Skip to main content

Hey, I’m No Longer a Virgin 🤦‍♀️



I woke up the next morning, disgusted. Not just at what happened the night before, but at myself. Louis seemed like a good guy, but for some reason, the whole experience unsettled me to my core.

This wasn’t how I wanted my first time to be. I had kept my virginity for twenty-five years, thinking I’d give it away with pride, not regret. Yet here I was, stripped of what I once called my virtue, and I couldn’t stop replaying it in my mind.

I could blame ovulation. I could say my body betrayed me. But the truth was heavier: I had betrayed myself.

Louis and I met at the park. He was short—5’6 at most—while I towered at 6’1. Normally, I might have let height cloud my judgment, but something about him pulled me in. I loved his ideas, his dreams, the way he made me feel seen. Maybe, I thought, we could work.

We kept meeting. And slowly, I convinced myself he felt the same way. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. His signals were confusing, green lights that flickered into red. But I stayed. I cared. Especially when he shared the pain he was going through. I wanted to be understanding, supportive.

Then came that fateful night. He invited me over. My body was screaming with ovulation symptoms, but I ignored every warning. I went like a lamb to the slaughter.

At his place, he offered me red wine. I can’t remember the name, but it was sweet and strong. And mixed with my hormones? Dangerous.

We talked. We laughed. Then came the kiss. His hands wandered, and panic rushed through me. I pulled back, reminding myself, I’m a virgin. This has to stop here.

But Louis leaned close and whispered, “Relax, I don’t intend to have sex with you.”

Oh, if only I knew better. A man’s whisper in moments like that is worse than the serpent’s in Eden. I believed him. I let my guard down. I drank more. I stayed.

The night blurred. Another kiss. More touching. My body betrayed me. This time, I didn’t resist. He pushed forward, and I surrendered.

The details are hazy, but the feelings remain: I felt good. I felt different. I felt guilty. Disappointed. Disgusted.

And then morning came.

Louis changed. His warmth turned cold. He asked me when I planned to leave—as if I hadn’t just shared something sacred with him. Naively, I asked, “So… what are we now?”

He stared at me and said flatly, “We’re friends.”

Friends. After all of that.

“I thought you liked me,” I whispered, holding back tears.

“I never said I wanted a relationship,” he replied. “I told you I’m not ready for anything serious.”

My heart shattered. I had given him something I’d protected for years, and he treated me like nothing more than a moment of release. I stood up, washed myself, dressed, and asked him to open the door.

He tried to speak, but I couldn’t hear him. The pain was too loud.

Now I’m here, replaying everything in my head.

How could I have been this foolish? 😭😭

Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

I’m scared of men because...

There are so many things to be scared of men for: the  terrible acts of  raping, murdering, and harassing  that occur  daily. But there’s one  fear  that even the so-called  "good men"  partake in, and yet they don’t know  it is a betrayal . There’s nothing more demonic than a man driven by  a specific kind of  passion—not the passion to actually want to be with you, but the passion of a one-time pleasure that drew their attention to you:  the release of the whitish, milky stuff called semen . Oh, they are players in that field,  using a  strategy of lies, engulfed with one desire: to ease the burden of the  organ  stuck between their legs. They can’t seem to pause and realize how much they are dealing with the reality set in front of them, which is the real human, who has her emotions locked in to his sweet, cunning words—the one she listens to for hours, and  starts  imagining her great life with...
Post a Comment
Read more

USED

After they had sex, she felt a storm inside her. It was her first time—her body ached, and a dull, deep pain settled in her lower belly. But that wasn’t what hurt the most. It was the shame that crept in quietly, the embarrassment that made her skin crawl, and the guilt that swelled in her chest like a tide threatening to drown her. She lay there, still for a moment, then slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom. She turned on the tap, watching the water run as if it could wash away what she felt. She cleaned herself slowly, carefully—tears sneaking down her cheeks. A few minutes later, he joined her. He didn’t say a word. He washed himself too, avoiding her eyes like they were poison. The silence between them grew louder. Was it over? Had she been deceived all along? He went back to the room, changed the sheets, and lay down, facing the wall like she no longer existed. She followed him quietly and sat beside him, the weight in her chest making it hard to breathe. “So… what’s next...
1 comment
Read more

Sundays are lonely nights.

There’s a stillness about them that makes the world feel too quiet, like everyone has someone except you. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in the familiar ache of my own solitude, when my phone vibrated. “Lonely introvert , what’s up?” Esther ’s voice burst through the speaker—dramatic, chaotic, and full of life, the exact opposite of the heaviness weighing me down. She always knew how to pull me out of my thoughts. “Please, Esther, I’m not lonely. I’m writing,” I said, rolling my eyes even though she couldn’t see me. “Besides, you know I’m an introvert. My social battery is—” She didn’t even let me finish. “I’m coming over. Dress up. We’re going out.” “Esther,  biko  (please). I have work tomorrow morning. I can’t afford that club—” The line went dead. Ten minutes later, I heard that unmistakable voice outside my door. “Introvert! Open this door o!” She kept knocking like she was auditioning for a percussion band. I dragged myself out of bed and opened the door....
Post a Comment
Read more