An Open Letter To My First Time Guy
Everyone’s first time is unique. Whether you’re a girl or a guy, it’s a memorable event and will likely shape the way you view sex and relationships. To my first time guy, I’ve found the will to let you go.
Suburban Girl, Big City
September. It marks the beginning of school, autumn, and sweater weather. Two years ago it was also the month I had my first time. I had just transferred to Loyola University from Harper College, and after living at home for nearly two years I was eager for excitement and adventure. That’s where you come in.
I was twenty-one and a virgin ready to shed the latter title and reawaken as a fully evolved woman. You can laugh, I know my thought process was misguided. I joined Tinder, disregarded its bad reputation, and thought anyone who I talked to would at the very least want to be friends. Players are for movies and other people. You were one of the first I matched with and the only one that mattered. I liked everything about you, even before we started talking. You seemed so self- assured, confident, and on a path toward what you wanted to do with your career. You were everything I wasn’t back then.
The First Night
After a couple of short weeks of being called “cutie” and “your little English major” I was convinced that I wanted you to be my first. I’ll admit, I believed you wanted more than sex, and secretly so did I. I remember our first night so clearly that it seems it just happened. And when I remember it, all the reasons it ended fade. This is the first time I’ve allowed myself to remember in a long time for that reason.
It sounds cliché, but my chest was in my throat when I stepped out of the uber into the crisp night. Church Street was dark and unfamiliar, but the unknown was what I wanted. I can still hear the buzzer as you let me in, and the squeaking of each step as I made my way to the third floor. My nerve started to ebb as I reached the second landing. I was in the middle of Jane Eyre and it was getting good. My gut was telling me to go back to my apartment and read, but I resisted the urge to run back to the familiar. I wanted a new experience. When I saw you standing in front of your door, tall and handsome I knew there was no going back. You don’t need me to tell you what happened next.
December
When we first met, I didn’t tell you I was a virgin. But you found out anyway, two years ago near the end of December. After you found out, you tried to be more attentive, and you were for a time. The first few weeks at home for Winter Break was torture. I was eager to return to Chicago and see you again. The next time I saw you was January 3rd and it was the first time since our first night that I was back in your room. It would also be the last.
The End
When I look back at what I put up with, I get frustrated at my own stupid naïveté. Slick excuses for your disappearances, emotional manipulation, and hallow apologizes worked on me for an absurdly long time. But your tactics no longer move me. I have learned to love God and myself, and that just because someone is your first time doesn’t mean they are more important than those who treat you better. You were a mistake, but I don’t regret making it. You’ve taught me lessons I wouldn’t have learned otherwise. Still, if my teenage cousin is reading this, girl, learn from my mistake and don’t be stupid!
