The Virginity Project

What happens abroad probably won’t stay abroad

For once, I won’t intro a story. Ok, just a little one. Some stories you just want to chuck right out there, fresh off the press, pretty much the moment they land in your inbox and tell the world about them. A lot of shitty things happen in this world. Here is a story that doesn’t include any of them. Please listen to ‘La Isla Bonita’ for added atmosphere.

‘Dear Kate, 

I'm an American almost-woman (although now maybe more woman than girl), age 21, currently studying abroad in Europe. I lost my virginity just about two weeks ago. This is how it happened: 

I am what some people might call a ‘late bloomer’* when it comes to sex. I didn't have my first kiss until I was 18 (in a blow-up pool filled with foam at my first frat party), and have only had a few brief relationships in my life. Thanks to years of listening to the Savage Love podcast, I'm a firm believer in the concept of losing your virginity in stages: first hand job, first blow job, first person who sees you naked, first person you see naked, etc. Over the past few years, since starting college, I've ‘lost’ each stage except actual penetrative sex, mostly with different men. In no way do I consider myself a ‘slut’. I just like to share my body and have others share theirs with me, and that sometimes a connection of a few hours can be as powerful as those that build over several weeks.

*a late bloomer (Novemer in the Balearic Islands)

I arrived in Spain in January for a semester abroad. I hadn't had any type of sexual contact with anyone for the entire fall semester, and was mentally preparing myself for experiencing the Spanish language (and Spanish men) in all ways possible. Before I left, I talked with a few close friends and decided it was pretty likely I would lose my virginity abroad. After a few heartbreaks and many nights regretting the opportunities I had to have sex and didn't, I was ready to go to Spain and come back literally a different person. 

Two weeks ago, my group of friends and I went out one final time before we all went our separate ways to travel over spring break. At this point, the other students in my program and I have developed a close group of friends, the kind who you could tell you're still a virgin and know they won't judge you. On this night, we started out at our favorite bar where the bartenders pour heavy and rarely make us pay. I wasn't trying to get wasted; I had a big trip coming up and still had to pack the next day. 

We were there for a few hours, and while my group filled almost the entire bar, there were a few locals as well. One group of guys in particular caught my eye. I talked to one of them, and we established that I'm an ‘extranjera (foreigner) and that I'm originally from California.

An hour later, my friends and I moved to another bar down the street. We weren't drinking anymore, just wanted a change of scenery. The same group of boys was there, and the one I had talked to, Hugo, slowly started moving his way towards my group, and in particular, me. After some more small talk, music started playing and pretty soon we were dancing...then kissing...then making out in the corner booth. 

Soon after, his friend, my friend, Hugo, and I walked to the nearby clubs to dance. Hugo and I were getting pretty hot and heavy on the dance floor, with hands everywhere and little attention paid to anyone else nearby. After a couple hours, we went outside for some fresh air. We were mostly sober at this point, more buzzed from dancing and the cool night air than from any leftover booze in our bodies. Hugo asked me if I wanted to go back to his apartment with him; I wanted to, but told him that if we did, I wouldn't have sex with him (clearly that changed). 

At this point, though, I was clear on my no-sex policy and said if he couldn't agree, ‘no pasa nada’ and I would go home with my friend. He insisted that it was absolutely okay and after a short talk with my friend, I left with him. In an amusing turn of events, his friend's car got locked in the parking garage and we ended up taking the subway back to his apartment. 

On the subway ride back, he asked if he would see me again after that night. For some reason, I decided to be a punk and said that I knew it was just a hook-up and he didn't have to pretend he was genuinely interested in me. He got honestly frustrated and all of a sudden, pulled a small hemp bracelet off his arm and tied it to my wrist, telling me ‘If at the end of tonight, or whenever you leave, you want to see me again, take this with you; it's my favorite bracelet and if you leave with it, it's a promise you'll see me again if only to give it back to me.’ That quickly put a stop to my brattiness; and for the rest of the ride we sat in near-silence fingering the frayed edges of his bracelet. 

When we finally got there, it was 7am. His roommate had dead-bolted the door, so there were several minutes of knocking until his roommate woke up, unlocked the door, and then actually saluted us as we made our way to Hugo's room. Once inside, it was probably less than half an hour until we were down to just underwear. 

Hugo stopped, reached for his wallet, and pulled out a condom. I had learned that his first language is French and that he's almost 24, but we both speak fluent Spanish; to me, there was something cool about all this happening for each of us in a second language. He told me, ‘If you want to, I have it; if you don't want to, we don't.’ After cautious mumbling for a few minutes, I finally spit it out: it would be my first time. To my surprise, he said it would be his first time, too. I didn't believe him at first: ‘You're almost 24! You're handsome! You live in Spain!’

He sat both of us up and told me that he's been ready to lose it for a while but that it didn't feel right until that moment with me. He told me that I'm the first girl he's brought back to his apartment since moving in over six months earlier. I know that some people will think that he was lying just to convince me, but I have a good bullshit detector, and I didn't think that his obvious hesitation and sincerity were fake. 

I told him that I had been waiting to lose it for a while, too, and that if he was sure, I was sure. If I hadn't believed that he truly was a virgin before, I did when it took him several tries to put the condom on. He was slow and gentle and it was both exactly what I thought it would be and like nothing I expected. 

When we finished, we decided that after almost 24 hours awake we should try to sleep a little. We ‘slept’ for an hour, and then woke up for Round Two. He stopped, though, because he didn't have any more condoms (the one in his wallet was a gift from his brother for when his lucky moment finally arrived). After more fooling around, I thought it was finally time for me to go home. It was almost noon. 

It took another hour to slowly find my clothes and put them on; every time I tried, he would pull the hem of my skirt or bra and I'd get distracted. We finally left his room and kissed goodbye for what felt like days in his doorway until I decided I really should leave. Right before walking out, I held up the wrist with his bracelet and asked, ‘Lo llevo conmigo?’ (I'll take it with me?) And he answered, ‘Lo llevas contigo’ (You take it with you). 

Due to travel plans, we won't see each other for another couple weeks. We've messaged several times and he wants to make sure we keep talking to not lose momentum, although with guaranteed sex at the end of our vacations, I don't think either of us is having a hard time staying interested. 

For the past two weeks, I've been waiting for some kind of regret to set in; to regret losing it to a near-stranger, to regret having it emerge from a night out, to admit that maybe I won't see him again. And two weeks later, I'm positive that I would have made the same decisions had we met totally sober on a Tuesday afternoon rather than in a bar on a Thursday night, and that I would have regretted more not having sex with him than I potentially will regret in the future having gone all the way. In the event that we actually don't see each other again, or that all his talk about being a virgin too was a lie, that's okay with me--in that moment, with him, it was perfect.

Sometimes things just work out, 

Katherine’

 

Semi Formal

So many great things about this story. I love the language. I love the fact that despite it being written in plain English, fifty per cent of the cultural references go straight over my head. I had to do some Googling to get the measure of this beautifully American story. But what jumps out at me today - perhaps it might be something different on another day - was this….‘we were completely emotionally open with one another’.

This made me think about the way in which my nephews used to attack a fresh piece of paper with a coloring pen when they were small. They had no expectations as to what they might achieve as the marker hit the page. Their minds were as wide open as the small flat white expanse in front of them. Absolutely anything could happen and it often did.

Adult life appears to be about un-learning this skill.  Of course, this is a natural part of evolution. Imagine what might befall us of a day if we didn’t learn to rein ourselves in…..Lord of the Flies at best. But in terms of emotional entanglement, of being, as today’s author says, ‘completely emotionally open with one another’, today’s story takes me right back to being young enough to love without barriers, before the notion of how badly your heart can be bruised is even a conscious thought.

It must be the hardest thing in the world to be a parent and watch your children navigate adult waters, knowing that things may not go as they planned. And how hard to then explain that this actually is ‘the way of the world’. That this awful alien feeling of bleak, cold rejection is not abnormal. That it is par for the course. That it may even happen again. Possibly even multiple times. (If you’re lucky enough one might argue…). I still remember the first time this happened to me. I can still re-call my ex-boyfriend’s voice (we’d broken up exactly one week beforehand) as he arrived at my house one summer’s afternoon to break it to me that he’d ‘accidentally’ slept with someone else at a party on Saturday night. Upset doesn’t cover it. Hysteria is closer to the mark. On reflection, I actually don’t think I’ve lost my emotional rag that visibly since. My response was raw shock. How could he do THIS to ME? How can one human being get away with making another human being feel THIS feeling? Shouldn’t this be illegal? Can’t you fix this? Can’t my parents fix it? Or someone?? And make like it didn’t happen? It can’t be fixed, it couldn’t be fixed, and unfortunately, it shouldn’t be fixed. Its part of life and believing it not to be is perhaps the truest definition of innocence.

Anyway, I’m making out like today’s story ends badly. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t. But it does make me yearn for a time when we are able to love without boundaries. To re-create a little – or a lot – of that in our every day lives. It reminds me of skiing for the first time when I was well out of my teenage years and learning, all over again, that, to lean ‘away from the mountain’, something that goes against the grain of every new adult skier - because what you really want to do is cling to the mountain for dear life - is the one thing that will make you a more effective skier. Leaning in turns your knees the wrong way and makes you ski like a spaz.  Taking a chance, leaning out and pushing your legs and knees in the right direction will steer a more effective course through the snow and perhaps even through life. If you have the balls to try it. Or as Betty White allegedly once said, ‘why do people say ‘grow some balls?’ Balls are weak and sensitive. If you wanna really get tough, grow a vagina! Those things take a pounding!’ Luckily I have one of those already.

'Hey there, my name is Jo. I'm 16, born in the grand ol' year of 1994, currently residing in the USA. I've been reading through your website for a few hours now and I came to the conclusion, my virginity loss was fantastic, especially for being 16. Well, without further adieu...

This was a process. Years, maybe. Two boys. For me, the quiet little blonde girl who liked punk rock and hanging with the older crowd, I think everyone assumed I'd ‘done it a million times’ by the time I actually did. I didn't care.

I'm an only child so my childhood best-friend and I, when we turned 10 or so, went straight to our computers that we’d both just received and figured out what the birds and bees truly were. Thank you Fanfiction. Suddenly, my little brain was spinning with ideas of lust and romance, something more than ‘just kissing.’ Keep in mind, I still thought kissing with tongues was disgusting. Oh, little me. You have so much to learn.

Fast-forward about two years and enter Dominic. We met 4 days after my 12th birthday and let me just say, he was GORGEOUS. I automatically assumed he was years older than me, with long reddish-brownish hair and big green eyes and scuffed up Chuck Taylors. I knew when I saw him across the room that he'd change me. Dominic and I clicked from the moment we first began talking.

Things took off pretty fast. Both of us were precocious 12 year olds (he was almost 13) who had too many questions and not enough answers. We loved our music loud and fast and angry and we especially loved discovering each other. Dominic was my first almost everything. He was my first kiss (grocery store, deli section), my first ‘make out’/kiss with tongues (on his living room couch during ‘The Longest Mile’, that film with Adam Sandler), and eventually, the first penis I ever saw. When he dropped trou, I seriously had no idea what to expect. At this point, the only penis I ever saw was in the 3 second glimpse of Pete Wentz’s (see: bassist of Fall Out Boy) schlong thanks to a friend on AIM Direct Connect, so to have a live, real, ERECT (!!?!?!!!?!) penis right there in front of my 12 year old face, well, I was at a complete and total loss. ‘...do you want me to...touch...it?’ I had a way with words, even then. Let me tell you.

Yet, even though Dominic and I were together three and a half years exactly, we never had sex. He always wanted to, constantly trying to coerce me into it but for me, I just...knew. I'm not a ‘True Love Waits' !!11!!!!shifty!!1!’ person, nor strictly religious. Something just told me that he wasn't the one I should lose my virginity to. Call it intuition, I don't know, but my gut decision wound up being right. As it turns out, he got it elsewhere in the meantime, cheating on me (and having the nerve to text her while sleeping in MY bed, but that's another story) and losing it to whatsherface-with-the-monroe piercing, effectively breaking my 15-year-old heart.

Things with Dom and I had been rocky for a while though, since the start of my sophomore year. Ironically, that's about the time I was assigned to my sophomore year homeroom with ‘delicious-boy-who-likes-striped-thermals-and-fantasy-novels’ across the room. I never really figured out who he was strictly through homeroom, but man...he was adorable. I was too scared to walk up to him and comment on the books he was reading, even though we liked a lot of the same ones. (A 16 year old boy who reads Dante's Inferno and The Odyssey for fun!? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?)

Luckily for me, we shared a study hall together after the Dominic ordeal ended. I came on entirely too strong but, as he told me later, he found it ‘endearing...since girls aren't really attracted and never have been. Plus, you're the most adorable thing I ever saw. So, the creepy was negated.’ I was kind of creepy. I Google Earth'd his address and found out how long it would take to walk to his house. I liked him. A lot.

In March, he asked me to semiformal*, which wound up being our first date. I think it was understood at this point that we would, eventually, wind up together. Upstairs, changing into my poofy black and purple dress in his parent’s bathroom, I said a silent prayer that this wouldn't be the last time I'd ever see his house. That this wouldn't be a one-time thing; that this was a beginning. Prayers were answered that night. Sitting upstairs on his bed, he had his purple dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing some scars. ‘You're the only person I'd ever let see these,’ he said. Oh shit, I think I kinda sorta just fell in love with him.

Things progressed quickly after that point. We both didn't ‘need’ sex, but we were quiet and completely emotionally open with one another. We functioned as best friends since the moment we met; somehow it just seemed natural to move quick.We were together 12 days when we had our first ‘experience.’ I came over to his house to enjoy the springtime weather, third time over *EVER*, mind you, and it started out as normal as one could ever expect.

We ate dinner. We made small talk with his mom and dad. We wanted to go in the hot tub downstairs, so we'd headed up and got changed. Standing in his room, he ran his soft hands up from my thighs, taking my blue floral sundress off in one swift motion, leaving me standing there in my (only) pair of thong underwear and pink frilly polka dotted bra. Long story short, we were trembling and nervous and rolling around on the floor, touching new places and letting our skin melt into one another's. We tried to have sex, just to see what it'd feel like, but our nerves got the better of us and we couldn't quite ‘get it in.’

Laying on his comforter and pillows that he carefully laid down for us, we felt like we just hit the jackpot. Two virgin kids who fumbled and tried, who were learning to discover themselves through someone else. The whole experience reminded me of the e.e.cummings poem ‘I like my body with your body’: 

'i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new '

Time progressed and I found myself falling deeper in love with him than I could've ever imagined. We would write each other poems and talk about where we wanted to wind up in life. Our passions, our hopes, our dreams. 

My 16th birthday was coming up on June 10th. He was helping me plan a sweet 16 shindig for our friends, so for the weeks leading up to it, he was over my house quite a bit. He made invitations with me, favors, the whole bit. The day we actually lost our virginities was exactly one week before I turned 16, June 3rd. My mother worked late that night, not getting home until about 6 o'clock at night, leaving Troy and I three hours to ourselves. We were given the task of ‘finishing the party favors’ by my mother in exchange for the time alone. We both knew that this precious time would be used for finally giving me the best birthday gift of all.

I won't sugar coat it for you, it did hurt. We had issues trying to get it to ‘go in’ before, a few failed attempts under our belt, but this time we figured out that slow and steady wins the race. Seeing his soft, bare body hovering over mine all wrapped up in my soft white down duvet and hot pink flannel sheets sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly it wasn't just about the sex, it wasn't about the act, it wasn't about any of that. He looked at me and kissed me soft on the lips, and like that, it was in. 

Some girls complain about the first time they get penetrated, but to be honest, once he got going, it felt really natural. I jokingly called him ‘Goldilocks penis’ because he was just right. Not too big, not too small. He didn't come that first time, because after about 15 minutes or so I got too sore, so we resorted to spooning - also known as the greatest invention known to mankind. 

It took us about 6 months before sex actually became extremely physically pleasurable, because emotionally it was incredible but I would still be in pain. Proud to say in about the past three to four weeks we finally mastered the art!

If you haven't guessed yet, Troy and I are still together. We are still very much in love, planning on where we want to go with our lives and still writing each other poems. Losing my virginity to him will never be a mistake, because I gave it to a boy who gave me his everything in exchange. He's one of a kind. He's mine.’

*Semiformal is a school-sponsored dance that has a 'semi-formal' dress code, meaning girls in tea-length dresses and boys in nice pants and a dress shirt, usually with sneakers and no tie.

 

First times of another kind...

So by now you probably know that the ‘first kiss’ viral was allegedly an ad for a clothing company or a cynical plot to extract your money as one British broadsheet puts it….but I still don’t think that takes away from the essence of the content. It remains appealing to the public mostly, I imagine, because content of a more racy, aggressive, frequently devoid of human warmth & emotion, not to mention completely mis-representational of what most of us get up to behind closed doors is par for the course these days.

This film taps into the febrile nervousness, vulnerability and hopefully intimacy that most of us will encounter, no matter what age we are, where we come from or what decade we live in - or were born in - when we get up close and personal with another human being for the first time in reality. Some things don’t change. Here is one of them. Amen.

 

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Thursday is the best day of the week...

Today is an auspicious day. It is the day that my book is officially published and I am off the scale excited. I haven’t quite worked out what the form is yet. Does one rush into one’s local book store, pick up a copy of one’s ‘baby’ and scream at the top of your lungs ‘I WROTE THIS!! To anyone who will listen? I feel inclined to do so but being British and all, I’ll try to hold myself back.

In the meantime, I would like to say a huge thank you to all the people who continue to write and tell me the most brilliant stories. You’re the best. Today’s story teller is no exception.

Born 1991, lost virginity aged 19

'There are two words that immediately come to mind when I think about my experience of losing my virginity. One is ‘awkward’ and the other is ‘perfect’.

My religious tradition definitely had an effect on my opinions, but not, most likely, in the way that would be expected. I grew up in the Unitarian Universalist church, which didn’t give any kind of moral position on the issue, but emphasized a personal search for the truths that resonate most with you in all areas of life.

So sometime around age fourteen, I sat down and thought about what virginity meant to me, and I came up with a few conclusions and rules for myself. Waiting until marriage didn’t hold any importance to me; I guess I’ve never been romantic about marriage, viewing it as a celebration and formalization of an existing commitment rather than something that should particularly change the nature of a relationship. What was important to me was not rushing into something I would regret later and making sure the time was right. I swore to myself that I would feel ready on my own and I would be in love before I would even think about having sex. I took one of the virginity pledge cards in the they handed out in sex ed my Freshman year of high school - not because I bought into the ideology behind them but as a personal reminder of my promise to myself not to rush into something before I was ready.

In retrospect, I think it may have been a bit naïve to bank on concepts as subjective as being ‘ready’ and ‘in love’, just assuming I would recognize them when I experienced them. At the time, I just knew I definitely didn’t meet either condition yet. And I continued to go on as such for quite some time. I had my first relationship at sixteen, which took several months to get to kissing and never progressed much further. I was intensely ‘in like’ and loved him as friend, but it took eight months before I ever thought of myself as being in love with him. Around eight months I also started thinking I could see the possibility of having sex with him at some point, but not anytime soon. A month later, we broke up.

My next relationship didn’t go nearly that far, as it died almost as soon as it began due to my not really being over the previous one. I knew plenty of people my age who were getting it on, but the majority of my close friends were also virgins, and quite proud of it between ourselves.

In the meantime, I maintained my resolve with a lot of masturbation and becoming intimately acquainted with fantasy. I delved into the internet’s supply of erotic fiction, and started writing my own. I found out what turned me on and what didn’t, and had the time to get comfortable with things that initially seemed a little too much (the concept of giving blowjobs, for instance: intimidating as hell at sixteen or seventeen; hot as hell a few years later). I was excited about the prospect of having sex someday, but I knew I wasn’t nearly ready yet for that day to come.

And then about halfway through my Freshman year of college, I pretty much woke up one day from a really hot dream and realized I was ready. My previous methods of staving off frustration were no longer sufficient, and I was a little bit scared by the strength of my libido. I pretty much expected I would have sex in my next relationship, and I reasoned that it was okay if I wasn’t actually in love as long as I was in a reasonably committed relationship, but at the same time I was a little disturbed at the weakening of that condition. The thing was, at that point I’d been single for nearly two years, and I didn’t see any prospect of a relationship happening any time soon.

Until, that Spring, I fell hard for one of my best friends. And, although I’m still at a loss as to why, the feelings were mutual. Quite apart from my general horniness and the circumstances seeming right, right from the start it became clearer and clearer to me that this was the boy I wanted to be my first. He was sweet, and caring, and had a good sense of humour – which in some ways I found one of the most important traits; a laughing, ‘Biology is awkward,’ became somewhat of a catchphrase between us during our early explorations of each others’ bodies – and I felt comfortable talking about absolutely anything with him. He was also a fellow virgin, which was a bit of a surprise considering he was a year older than me and had a considerably longer dating history, and somewhat of a disappointment to me, as I’d always kind of hoped to have someone more experienced to guide me, but I dismissed that as an insignificant detail.

We progressed to increasingly heavier petting fairly rapidly, and as the first full month of our relationship and my nineteenth birthday approached, I shyly brought up that I would be interested in having sex with him at some indistinct time in the relatively near future.

He said he wasn’t ready. I said okay and didn’t bring it up again. We continued at about the same intensity of fooling around as we had been, ramping up maybe a little bit slower than before. Two months passed, and summer break began, turning our relationship long-distance (and I’m talking 4000 miles apart long-distance).

And about two weeks into the three month break, during one of our daily long phone calls, he told me he loved me for the first time and that he’d changed his mind and wanted to have sex with me when we got to see each other again. Anticipation made it an extremely long summer.

I got on birth control pills as soon as I got back on campus and impatiently waited the two weeks for the protection to be active while we wrestled with the logistics of a living situation that made it much harder to find privacy than it had been the previous year until my roommate took pity on me and arranged to be elsewhere for a night.

I had no illusions about expecting fireworks or anything from the first time; I was expecting a good experience. And I pretty much got what I expected. There was some pain at first, but it wasn’t a lot and it faded quickly, and I bled just a little bit. There were a whole lot of awkward little mishaps, from struggling to get the condom on to him banging his head on the upper bunk while getting in bed and me accidentally putting my panties on inside out afterwards, but there was also a whole lot of laughter. I admit to feeling a bit, ‘That was it? That’s what all the fuss is about?’ In the immediate aftermath, but I ended up somehow feeling closer to him all the same. We made another go of it later that night and got things going a lot more smoothly, and since then it’s only gotten better.'

 

You're the one that I want....

I can’t deny that I did think about jumping on the royal bandwagon and writing a wedding themed post and then I changed my mind. Kind of.

This week I have traveled to Manchester with the very fabulous Suzi Godson to do next Monday’s edition of Woman’s Hour. Together we met the legendary Jenni Murray and did our best not to swear by mistake on the show. I have also been into several bookshops to innocently enquire after a tome called ‘The First Time: True Tales of Virginity Lost & Found (Including My Own). I usually crack when they ask if it’s by Kate Monro and admit that I am she. I wonder at what point I will get bored of this game.

On a more serious note, I have fielded questions about the impending release of said book from my 13 year old nephew. I feel slightly guilty about the fact that I have written one of those books that I had to climb the bookcase to retrieve at great personal risk when I was his age. Naturally I chickened out and sent him in the direction of his mother.

More to the point, how am I going to stop my stepfather from reading the first story in the men’s chapter?? I think I am going to have to find a way of temporarily blindfolding him because when push comes to shove, I am far more worried about corrupting his relatively innocent mind than my 13 year old nephew’s!

But all in all, generally speaking, I can say that publishing my first book has far surpassed my expectations and it hasn’t even come out yet.

Until it does, here is today’s story. Hailing from the States, ladies and gentleman, I give you the modern day Danny and Sandy….

‘My name is Tegan. I’m now 17 years old and live in the US. But before I tell you my story, I think you should know a little bit about me. I’ve always been the straight A student, the very religious girl, you get the picture. But then I started dating Mark. We met at school freshman year; we started dating a month later. Mark was what most people would refer to as the ‘popular’ guy in school. He was known for being the star athlete…you know the type. He had an i-don’t-care attitude that attracted me to him, which was odd considering I had only dated the quiet, shy guys.

I honestly couldn’t tell you why I started dating him because I don’t even know myself. I never pictured myself with anyone other than your typical nerd. He just wasn’t my type; I definitely wasn’t his either. But it felt like with him…I had to make an exception. It was like we balanced each other out. I was quiet, he was outgoing. After a few months of dating we became best friends. I guess you could say we were pretty much inseparable. Six months into our relationship we began doing things I never planned on until after I was married...oral sex. After a few months of that, we wanted more. Not exactly sex itself, but the closeness that came with it.

I was fifteen when I lost my virginity to Mark. His family was out of town for his sister’s volleyball tournament, and he told his parents he was coming to my house that Saturday. I told my parents I was going to his, for they didn’t know his family was gone. It took a lot of planning, but it worked. We hadn’t exactly talked about having sex that day, though we had talked about having sex before.

The minute we stepped in his house we quickly went up to his room. We kissed and before I knew it our clothes we in the floor. We spent quite a long time ‘warming up’ if you get what I’m saying. I was more scared than nervous when we finally did it. It wasn’t like you read about in books or watch in movies at all. It took a while before he could get it in. And when he finally did, it hurt. It hurt bad. But not in a bad way. He didn’t last long, but that was okay; I’d come closer to him than I had been with anyone in my whole life, and that’s all we had wanted. I had his virginity, and he had mine.       

I’m seventeen now, and I don’t regret anything that’s happened between Mark and I. We aren’t like the crazy sex-obsessed teens today. We have sex to feel closer to one another. Not just to have sex. Although I’m still a Christian, I’ve come to believe that sex is okay as long as it’s for the right reasons. Maybe Mark and I will end up together, maybe not. But I know for a fact I couldn’t have asked for a better guy to experience this with. No, our story wasn’t the make-believe story everyone talks about…but it was our own story.’

Shit happens...

I don’t know why but this story reminds me of one of my all time favourite films ‘Stand By Me’. It has almost nothing to do with the actual plot of the film - kids run away from home to find the body of a dead man - it’s more to do with the pleasure and the pain of being a young person. The trials and the tribulations of what we go through, mostly alone. Today’s story speaks volumes about the condition of being a teenager. When shit happens, it rarely occurs to us to tell anyone about it. We often keep it to ourselves and carry on.

The interesting part of this scenario is that in the end, when we have digested, processed and hopefully learnt the difference between what was our fault and what most definitely was not, we realise that this shit is – for better or worse – par for the course. ‘Into each life a little rain falls’ as my mother once told me. It is what makes us unique. And as today’s storyteller shows, it doesn’t need to define us either.

I often think that these stories would make a great film. If I could choose a director, it would be Robert Altman. He is no longer with us but if he were, I can’t help thinking that this story would be in the mix. Its a cracking good read.

‘Born in the United States, April 18, 1993 

First, I want to say that I love and appreciate what you have here. Each of these stories are so rich and I truly enjoy reading them all. 

When I was fifteen my best friend, who was actually younger than me, lost her virginity. She told me stories as I listened intently while having the vague sensation of being left behind. ‘It's great! She said, ‘…after you get past the first couple of times’. 

I wanted to share this experience with her, to be able to swap stories like the girls in my novels. And I knew just who I wanted too. Sam was my best guy friend and I worshipped the ground he walked on. He was older, experienced, and rebellious and listened to everything I had to say. We were neighbours and spent most days together at the river or in my room talking, depending on the season. 

As my fifteenth summer was coming to a close, a moment presented itself. It was a common occurrence for us to camp, and one night it was just the two of us because our other friends wouldn't be showing up till much later. We made a fire in our usual fire-pit and passed around a bottle of whiskey; his preferred drink that I tolerated simply because it was his favorite (although I did grow to prefer it to other forms of hard alcohol). 

What started off as a back massage quickly escalated into kisses and clothes being carelessly tossed off. I gave him the most awkward blow-job, it tasted terrible and my drunk brain couldn't think of anything better than spitting on his stomach. It was terribly embarrassing, but luckily he laughed, which allowed me to move on.

‘Let's do it, I have a condom.’

‘I dunno…’

I rolled off to the side of him, attempting to think over what my next decision should be, until I felt him jab his erection into my hip. 

‘Come on, they're German. Plus what am I supposed to do with this if we don't?’ he asked while poking me again. 

I'd made up my decision. ‘I guess you'll have to deal with it yourself.’

I sat up, searching for my clothes and stumbling outside to wait for our friends by the campfire. This wasn't going to be the night, after all. 

A few weeks later, I spent a couple nights at my step mom's house, enjoying my rare time with her. It was late one night and she'd gone to sleep while I made a bed on the living room couch as my step-brother arrived home. We watched a movie and as he got up to retreat to his room he made a detour to my spot on the couch. He told me he wanted to try something before leaning over and pushing his slimy tongue between my lips. I freaked out and pulled back. 

‘This is too weird,’ I said, ‘you're my brother’.

‘Yeah, STEP-brother’, he replied, before pushing himself back on me only to have me squirm away once again. After asking him repeatedly to stop he gave up and slithered into his room. I was horrified, and couldn't sleep. Not much had happened but the damage had been done. He was someone I had trusted, someone I had loved as my brother ever since I was a young child and he had gone against all of that. If I couldn't trust him, who could I trust? 

I spent the next two years in what I called sexual hibernation. I lost the ability to handle anything more than a friendship with the opposite sex. I couldn't flirt anymore, I felt like I could hardly communicate like a normal human being. My social skills plummeted. 

When I moved states with my family, I started at a new school. On my first day I noticed the boy in my art class with eyes so vibrant they could literally light the room. I developed a crush on him immediately, but I assumed he was with the fierce girl that he was always sitting with. Not to mention I was far too awkward to start a conversation and my self esteem told me I could never in my wildest dreams have someone like HIM.

One day his 'girlfriend' followed me to my bike, promptly introduced herself with an outstanding level of confidence and we planned to have lunch the following week, when she'd be back from a trip. 

I spent most lunch hours reading in the halls, or outside if the weather would hold up. But one day I decided to try out the art room for a change, only to nearly run into the boy with the eyes (who's name, I had learned, was Bruce) as I rushed through the door. I sat across from him, and asked about his art and we awkwardly discussed books and interests. I was thrilled to discover we liked a lot of the same things. We planned to have lunch again, I was ecstatic. 

By the time his fierce friend had returned (I found out they were only friends), we had hung out a couple times, and I knew I was starting to actually like him. After a lot of poking she finally got me to admit to my crush. ‘He likes you!!’ She screamed at me. 

I made a lot of awkward attempts in class to talk to him, but when it was just the two of us, things flowed a lot easier. Eventually I made the first move, and kissed him on the cheek, only to have him kiss me full on the lips in front of my mother. I guess that’s how I knew we were together. No one is going to kiss you in front of your mother if they don't intend on doing so again. 

I had never grown so comfortable with someone so fast, I could talk to him about real things and he would listen. I told him about my stepbrother and he understood, letting me know that we would move as slow as I would like. As slow as I liked turned out not to be very slow in teenage measurements at all. After a month my mom had taken me to Planned Parenthood for the pill and I told him I was almost ready. He assured me there was no rush, and I understood, but I wasn't rushing, I was just ready. 

We had been dating for almost exactly two months when it actually happened. He had previously told me he wanted to make it special with candles and roses (he has a very cheesy streak), but I insisted that it wasn't needed.  Along with being far more experienced that I, he was also far more nervous. 

He was slow and cautious as he entered me the first time, staring into my face to make sure I wasn't in pain. He asked if I was okay and I told him I was but that it hurt a little. He did a small pump before pulling out. I wanted to try being on top so he rolled over and lay still, holding onto my hips as I tried to lower myself onto him. Whenever I asked for his help he gave it, but he wanted to make sure everything was on my terms. He was so helpful and gentle; it couldn't have been more perfect. We eventually dressed after mass amounts of cuddling and talking and went out for coffee and breakfast. As we walked down the street I tried to see if my view has somehow changed, but the world was still spinning on as it had before. 

Losing my virginity was not a monumental event, like so many other people, I looked in the mirror expecting to glimpse some sign of change only to see none in my immediate appearance. Sometimes, before, I felt as if I was the only person in the world my age who hadn't had sex yet, and that I was destined to become the old cat lady. But I'm glad things happened as they did, because my experience was perfect, and I don't know how many people can say that of their own. 

Bruce and I have now been together for nearly six months, and I love being with him in every way, I love him. And I am so immensely happy to know that he is the one to hold this place in my life.’ 

Negative regret...

This story says so much about allowing a person to grow, flourish and develop in their own time – and on their own terms. It also reminds me of an interview I once did for my book. My respondent was a young Indian woman who, for reasons known only to herself, thought that when she finally did have sex, her mum would know because he legs would go bandy. As I write this, I am fully aware of how absurd this sounds but honest to god, that’s what she thought.

Seeing as I thought that women had breasts because they were sucking their stomachs in and pushing their ribcages out when I was little, I don’t really have a (bandy) leg to stand on either..

'I'm Mei. I was born in 1991, in China. I am Chinese American. That means I grew up with strict parents, perfect grades, and not surprisingly, a very conservative view on sex, alcohol, drugs, and the like. When I was in 4th grade, a friend wrote me a note explaining the health processes related to puberty and sex. Apparently, her mother had given her ‘the talk,’ and you know little girls…they're eager to share. When I approached my mother about it, she told me that it was all a lie. It wasn't till middle school that I really found out about the whole she-bang: kissing, French kissing, groping, SEX.

I went through most of my high school years without having even a kissed a boy, which I swear wasn't for lack of wanting. I just wasn't allowed to have boyfriends. You wonder why I didn't go behind my parents' backs, but this wasn't just a rule...this was The Rule. For Chinese parents, a boyfriend means distractions which mean bad grades (like B's). There is no influence more evil than Boyfriends.

But at the end of junior year, an Asian boy from Canada transferred into my school. We met, and in a few months, I was in love. After weeks of coercing, begging, nagging, and of making absurd promises about studying hard, my mother miraculously allowed us to date. Maybe she saw how desperate I was for this boy.

We dated for two and a half years. For the first year, we were in total, loving bliss. Senior year was one of the best years of my life (so far, at least). I got my first kiss, my first make-out session, my first grope…the only thing we never did was make love.

I had always been taught to save my virginity for marriage, but honestly, I didn't care too much about the whole save-yourself bullshit. I was 18, and I had grown pretty tired of my parents constantly roping me down with stupid Chinese rules. If Wai had wanted it, I would have made love to him. And that's the thing; it would really have been making love because at the time, we were completely right for each other.

But he was much more Chinese (and Christian) than I was. He was a virgin and planned to stay that way until marriage. In fact, he wanted to marry a virgin. He said he couldn't possibly marry a girl who had already had sex with someone else. I was pretty disappointed inside when I found this out, but I loved him and respected him, so I let it go.

After senior year, I left for college across the country in California. We somehow stayed together for another year and a half, long distance. Wai was very straight-edged, and out of fear that he would leave me, I stayed away from those freshmen beers, weed, and parties. We chatted every night, and saw each other during breaks. I would wonder sometimes if I were missing out on other people and new experiences, being all tied up with Wai, but I really believed that I couldn't get anything better.

Things changed my sophomore year. I started rock climbing, and I met the most incredible group of people. They are my closest friends now. In that group was a boy, Jamie. We were incredible comfortable with each other from the moment we met, and our group of friends was amazing. I began to question my lifestyle: yes, I had been brought up to stay away from drugs and alcohol and sex, and yes, my boyfriend would flip a shit/break up with me if I did any of it, but I really wanted to experience all of it. More than anything, I wanted to experience it with my rock climbing friends. I knew I could trust them. And...I wanted to keep seeing Jamie.

I started going out regularly with my friends, to drink and smoke and hang out and really, just be a college student. I talked to Wai less and to Jamie more, and predictably, Wai and I started to have problems. After being asked why I wasn't ashamed of the way I was living, I broke up with Wai. 

I immediately started to date Jamie. Maybe that was callous, but we gravitated toward each other. He was everything that my old life was not. He smoked and drank, and didn't think any of it was a big deal. He was the most hilarious person I'd ever met, and was completely solid in who he was. He was happy, thought that other people should be happy, and didn't believe in controlling what other people did. He was everything that I wanted to leave behind -- all the suffocating rules and guidelines that would keep me ‘pure.’ All that my parents and Wai stood for.

After we had dated for two weeks, I decided to have sex with Jamie. Thinking back on it now, I think I just wanted something to erase all the stiffness and Chinese-ness that had defined my life for 19 years. It wasn't because I genuinely wanted sex, or because I was in love with Jamie (although, we liked each other quite a lot); I thought losing my virginity would be some kind of fresh start, symbolic of all the ways I had started to change.

Surprisingly, Jamie was also a virgin. We didn't really know what we were doing, I was tense and nervous, and it hurt like hell. We didn't get much of him into me, and I didn't really know if that counted as losing my virginity. After a few failed attempts, we gave up. That night, I lay in his bed, sore and frustrated, wondering what I was doing. If I was this tense, I probably wasn't ready to be having sex. Maybe my parents and Wai were right. Luckily, Jamie was incredibly sweet and understanding about it. He knew I had just gotten out of a serious relationship, and to him, the sex wasn't that big of a deal. It was about what I wanted, about being happy.

We stayed together, and spent many days and nights just enjoying each other’s company. Then one night, when we were fooling around, I realized that I really did want Jamie. All of him. The thought caught me off guard, but I knew then that this was how it should be. I was going to lose my virginity unplanned, without any rules or guidelines to restrict me, and that was completely right. I was much less tense, we went slowly, and this time, we succeeded. I remember looking into Jamie's eyes as he came in me, and thinking I had never been more happy about a decision. I had never felt so good. Before, I had been afraid that my parents and Wai might turn out to be right, that I would regret losing my virginity so...casually, but I knew then they were wrong. It's not about the rules, about using sex to seal some marriage contract. It's about what feels right, and being with Jamie, that felt right.

Jamie and I are still together. We have at lot of sex, and we love it. I am so happy about my decision to sleep with him that it's like I have negative regret - it's made me feel better about other decisions I've made in my life to bring me here. There's something physically and emotionally free about being with him. Losing my virginity (and I guess he lost his to me) has come to represent my liberation from the fear and timid-ness that my parents and Wai had instilled in me. I'm not that much more wild than before (although I do drink and take a few hits now and then), but I am happier. And I have no regrets about my first time. I can't ask for more.'

Semi-formal...

Without wanting to sound like a big sap, it sure is nice to start the year with a touching story.

I had to email today’s story teller about five times before I could post it as I genuinely did not understand some of the cultural references. I’ve told this tale before but years ago, during my first trip to the States, I grabbed a taxi from JFK into Manhattan with a couple of other stragglers from the airport. We dropped the stragglers off first before arriving at my destination of Prince and Elizabeth Street. As we did so, I realized that the stragglers had taken my bag, leaving me with theirs. The Horror!!

In stepped my knight in shining armor. To this day, I won’t hear a bad word about a New York cabbie. Mario Luna – for his name is still imprinted upon my memory – knew exactly where we had dropped off the bag grabbers and we were soon hot footing it back across town to retrieve it. By this point, my heart was in my mouth. In the months leading up to this trip, losing my belongings had most definitely not been part of my ‘arriving in New York for the first time’ fantasy.

When I finally arrived at the desk of the correct hotel and I gave what I thought was a plausible explanation for my sweaty, agitated presence, the woman behind the counter – in the most fabulous New York accent – uttered the immortal line, ‘I did not understand a word of what you just said’.

I was dumbstruck. I was talking in English but that’s just it. We might share the same language, but our colloquialisms are such that we don’t always ‘get’ each other.

Meanwhile, some concepts are universal. We all understand what its like to meet someone really wonderful for the first time. We all know what its like to meet someone that we can trust, someone that we can rely on. We don’t need language for that. It just is.

 'Hey there, my name is Jo. I'm 16, born in the grand ol' year of 1994, currently residing in the USA. I've been reading through your website for a few hours now and I came to the conclusion, my virginity loss was fantastic, especially for being 16. Well, without further adieu...

This was a process. Years, maybe. Two boys. For me, the quiet little blonde girl who liked punk rock and hanging with the older crowd, I think everyone assumed I'd ‘done it a million times’ by the time I actually did. I didn't care.

I'm an only child so my childhood best-friend and I, when we turned 10 or so, went straight to our computers that we both just received and suddenly figured out what the birds and bees truly were. Thank you, Fanfiction. Suddenly, my little brain was spinning with ideas of lust and romance, something more than ‘just kissing.’

Keep in mind, I still thought kissing with tongues was disgusting. Oh, little me. You have so much to learn.

Fast forward about two years and enter Dominic. We met 4 days after my 12th birthday and let me just say, he was GORGEOUS. I automatically assumed he was years older than me, with long reddish-brownish hair and big green eyes and scuffed up Chuck Taylors. I knew when I saw him across the room that he'd change me. Dominic and I clicked from the moment we first began talking.

Things took off pretty fast after that. Both of us were precocious 12 year olds (he was almost 13, November of 93!) who had too many questions and not enough answers. We loved our music loud and fast and angry and we especially loved discovering each other. Dominic was my first almost everything. He was my first kiss (grocery store, deli section), my first ‘make-out’/kiss with tongue (on his living room couch during ‘The Longest Mile’, that film with Adam Sandler), and eventually first penis I ever saw. When he dropped trou, I seriously had no idea what to expect. At this point, the only penis I ever saw was in the 3 second glimpse of Pete Wentz's (see: bassist of Fall Out Boy) schlong thanks to a friend on AIM Direct Connect, so to have a live, real, ERECT (!!?!?!!!?!) penis right there in front of my 12 year old face, I was at a complete and total loss. ‘...do you want me to...touch...it?’ I had a way with words, even then. Let me tell you.

Yet, even though Dominic and I were together three and a half years exactly, we never had sex. He always wanted to, constantly trying to coerce me into it but for me, I just...knew. I'm not a ‘TRUE LOVE WAITS!!11!!!!shifty!!1!’ person, nor strictly religious. Something just told me that he wasn't the one I should lose my virginity to. Call it intuition, I don't really know, but my gut decision wound up being right. As it turns out, he got it elsewhere in the meantime, cheating on me (and having the nerve to text her while sleeping in MY bed, but that's another story) and losing it to whatsherface-with-the-monroe-piercing, effectively breaking my 15-year-old heart.

Things with Dom and I had been rocky for a while though, since the start of my sophomore year. Ironically, that's about the time I was assigned to my sophomore year homeroom with ‘delicious-boy-who-likes-striped-thermals-and-fantasy-novels’ across the room. I never really figured out who he was strictly through homeroom, but man...he was adorable. I was too scared to walk up to him and comment on the books he was reading, even though we liked a lot of the same ones. (A 16 year old boy who reads Dante's Inferno and The Odyssey for fun!? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN MY WHOLE LIFE?!)

Luckily for me, we shared a study hall together in January of 2010, after the Dominic ordeal ended. I came on entirely too strong but, as he told me later, he found it ‘endearing...since girls aren't really attracted and never have been. Plus, you're the most adorable thing I ever saw. So, the creepy was negated.’

I was kind of creepy. I Google Earth'd his address and found out how long it would take to walk to his house. I liked him. A lot.

In March, he asked me to semiformal*, which wound up being our first date. I think it was understood at this point that we would, eventually, wind up together. Upstairs, changing into my poofy black and purple dress in his parent’s bathroom, I said a silent prayer that this wouldn't be the last time I'd ever see his house. That this wouldn't be a one time thing; that this was a beginning. Prayers were answered that night.

Sitting upstairs on his bed, he had his purple dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing some scars. ‘You're the only person I'd ever let see these,’ he said. Oh shit, I think I kinda sorta just fell in love with him.

Things progressed quickly after that point. We both didn't ‘need’ sex, but we were quiet and completely emotionally open with one another. We functioned as best friends since the moment we met, somehow it just seemed natural to move quick.

We were together 12 days when we had our first ‘experience.’ I came over to his house to enjoy the springtime weather, third time over *EVER*, mind you, and it started out as normal as one could ever expect.

We ate dinner. We made small talk with his mom and dad. We wanted to go in the hot tub downstairs, so we'd head up and get changed. Standing in his room, he ran his soft hands up from my thighs, taking my blue floral sundress off in one swift motion, leaving me standing there in my (only) pair of thong underwear and pink frilly polka dotted bra. Long story short, we were trembling and nervous and rolling around on the floor, touching new places and letting our skin melt into one another's. We tried to have sex, just to see what it'd feel like, but our nerves got the better of us and we couldn't quite ‘get it in.’ Laying on his comforter and pillows that he carefully laid down for us, we felt like we just hit the jackpot. Two virgin kids who fumbled and tried, who were learning to discover themselves through someone else. The whole experience reminded me of the e. e. cummings poem ‘I like my body with your body’:

 'i like my body when it is with your

body. It is so quite new a thing.

Muscles better and nerves more.

i like your body. i like what it does,

i like its hows. i like to feel the spine

of your body and its bones, and the trembling

-firm-smooth ness and which i will

again and again and again

kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,

i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz

of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes

over parting flesh ... And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new '

Time progressed and I found myself falling deeper in love with him than I could've ever imagined. We would write each other poems and talk about where we wanted to wind up in life. Our passions, our hopes, our dreams. 

My 16th birthday was coming up on June 10th. Troy was helping me plan a sweet 16 shindig for our friends, so for the weeks leading up to it, he was over my house quite a bit. He made invitations with me, favors, the whole bit. The day we actually lost our virginities was exactly one week before I turned 16, June 3rd. My mother worked late that night, not getting home until about 6 o'clock at night, leaving Troy and I three hours to ourselves. We were given the task of ‘finishing the party favors’ by my mother in exchange for the time alone. We both knew that this precious time would be used for finally giving me the best birthday gift of all.

I won't sugar coat it for you, it did hurt. We had issues trying to get it to ‘go in’ before, a few failed attempts under our belt, but this time we figured out that slow and steady wins the race. Seeing his soft, bare body hovering over mine all wrapped up in my soft white down duvet and hot pink flannel sheets sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly it wasn't just about the sex, it wasn't about the act, it wasn't about any of that. He looked at me and kissed me soft on the lips, and like that, it was in. 

Some girls complain about the first time they get penetrated, but to be honest, once he got going, it felt really natural. I jokingly called him ‘Goldilocks penis’ because he was just right. Not too big, not too small. He didn't come that first time, because after about 15 minutes or so I got too entirely sore, so we resorted to spooning- also known as the greatest invention known to mankind. 

It took us about 6 months before sex actually became extremely physically pleasurable, because emotionally it was incredible but I would still be in pain. Proud to say in about the past three to four weeks we finally mastered the art! :P

If you haven't guessed yet, Troy and I are still together. We are still very much in love, planning on where we want to go with our lives and still writing each other poems.

Losing my virginity to him will never be a mistake, because I gave it to a boy who gave me his everything in exchange. He's one of a kind. He's mine.’

*Semiformal is a school sponsored dance that has a 'semi-formal' dress code, meaning girls in tea-length dresses and boys in nice pants and a dress shirt, usually with sneakers and no tie.

All's well that ends well...

I was going to call today’s entry ‘A Gothic Tale’, playing as it does with dark themes. And who doesn’t like a dark gothic tale at this time of the year when the days are short and staying indoors seems like the only sensible response to such extreme weather? But its Christmas Day and luckily, what begins as a horror story soon segues onto much happier territory.

As it does, our writer also talks about something that – surprisingly – we have never really discussed on this blog: the experience of ‘taking’ someone else’s virginity. Traditionally speaking, the taking of virginity would be an act performed by a man but today, in so many different ways, the tables have turned.

I won’t say anything else. Quite apart from anything, I am about to go and cook Christmas lunch for 12 people but needless to say, all IS well that ends well. Happy Christmas one and all!

‘Hi Kate. I'm female, I was born in 1991 in London, England, and I have two stories to tell you. I'd like to share this first story because it's quite painful for me to remember and it'd be nice to get it out there, rather than keeping it to myself so much.

When I was 14 and my hormones were raging, I found myself making friends with a boy in the year above me at school - Tommy. He was tall, dark, handsome, and completely fascinating (at the time). He was flirty and charming and slightly gothic, with dyed black hair. Being an angsty teenager, I had already developed an intense jealousy of his female friends so I did my utmost to become one of them in order to get closer to him.

I'd never had a real boyfriend before, just some snogging and brief, sloppy oral with someone else a few months previously and Tommy appeared to be everything I wanted. He also became friends with my best friend Martha around the same time but I'll come back to that. Things developed, and we began to engage sexually on spare afternoons. I became more and more obsessed with him, especially when I noticed that he and Martha were getting on remarkably well; unfortunately, I began to suffer from mild depression and started to self harm on occasions, but I refused offers of help from the infirmary at school and continued to engage with Tommy, even though I knew it'd hurt me.

In December, when I had turned 15, I invited myself to a stranger's party through a friend (Edie, who is gay), which Tommy was attending. The party went as one would expect, but the next day, Edie, Tommy and I decided to go back to her house to get some sleep before the journey back to our respective houses. Because the walk back to Edie's house had been so cold, we decided to get into her double bed to warm up and watch a film; Tommy lay between me and Edie. Edie took off her bra to be more comfortable, but left her t-shirt on, I pulled off my t-shirt and Tommy pulled off his own, and then undid my bra. Edie pulled me towards her, so that I was in the middle and I kissed her. She caressed me and I moved down to tongue her nipples, which Tommy took as his cue to put his hand down my jeans. Edie took my hand and put it in her knickers once she had realised what Tommy was doing. He decided to lie in the middle, and I got on top of him and continued to kiss and fondle Edie. Gradually I started paying less attention to Edie, because, of course, I was infatuated with Tommy.

Eventually he made it clear that he wanted to have sex with me, and I took off both of our pairs of jeans and underwear, put a condom on him and attempted to allow him to penetrate me from beneath, but I was too tight and couldn't manage it. Edie, understandably, left the room. We switched into the missionary position, and I remember thinking, as he penetrated me, 'So that's it, I've lost my virginity.' It hurt: of course, his penis was far larger than anything I'd previously had inside me, and my head was banging against the headboard with each thrust. He didn't seem particularly interested, but I tried my best to enjoy it and make it enjoyable for him. Sooner or later, he came and rested his head on my chest. A week or so afterwards, Edie invited me to her house by myself (it was  obvious why she wanted me there), and although I considered myself straight at the time, I went along with it and had my first lesbian experience. That's not too relevant, though, as I didn't consider myself a virgin any longer. 

It wasn't until a few weeks later, when I was shocked and hurt that Tommy didn't want more to do with me, that I found out that he had had sex with someone else, a friend of Edie's, on the very same day that he had taken my virginity. As you might imagine, I was extremely hurt by this, and even more so when Tommy began a relationship with Martha, my best friend, whose virginity he had taken a few weeks before my own. I had no idea they were involved like that, and couldn't believe that my best friend could betray me that way. This was the beginning of a long and difficult period of depression for me. I started self-harming several times a day and was forced to go to the local mental health clinic by the school infirmary. After many months, during which I still had sex with Tommy, Martha and I made up, and I began to recover. Now, Martha is by far my closest friend, and I'm good friends with Tommy, and although I doubtlessly became closer to Martha than I ever would have had this not happened, I regret the circumstances in which I lost my virginity more than anything else.

This second story is much more positive, and makes me smile rather than shudder. It is about how my current boyfriend, Chris, lost his virginity.

Chris and I met on the 10th of October, the very first Friday of the first term of my first year of Uni, when I was 18. I had decided, along with a few others, to continue the night after clubbing at the campus SU in the flat below mine, which I hadn't previously visited. We were all quite drunk and talking and laughing loudly in the flat kitchen. Chris and a couple of others came and joined in our drunken chat; unsurprisingly, we got along extremely well (I had immediately gravitated towards him because of the green eye-shadow he was wearing) and swapped numbers. He called the next day and asked to meet up, which we did the following morning, and straightaway began a relationship from scratch, having known each other for a few hours. (He says he 'just knew' he wanted to be with me; I say he leapt before looking.)

Our sexual relationship began quickly, though he was determined to savour each experience before moving on. One day, lying in bed together after mutual masturbation, I asked how many people he'd had sex with. ‘What do you mean by 'sex'?’ he asked. ‘Well, oral or more, I suppose.’ He immediately blurted, ‘One.’ I assumed he meant he'd had sex with one person, and was taken aback when he told me he was a virgin. I couldn't understand how someone so handsome and desirable, not to mention 20 years old, was still a virgin. He explained to me that while he knew it was a leftover from being strongly Catholic before losing faith, he wanted to keep the ultimate intimate experience for someone he was really in love with, and who was more special to him than anyone else. Of course, I didn't pressure him to have sex with me - he wanted to do other sexual things, and that was fine. He was already the best sexual partner I'd had. I did, however, confide in a few close friends for advice, which turned out to be exactly what I would have done anyway. We grew closer and closer, and he let me know after a few months that he did intend to make love with me, but at the right time for him. I was overjoyed that he felt I was that special, so I couldn't wait.

One night in spring, after a meal out and a visit to the cinema, we went back to his house (coincidentally, we live very close together, considering we met at a Uni 150 miles away) for the night. We went to bed as usual, and began to touch and kiss each other, but instead of bringing one another to orgasm, he raised his body over mine and penetrated me for the first time. He moaned and so did I - I hadn't had sex in months and he had stretched me somewhat with that first push. We whispered tenderly and lovingly to one another as he began thrusting. The bed was squeaking and it was at the back of my mind throughout, worried that his mother would overhear. After a couple of minutes, his nerves took over and he lost his erection, which unfortunately continued to happen and prevented his orgasm before we were both tired out.

The next morning, we woke after his mother had left for work, and tried to make love again. This time, Chris was less tired and more relaxed and didn't lose his erection. He lay over me again and thrusted clumsily in and out, still and it was obvious that he was anxious to do it 'right'. He came inside me, which I definitely wanted. Afterwards, he lay in my arms, pleased that he hadn't had to stop and that he had had sex as most people think of it, and we fell asleep again.

We're still happy and have an explorative, tender and satisfying sex life.

I know the second story is someone else's, but it's still extremely important to me. I hope these have been, if not helpful or interesting, then at least a bearable read. Thanks for taking the time to read it! I've just discovered your blog and find it fascinating, so thanks for that as well.

Best wishes,

T. C

Amplification...

The Virginity Project wants to apologize for the scantiness of postings. Normal service will resume soon! We are up to our ears weaving together the myriad interviews conducted over the last five years and putting them in a book. It’s a little like doing the sort of jigsaw puzzle that would keep my mother busy for about six months but slowly, surely, its coming together.

In the meantime, The Virginity Project also appreciates the fact that when young people (or indeed, people of any age) lose their virginity, they feel compelled to write and tell us all about it, sometimes just hours after it happened. Today is one such day. 

Rose. Aged 16. Lost virginity today.

My name is Rose and I was born in 1994. I live in England. I lost my virginity earlier today, to my boyfriend. I don't have anyone I can tell about this, but I might burst if I don't get my story out, so I thought I'd share with your project.

I gave away my virginity for a multitude of reasons. Inadvertent peer pressure and frustration had a hand in it, but I mainly just...wanted to. Some might call me naive, since I haven't been with him very long and we're young. Young people tend to do stupid things. But I don't think what I did was stupid. It was a little clunky, short-lived and far from a perfect virginity loss story. No candles, no whispered ‘I love you’s’. He wasn't slow, gentle, or reverent. But it was sweet and honest and good, which is all I'd ask for.

It was about half past midnight and I was climbing out of my window for the third time this week. I've been secretly sleeping at his for a few days, enjoying the thrill of fooling our parents and spending ridiculous amounts of time together. We both knew what was going to happen. I brought condoms I had gotten free a couple of weeks earlier, and I remember feeling excited as I approached his. I was a little dizzy - I'd ran most of the way there and my breathing was heavy. He was in his living room and he let me in through his window, taking my things for me as I scrambled in, desperate not to make noise. 

I dumped my coat on the smaller sofa and turned to him. We kissed for a little while, falling back on the couch. And I remember the air felt heavy, and searching for my bag as my eyes tried to adjust to the dim light from the hallway. He sat back as I put the condom on him, fumbling a little. I wasn't nervous throughout the entire thing. He was on top, because I sort of thought that would be easier. It was clumsy, and he was quite fast. We probably should have used more lubricant, and he could have been more gentle. But I remember a little pain that was over quickly, and how I was inside my head the whole time. Once I just calmed myself and forgot the thoughts running through my head (It was ridiculous - I never once worried the condom was going to break or that we'd be caught, but I was freaking out inside my skull about whether or not I'd brought my stuff for the morning) and just went with it, it felt good. 

It was over pretty quickly, and after I felt the weight of him lying on top of me, and feeling his heart race. It was euphoric. I felt so separate from the world and yet never closer to anyone in my life. It was sort of like being in a dream. And then we talked and laughed and went to bed. We had sex again that afternoon and it was good. We're so much closer, and I've never enjoyed being a teenage statistic more. I don't have any regrets, and I don't think I will. I don't feel different now that I've lost my virginity, but I feel like I'm...amplified.