The men that I have allowed inside me... have not been worth it. The older I get the more I sometimes sit and think of all of my sexual and intimate encounters. The whole body count thing has never been something I cared about. But being that I am an impressionable young woman who battles feeling promiscuous and "dirty" my body count suddenly matters.
I have slept with five men. Out of those five men, only two of them have been worth it. The others... Well, it was an experience.
The man I lost my virginity to, luckily for me, was someone I genuinely had feelings for. It was my sophomore year of college and I was fed up with still being a virgin. I'm a romantic at heart but then again, what 19 year old virgin with no dating experience isn't?
College, my HBCU in particular, was supposed to be my walk way into the world of all things romance. And in a way it was. I got no kind of male attention in high school. In college? I suddenly had men popping out of the wood work at me. It was an ego booster but it was also overwhelming. Awkward was my middle name when it came to talking to them. Flirting was... atrocious.
By my sophomore year I had shed all of my baby fat, my body had matured. I was a walking pent up sexual commodity. (Of course I was awash with other psychological issues that I had yet to heal from) I was ready to experience the hype.
The man that I was particularly infatuated with at the time, we'll call him Curiosity, was an upperclassmen. Curiosity had originally gotten my number my freshmen year and I hadn't taken him seriously. Over the summer he had kept in contact, talking to me everyday in-between work and life. Three months of constant conversation, attention, and devotion quickly turned into genuine feelings. I actually liked the guy. He gave me the impression that he like me as well. Once the semester started, he invited me to his room and well... we did the damn thing.
It was wonderful, uncomfortable, gentle... not the most pleasurable thing ever but so much better than I expected it to be. I was expecting blood and screaming and an array of tears that needed to be soothed. Instead it was a pretty memorable experience because of how painless it was. He was gentle, so gentle that the only way I know how to describe it to this day is well... he made love to me. Simple as that. My feelings for him were heightened after that moment. The intimacy we had shared had meant a lot to me considering my encounters with men before that moment hadn't been pleasurable or wanted for me.
Alas, our connection dwindled away. He got busy, so busy that I was put on the back burner. I became convenient for him. When he wanted me, he called for me, and because I was so fixed on him wanting me I came. Months flew by and I found myself verging on feeling used and not cared for. Curiosity was the physical lesson of, "If someone REALLY wants you, they'll make time for you."
Suddenly, Asshole, came into my life.
This was not my first encounter with Asshole. He had tried to "talk" to me my freshmen year. He was a player, or at least a wannabe player. He was a football player, tall, and had sweet nothings down to a T. His approach to me, a virgin, was to pressure me into sex by telling me how much he liked me and wanted to settle down. I was flattered, he was the first guy to ever tell me he wanted me to be his woman. But I wasn't ready for sex and something about him was shady.
You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know someone is up to no good?
He gave me that feeling twenty-four seven. But I was so attention deprived, I soaked up everything he said like a moth to a flame. I remember one night in particular, he had somehow pressured me into letting him "just stick the tip in". Mind you, I was still very much a virgin, and every time I told him no, he talked circles around me. I eventually gave in, terrified, my heart pounding out of my chest.
He was a guy that didn't believe in foreplay. He positioned me on my hands and knees on his bed and tried to push his way into me... dry. I screamed my head off. He insisted I let him try again and again I gave in. He didn't get far. I pushed him off me, my vagina on fire. My emotions haywire. I put my clothes on, my knees weak, and as I left his dorm room he mentioned how he would have blue balls.
I am not proud of my encounter's with Asshole. He managed to grip me in his path on multiple occasions, each time I left his presences feeling used and drained. After losing my virginity to someone that wasn't him, he had the audacity to tell me I was supposed to wait for him.
I was his woman.
The audacity of him was enough fuel to help me cut him off. He still tries to hit me up from time to time. We had a conversation a while ago and I explained to him how he made me feel like a sexual object. After a three hour conversation... He tried to have sex with me. Did he talk me into it?
Of course.
Had he heard a word I had said or taken my feelings into consideration? Obviously not.
Did I enjoy it? No. For a player, he really has no idea what foreplay is. Or emotional sensitivity.
