning up the social mess that occurred after this particular night was not easy task. I set about denying anything had really happened. My boyfriend knew. He didn’t seem to blame me, but it was clear that things were pretty much over between us after that. I was relieved that my orders had come for Montana and I was to leave in just three days. I didn’t leave my room except for chow and told no one of what had really happened. Everyone assumed I was another willing conquest and I figured that put me in better company than being the “raped girl” that everyone would remember. I didn’t want to see or talk to him ever again, but the night before I left town I went out for a smoke and he was there. He sat down next to me one the picnic table and nonchalantly said, “Sorry about the other night… “ patted me on the shoulder and walked away.

I left town the next morning. No one sitting next to me on the plane knew that I no longer had my gift. I didn’t have anything. I would have nothing to offer my future husband…whoever he might be. I wish someone would have told me that virginity wasn’t that big of a deal. It would have made me feel so much better.

I believe that morality dictates that we behave in ways that are honorable and forthright. It’s what parents want for their children. Health, happiness and love. I want my daughter to know that virginity is really only a gift to yourself. It’s not something you save for someone else. It’s something that is symbolic of the best things human children represent. Innocence and the fortitude to protect your own innocence is to be commended, but giving of yourself to someone you love is just as great. I didn’t love him then, but my boyfriend at the time was someone who I consider to be a quality person. We became good friends after that and corresponded for many years. We don’t talk anymore really, but the time I spent with him years later and the friendship he continued to give me, tells me that he would have been a good choice. But I didn’t know that then and I don’t suppose it would have made a world of difference. I don’t blame anyone anymore for my bad choices that night, or his for that matter. I can’t change that memory. I don’t suppress it, I own it. I don’t share it for sympathy, I share it for knowledge. I would hate to think I went though all that and it was of no use.

I am more than a sum of my parts. I am more than my virginity, lost or found. My sex is just an expression of love. If you love, then you win. If you allow yourself to be used because you feel your only worth is between your legs, then you lose. It’s as simple as that.