Everyone around me scurried about, squealing and chattering in my ear. Seven months since rejecting my virginity, with no communication but a Facebook comment from him, the boy whose actions (or lack thereof) confused us to our very core was supposed to arrive at the bar any minute. It amazed me that with all of my naturally awkward instincts, I was far more composed than my friends in a situation that, apparently, is cause for panic.
If I thought people were worked up before he got there, it was nothing compared to the shrieks and excitement when he actually stepped foot into the bar. With friends nervously whirling around us, we stood in the eye of the hurricane, catching up.
“You’re so secretive about your trips home,” he said with a smile that was almost too cute.
“I’m not. I just don’t tell you.”
I decided early on I no longer needed to censor myself around him: A fair trade, I think, for getting me completely naked and rejecting me. We ended the evening back at a friend’s house and I found myself in bed with him. Funny how things just happen.
“The girl you’re hooking up with is ugly; you can do better. I refer to you only as ‘the boy who rejected my virginity.’ Remember the time I slept over and you didn’t even kiss me? I wrote about you in my blog and made fun of you…just a warning. I make fun of you a lot, actually.”
“Would you be mad if I made a move right now?” His unwavering interest despite my verbal attack still shocks me. I think I judge him a little.
“Not mad. But don’t. Also, don’t you have a girlfriend?”
He seemed offended by the idea…until I got specific.
“Ooooh, her. We’re not dating.” He laughed.
I told him his behavior during our last interaction puzzled everyone I knew (people still question his sexuality) and I mentioned that even my mother has started pressuring me to get my virginity “taken care of.” Without even taking a new breath, he offered to help. Under other circumstances, this would have been a generous and irresistible offer, considering he had already stripped down to his underwear and was trying to convince me to do the same. However, given his history of trying to help, I declined.
Upon questioning the next day, I reported that while I really wanted to hook up, by rejecting him, I win.
“Because that’s what it’s about,” retorted a mutual friend with a look of disgust.
But on some level, it is. If I never at least acknowledge that he’s calling all the shots, doesn’t he “win?” Doesn’t he maintain total control? I’m really not upset with him about our little incident last year. In fact, I would have thoroughly enjoyed hooking up with him, but in my over-analytical mind, I worried how my actions would translate to him. I very rarely think these sexual situations are a big deal, but I do worry that the guys will think I do. Where is the line between girls who go back to the same disinterested guys and the girls who use guys as easily and indifferently as they use us? The resulting behaviors are the same so how can one differentiate?
I am often so concerned with relinquishing that sense of or at least the appearance of control that I miss out on otherwise harmless, exciting, or fun opportunities. My control issues are to blame for my fear of flying, for the fact that my level of anxiety and awareness at blackout drunk is still more than a normal person on their worst of days, and it definitely plays a role in my apprehension to take my clothes off.
How do I become one of those girls who does what she wants because she wants to and people know it?
