|
"Are you trying to tell us that you had sex?" I am a male. I was 18 years old. I had been wanting to have sex for five years straight with anything that moved. Hop aboard the cliché train to boner town. My quandary was one that doesn't get written about in the media because horny boys are rarely moral and Christian boys rarely admit horniness. I wanted to wait until marriage. I wanted to wait until marriage with Karla even though she didn't want to wait until marriage with me. I thought that if I could just wait it out if she ever came around I'd want to be a virgin, because that's what she would want me to be. I mean God. God would want me to be that. I had been having sex for a few months, honestly. Not incredibly often, but "having." My girlfriend had been molested as a child but she "loved" me, and wanted to share these special things with me despite the fact that she'd become emotionally reckless after them. She would schedule it. Friday at 3:30 nobody will be home. We'll have an hour. I followed because I wanted to equate that feeling with love and just force myself out of love with someone else. Someone else didn't want me anyway. Why kid myself? Rationale. Every time I would go home after sex I would sniff my fingers and sing to the radio and dance around. It was thrilling. And when I would lay down to bed the fear would hit me, and I would become myself again. I had been having sex for a few months but this was the first time that I thought she might be pregnant. I didn't make a mistake. I didn't do what you need to do to make the baby start growing. But I wasn't sure where everything jumped and fell and spilled, and I couldn't ask her. I couldn't say "Hey, here, this is a towel, wrap it around your index and middle and clean around in there, okay?" I was scared. My Mom told me it was okay and that I was worried about nothing. My Dad investigated as best he could, but there was no hole or hold that would console me. I told them I was upset because I thought she might be pregnant. I didn't tell them that I didn't give a fuck if she was pregnant. If she was pregnant that would be great. A new stage in life. A new set of things to write about. I could move on. I'd have to. I was upset because I'd had sex in the first place. I had broken the bond that I had made with myself. I had ignored my heart. I had never ignored my heart, even when I used it to hate. The realization is that that is something you can't take back. You can lie. You can say you're a virgin again but that doesn't make it so. It doesn't put back the trust you have in yourself and the emotion that enraptures you when it happens in the right way, with the right person. I thought this was going to be the way I love. I find a hole. The hole I wanted was already filled. With Christ. All of a sudden I had lost myself, my love, and my religion in one thrust. I didn't know who I was going to be anymore. I wasn't going to be an artist anymore. I wasn't going to be a strong Christian and wait for Karla to see those signs from God. I wasn't going to write miraculum on little green slips of paper and dump them on her when she walked out of her house. I wasn't going to have a happy family built on honor and dignity and God's love. I wasn't going to know how to love. I wasn't going to know how to feel. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hear my heart anymore. I couldn't hear my breath. And I was afraid because I liked it. Empty and alone. Just like that bottom bunk. A stronger wall built out of nothing but the freedom to live my life. It's not supposed to be a long one. |