What I Wish I Knew Before Losing My Virginity

Too young to have a clue and thought I knew it all

Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels

Of all the things I could write about on the subject ‘What I Wish I Knew’… before I left high school… before that blind date… before losing half my body weight… before that first line of cocaine… before I met the drug dealer… before I took that job… before I moved across the country… and a million other befores, I choose the one thing that still resonates from a deep place of shame above all others.

This remnant of shame is like a microscopic hole in the sinew of my DNA, formed after the womb. I sometimes wonder if we could strip back the layers, removing the damage gathered over decades, what we’d be left with? Are our molecules reshaped by our trauma? I bet shame has the power to do that.

If it did, I’d be a superhero.

I’ve come to realise there are two types of shame: the kind inflicted by the actions and words of others, and the kind we impose on ourselves through our choices.

Losing my virginity at age thirteen is probably the first real shame I inflicted on myself. I chose it. It wasn’t taken from me. That would come later, on the cusp of my fifteenth birthday. I wonder if the universe was preparing me for the atrocities that would befall my body, mind and spirit. I may not have had an intact hymen then, but the pain was like a Samurai sword splitting me in two.

That shame can be neatly compartmentalised. The blame game is a free-for-all in the brutality of that circumstance. I need only take ownership of a portion of it; the majority is for others to own. Believe it or not, healing from displaced shame becomes easier over time. But healing from the shame I can’t blame on anyone but myself is trickier.

Thirteen is still a child

My granddaughter will soon turn thirteen. We were at the shops a few weeks ago. I noticed men, yes men, ogling her. She doesn’t even have boobs yet. She’s tall, slim, and pretty. I used to scout models in another life. In a few years, she will fit the criteria for a runway model. What a disturbing thought.

She didn’t notice the men undressing her with their eyes; why would she? They were her father’s age. She has only just started crushing on boys her own age. She isn’t wise to the ways of the world yet. How different she is from her mother at thirteen, who was still playing with Barbies. And how alien she seems compared to me.

I felt ripples of rage that I had to suppress as we walked through the mall — no need to bring her attention to it. I wasn’t prepared for that talk, in that moment, nor to have her see me walk up and punch them in the throat.

She’s thirteen, you paedophile dirtbag! How would you like a dick sandwich to chock on — punch.

That’s what I wanted to do. I was clearly invisible in their razor-focused tunnel vision on her. One day, they’ll have daughters and granddaughters. Time is a mirror. Good luck with that irony, my gazing creepy foes.

It stayed with me. Our trip to the mall took me on a journey down memory lane. I tried to grasp how it was possible that I, not much older than my granddaughter is now, could do what I did. I couldn’t fathom it. The comparison didn’t compute.

I squeezed my eyes tight to rid myself of the intrusion. My thoughts measured and calculated, trying to make her fit into my mould, placing her into the scene of my memory. No! It was too sickening to imagine.

And yet, there I was. I did the unthinkable. I had no idea of the domino effect that one decision would have on my life. I didn’t realise I could be the culprit of my own demise. I was unaware of just how much I loathed myself as that child.

A rock and a hard place

“As if anyone would kiss you, Miss Piggy. No one wants to kiss a fat chick.” Said Todd on the topic of first kisses.

They all laughed. Well, some of the girls didn’t. They felt sorry for me. I was always the butt of the boys’ jokes.

The gang was hanging out at the dam. We’d travel for an hour by train and spend the day in the bush. It was a big deal for us city kids. We’d walk the bush path in the stifling heat until we reached the boulders, which signalled the waterfall’s edge, and the ten-foot drop to the dam below.

We’d race to claim our rock for the day to laze like tanning lizards. The boys would spend most of their time jumping from the edge into the murky water below, then climbing the trees like monkeys and repeating the process all day.

The girls didn’t jump, but I did. I’d been jumping off that cliff since I was old enough to swim. I would follow my two older brothers down the hill from our grandmother’s house like an annoying shadow. If they could jump, so could I. If I’d known that some kid had died doing it when he dove headfirst instead of feetfirst, I might have had second thoughts. Maybe.

Todd was still smirking as the laughter faded. He was the jock type, piercing blue eyes and a Leif Garrett charm. He looked just like the pop star from the 70s — he was dreamy and knew it.

Kerry had eyes for him. She was pretty and petite with long sandy hair and a bubbly persona. Think Olivia Newton-John before Sandy put the leather pants on in Grease. Kerry was innocently star-struck. Todd was a raging hormone. He didn’t waste time with girls who wouldn’t ‘go all the way.’ Kerry was saving herself for marriage. She was a good girl.

As the heat flushed my face, I was glad for my sunburn.

“Oh yeah. Well, you can kiss my arse, pretty boy. I think you have a hair out of place.” I said in retaliation.

I never backed down, which made people think I was Teflon. If only they knew I was as fragile as bone china on the inside.

Everyone laughed louder this time. Todd held his poker face and then mocked me under his breath — “kiss my arse Miss Piggy.”

I hated him but secretly wanted him to kiss me. I didn’t understand the contradiction. I suppose I wanted to be liked and desired so badly. Not that I knew that word back then.

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The call of a bellbird broke the silence. I sat up to wipe the sweat from my face. It felt like a melting pot on that rock. Everyone appeared to be napping. I decided to take the steep path to the water hole to cool off while no one was watching. I saw Todd sitting on his rock across the way, his arms wrapped around his bent knees, staring aimlessly.

He stuck his tongue out at me, and a slight grin appeared on his lips. Wait a minute. Is he smiling at me? That seems odd, and doubtful. I stuck my tongue back at him, stood up, and walked toward the track, careful not to disturb the girls around me.

I was navigating through the thick scrub, pushing branches from my face, when I heard the rustling behind me. A twig broke underfoot, and I saw Todd following me.

Fuck’s sake.

I wanted to have a private swim while no one was around. I wanted to let down my guard of self-consciousness and just be free for an uninterrupted minute without someone poking fun at my body.

“What are you doing, Marce?” He said like a grown-up. I was waiting for the dig, but it never came.

I kept my pace without turning around.

“What does it look like, pretty boy? I’m going for a swim. It’s too hot on that rock.” I was aware of my indignant tone. My guard was firmly up again, bracing myself for impact.

“Hey. So, I was thinking. Do you want to have sex with me?”

Here we go. Here comes the punchline, the joke, the ridicule. Superstar Jock wants some ammo. He’s after payback for making him look like a tool in front of everyone.

I probably rolled my eyes; that’s how nonchalant I felt. I said nothing.

“Marce. Stop. I’m serious. We don’t have to tell anyone. It’ll be our secret. I’ll be your first. But just so you know, I’ve done it before. You won’t be my first.”

The ground stopped moving. I turned to look at him. He was serious. There was a softness to his face I’d never seen before.

Oh. My. God.

He likes me. How had I not seen it? All the taunting and jabs. I’d heard stories about boys doing that when they like a girl. They tease and act as if they don’t care when they actually do.

But that happens to other girls. Not girls like me.

Still unsure but wanting so bad to believe it.

“Who said I haven’t done it before. You don’t know me.” I almost spat at him.

“Prove it,” he said. His smile was like magic fairy dust falling on me.

My heart raced. I couldn’t believe what was happening. The gang was no more than twenty feet away, asleep and unaware of the significance of this moment. This was my chance for my first kiss. A kiss I’d been waiting for my whole life.

I want to laugh at the stupidity of that idiot girl.

We both saw it at the same time. We didn’t speak.

A small boulder off to the side of the path. Todd moved towards it, and I followed him. In what felt like seconds, he was on top of me. I don’t remember any kiss. My back felt the sharpness of the rock beneath it. I wondered then if he’d put a rock inside me. The pain came from all directions. A grunt. And it was over.

Todd jumped up and was gone before I had time to sit up. I was stunned, confused, and scared as the realisation hit me. He’d planned it that way. Oh, God, what have I done?

I knew I had to move and face everyone, but I continued my trek to the water and submerged my stinging, bleeding body into its murky depths, hoping the eels would eat me. If only they were electric. They weren’t.

The walk of shame — so that’s where it started

I mustered the courage I wasn’t feeling. I emerged from the path to dozens of eyes on me. The boys were sniggering, clearly in on some private joke. The girls looked dubious, some mortified. Kerry’s face struck me hardest.

“Marce, say it’s not true. Todd reckons you had sex with him. He’s lying, right?” Kerry’s eyes pleaded.

Dear God, please open the ground and swallow me. Kill me now and take me with you. Please, please help me.

And Teflon mode kicked in. I kept my stride as I walked towards them, like I didn’t have a care in the world.

“What? As if. In your dreams, pretty boy. You wish,” I gave him my best death stare.

I don’t know how I kept my voice steady or if the lie was working. I just knew I had to keep my shit together, my life depended on it.

“I was swimming. I think Mr. All Talk was wanking in the bushes. You should keep it in your pants, dipshit.”

Everyone laughed. A wave of relief swept through the group. I felt as if I’d just passed through a twister, and I was in the eye of the storm as the clear blue sky opened above me. I knew it was temporary. The storm wasn’t done with me yet. I’d be whipped up in the chaos of my own making and caught in the crossfire of reasonable doubt — later.

Todd looked like a complete idiot. He’d lost a bet. But Kerry’s eyes told the real story. I couldn’t hold her gaze. On some level, she knew. Yet, she played along. Girls have a code too. Boys are secondary to our girlfriends, no matter what, unless a betrayal is too big to ignore. And when that happens, she’s dead to us.

Final thoughts

I never told anyone the truth. There would be those who doubted, in two minds, always wondering, until the next drama unfolded, and I was forgotten. I pretended it never happened. I distanced myself from the group and found new friends.

But when I was alone in my bedroom, I would sob into my pillow as the pain in my chest ripped forth, unable to be contained any longer. I couldn’t name it then, but this was the true birth of my innate shame. And it would become the catalyst for many poor decisions thereafter.

I created a story for myself then. At thirteen, I believed I was nothing but a vessel for the amusement of others. I was a shitty person who didn’t deserve anything good. A worthless piece of trash. Bad to the bone. A traitor. A betrayer of the girl code, unworthy of respect.

None of that was true, though. It was just my first big, real-world mistake.

What I wish I’d known back then is that my virginity was a sacred thing, not to be given out willy-nilly to some stupid boy who wouldn’t even kiss me. I wish I’d known that having dignity and respect for myself would carry me much further than anyone daring me to prove something. The only thing I had to prove was learning to love myself.

I’m almost there…

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Thanks for reading, friends. I hope your virginity stories are better than mine. I still can’t remember my first kiss. How is that possible? May your first kiss memories be like a rom-com.

A version of this story was first published on Medium.

© Marcia Abboud 2025 | All rights reserved

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