Blog Share Guest Post

I'm hosting an anonymous Blogger today as part of Blog Share. Many thanks to -R- for undertaking this project again even while being pregnant. I hope you enjoy and bestow many comments on the guest post below:

I almost don't want to write about this, but not for the reason that you all probably think. I'm not particularly ashamed or embarrassed or afraid. Instead, I feel like it is a story that has been told in so many forms and mutations that it is no longer even remotely original. And also: I sound whiny, because there are countless other women with stories worse than mine - stories that horrify rather than cause one to sit back and go "hmm", which is basically what I do when I think about it.

But, here goes. After all, this is something I have never written on my own blog, and therefore it makes it perfect blogshare material.

I lost my virginity unwillingly.

No, it wasn't rape. Not in the traditional sense. I know I sound bratty in saying this, because of course I don't wish I had been raped, but in some ways I wonder if that would have made it easier to deal with, simply because I could then have classified the experience, categorized my anger, made some level of sense of it all instead of wondering whether my distress over the situation was abnormal, whether I was too sensitive or just plain silly.

Here is my story.

I was in college (shut up. I was a late bloomer), living in an apartment off-campus with one of my best friends. She was tall and thin and gorgeous and all the boys loved her. I was short (well, I felt short compared to her) and plump-ish and had never had a boyfriend but was fun-loving and easy to talk to. Together, we made a great team, sort of: we would drink lots and go out to one of our favorite bars (fake i.d.s safely tucked into our wallets, of course), and I would strike up conversations with boys who inevitably flirted with my friend while I continued chatting with some other guy that I assumed didn't like me.

(We can talk about how unhealthy that sounds and how moronic I was to assume such things at a later date).

After one particularly drink-filled night, I ended up talking to our cute neighbors' friend (who I had a raging crush on) while my roommate chatted it up with one of the cute neighbors. When the bar closed, my roommate and I came home in the wee hours of morning, after which I promptly fell asleep. The remaining details are a bit hazy, but what I know is this: later that night, my roommate was awakened by the sound of a knock at the door. She opened it to find our neighbors' friend on the doorstep, asking for me.

Excitedly, she came into my room and woke me up. "Neighbors' Friend is here and he wants to hang out with YOU!" she said. Thrilled, I invited him into my room.

Presumably due to the mass quantities of boxed wine that I had consumed in the hours before, I don't remember much else. I remember talking and playing music. I remember making out. I remember making out heavily, and I remember saying, "Um...wait a second. What is happening here?" I remember the confusion that ensued as I learned that what I thought was his finger was actually not, and the awkwardness that followed as I realized we were having sex and asked him to stop.

On the one hand, he is not a bad guy, because when I asked him to stop, he did. On the other hand...what kind of guy has sex with someone who is so drunk or passed out that she doesn't even know she is having sex?

I don't know. To this day, I don't know whether to blame him, to blame myself for not telling him, "hey, why don't you come back at daylight and we can actually talk?", to blame myself for drinking so much, to...well, think any number of other things.

My roommate didn't understand why I was such a mess in the months afterwards, and I never felt like I could talk to her about it without her being perplexed. I think she thought I was being a drama queen. Who knows? Maybe I was. We ended up moving out and growing apart when our lease was up, but have become friends again in more recent years. It wasn't all due to our inability to talk about this event, and after so much time has past, I don't even remember why we stopped being friends. Still, we haven't talked about the night our cute neighbors' friend came over and asked for me, ever again.

And so, there it is. When I count up how many people I have slept with, I omit one. I don't think it counts.