“So how old were you when you lost your virginity?” my friend asks giggling, wanting to know who with and where and any other juicy details. My heart sinks. It isn’t her fault, she isn’t to know.
We all do it don’t we; sit around with our friends talking about sex and telling stories of experiences. We laugh, we joke and we ask questions. It is just what society does.
Except for some of us it is a topic that makes us wish we could be swallowed up by the ground. The way we lost our virginity is something that we dread having to talk about. For us it is something that we don’t want to remember. Why? Because our virginity was stolen from us.
My virginity was stolen from me.
I hate talking about it now, the subject of sex. I feel embarrassed and ashamed, always unsure what to say when someone brings up the subject. Always wondering what lie I should come up with to hide the truth about how I really lost my virginity.
I remember one of the first times my friends and I spoke about sex properly. We were in sixth form and laughing and joking about the subject. What my friends didn’t know is that my laughter was a front. They didn’t know that the real reason I excused myself to go to the bathroom is because I was embarrassed and upset. For me it wasn’t a subject to be intrigued about. They didn’t know that by that point in our lives I had already lost my virginity. In fact I had lost it years earlier.
My friends didn’t know that I didn’t just lose my virginity. It was taken from me. Taken from me by my stepfather.
I was 13 years old when he stole my virginity in the most vicious and painful way. That was when he actually raped me properly. After years of touching and abusing me in other ways, that was when he actually penetrated me properly and took everything from me.
I remember the day so clearly. Where he took me, the time of day and what he did. He couldn’t finish in me because I was bleeding too much.
I remember the pain. I remember the fear I felt and the tears I cried. I remember the crushing feeling of him on top of me and the panic I felt because I couldn’t breathe. I remember wishing for it to be over so that the pain would stop.
That was how I lost my virginity; being raped by my stepfather in a car.
So what should I say when a friend asks me how I lost my virginity? Or when they ask how many boyfriends I had throughout school? The truth is I had no boyfriends throughout school, my stepfather made sure of that. I was his and only his.
What story should I tell when asked who I lost my virginity to? I can’t tell them the truth. Instead I will make up a guy and a scenario. Sometimes it will be a funny story, other times it will be how I wish losing my virginity could have been; romantic, loving, and safe.
My stepfather took that from me. I will never get that moment back. A moment that was meant to be special and with someone I love was instead taken from me by rape. Even worse taken from me by someone who should have been protecting me.
The truth is I wish he had killed me that day. He took my soul the moment he took my virginity to satisfy his own needs. Ever since that first rape, and with every time he raped me since, I have been slowly dying inside. I have been dying whilst living.
As a society we create a huge thing around sex and losing virginity. We make it intriguing and fun to talk about. However I wish that society could stop, just for a moment, and think about those of us for whom it wasn’t fun to lose our virginity and those of us who didn’t have a choice.
For someone like me losing my virginity was one of the worst experiences of my life. It is a moment I will never forget and a moment that I can never get back.
For me losing my virginity wasn’t fun or something I ever want to talk about.
I didn’t lose my virginity. It was taken from me.
My virginity was stolen. My innocence was stolen. My childhood was stolen.
And I can never get them back.
Thanks for reading.
**Image courtesy of Google Images**