Inner Monologue: A Farewell to Virginity

This was not what I had planned to do tonight, I promise you that. He was just giving me a ride home. We’re not dating. We used to date. I don’t think it was dating. We were going “steady” – I don’t know. We’re “friends” now, except “friends” don’t play with each others nipples, and I’m pretty sure I know where this is going. And yet, obviously, this isn’t some “Juno” situation. I am not about to lose my virginity in all the cute, endearing ways that Ellen Page has lost her eternal virginity. How many movies has she played a twelve year old now? This is actually happening, in a real way and not in a really adorable, I-want-to-squeeze-a-baby-until-it-bursts-because-of-the-cuteness-kinda-way. But you know…a real adorable-ish way.

But he is wearing boxers, and I think that anyone who is self sufficient enough to be able to put boxers on in the morning is so attractive. I mean, that’s really cute. And he keeps smiling like that. (UGH. YES. THIS IS HAPPENING IN A REAL WAY IN REALITY.) But you have got to believe me, like I said, this is no preemptive strike on his virginity. It really isn’t. If I had planned this, we would not be in his car right now. I would not be sitting on a car seat that was most definitely vomited upon last night and cleaned up with a bottle of Axe body spray. We would be somewhere where it didn’t smell like terrible-vomit-axe-weird-wetness. We would be — we wouldn’t be here. It’s probably just fate or destiny or something. It must be that the stars have aligned or that the gods are smiling down upon the two of us, joyfully taking pride in watching us cater to our human lust in the passenger seat of this quaint Pontiac Vibe. Right? That’s weird to think about though: big ass humans sitting in the clouds watching me about to get it on. Yeah, I should not be thinking about that.

We love each other though. And isn’t that the state of mind you’re supposed to be in when doing the dirty? At least, that’s what my mom told me. But she also compared condoms to balloons, and now I only think of clowns when I hear the word condoms. So yes, I blame my mother for that thought process during sex. Whatever the case is right now, though, I really have no idea what the fuck I am doing. Neither does he…Oh my god(s). We are both going into the unknown together. Is this beautiful or just a poorly executed idea?  And my bare ass is seated upon a barf-y throne of intimacy. But we are young. And in love. And clearly desperate to slip the p in the v right now. I really can’t say no to the Beach Boys and all their Wouldn’t It Be Nices so this is romantic. I can convince myself of that. Okay, here we go.

I mean, am I supposed to have thoughts right now? Really though. I don’t know what’s going on. What do we say to ourselves after something like that? “OH HEY GOOD JOB KID! CONGRATULATIONS! YOU ARE NO LONGER A VIRGIN! HOLLA!” Is this what it feels like when something is supposed to feel surreal? What does surreal even mean? I am just – I don’t know how to explain things to myself right now. Did his penis have drugs on it? Or in it? OR WHAT? BECAUSE THIS IS LIKE SOME WEIRD DREAM WHERE I FINALLY GET WHAT I WANT BUT NOT IN THE WAY THAT I WANTED IT, AND I DON’T THINK THE GODS MADE THIS OUT TO BE IDEAL BECAUSE NOW I’M GOING TO FREAK OUT, OR I AM FREAKING OUT AND IN EVERY SINGLE GREEK MYTH I HAVE EVER READ OR HEARD ABOUT, THE GODS LOVE WHEN HUMANS FREAK OUT! I MEAN HE WAS WEARING A CAPTAIN UNDERPANTS T-SHIRT. In any case, I hope we did the gods justice… .

Oh shit. But really. What just happened? Did he understand that I did not mean to warp my hands into claws and dig them into his back? Did he mistake my awkwardness for adorableness? FUCK I AM NOT ELLEN PAGE. I CAN’T GET AWAY WITH TURNING INTO A DEMON EVERY TIME I HAVE SEX. But did he like it? Did he think about me the whole time? Oh shit, why did I ask him what he was thinking? Shit. Does it hurt them as much as it hurts us? DOES IT HURT THEM AT ALL? I mean, it didn’t hurt that much, but it’s not something you want to do every single day except this will be one of those things I relive over and over (possibly every single day). It was nice though, but all I will see in my head when I relive this moment is the roof of his car! Oh god. There will be no flowing canopies and stars above my head. It will be the roof of his car. He drives a lot of people around – a lot. Will they know? Are they going to know that the deflowering of all deflower-ments went down upon the passenger seat of his car? Will they treasure Pontiac Vibes the way I will now for the rest of my days?

Oh lord, this is good, too. I know it is. I am not sure what parts of it are good yet. But I know this is good. I think. I know. I KNOW this is a good thing. I mean…Did YOU see the way he smiled at me? And that smile…that’s all that really matters. THIS IS A GOOD THING. I AM POSITIVE OF IT. And trust me, I am not one to romanticize something so messy and weird and awkward and perfect, but in here…right here, I know I was there for the beauty and the goodness that lay between the passenger seat and the glove compartment tonight. I KNOW THIS IS A GOOD THING.

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