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The Pleasure And Sorrow of Losing My Virginity
A night I would never forget even though I wanted to
Have you ever done something, enjoyed it immensely, then had profound regret afterward?
I wept. It wasn’t right away. Sorrow overwhelmed me after she had left; when I had taken from me what I treasured the most.
My virginity.
The seductress descended on me like a kingfisher on a salmon. Once she had her claws in me there was no escape. My innocence died that night.
I blamed her. She was more experienced, more streetwise. That is how I justified it to God.
“Lord, I made it to 24-years-old. That has to count for something. She came on to me. It’s your fault for creating a masterpiece like that. I couldn’t resist her. No one could.”
I sounded like Adam blaming Eve for being deceived by the wily serpent.
My sorrow didn’t only come from disappointing God. I disappointed myself. I wore my virginity like a badge of honour. I was proud that I hadn’t succumbed to the desires of the flesh. When my friends teased me, I defended myself proudly. I lost a couple of girlfriends because they thought I might be gay.
