If I'd Waited

If I had waited to give it up, I never would have had my heart broken by somebody I trusted. My first time wouldn't have been in the back of my car, parked in the far back of a neighborhood we'd driven past. He wouldn't have said, "Just for a minute," and I wouldn't have acquiesced, and I probably would have used protection instead of letting him talk me into breaking my own rule. Rules, really. If I had waited, I wouldn't have ruined my relationship with the girl he was dating at the time, and the loss of my virginity wouldn't have been the latest school gossip. Not that anyone really thought it was my first time.

If I had waited to have sex, I probably wouldn't have given in to the next guy, thinking he'd like me better for it. I wouldn't have cried the whole way home, lips chapped from his horrible kissing, knee rubbed raw from a bare bar in his couch, and legs aching so badly it hurt to drive. I wouldn't have cried myself to sleep that night, or cut off all ties with him because he didn't want to be around me anymore.

And if I had waited, I wouldn't have agreed to be friends with benefits with my first real boyfriend. He was a good friend, but I would have seen that he didn't really care about my feelings, just my vagina. I wouldn't have started associating sex with attention, or feeling disappointed whenever I didn't get a text or a message the next day. I wouldn't have been so willing to give it up to guys I'd never been interested in before.

If I had waited, I wouldn't have snuffed out cigarrettes on my skin, just above my pantsline. One for each person I let use me. I wouldn't have lied to my friends and family about the blistering dots, or have scars even paler than my pale skin. I wouldn't have hated myself or the mere idea of sex.

But If I had waited, I would have been offended when the conversations with my ex turned raunchy. I would have shoved him away in disgust when he took me to that hotel. But if I had waited-- oh if I had waited-- I wouldn't know that sex would never be the same as making love. I would never know the feeling of lips kissing each of the four puckered scars between my jeans and my shirt. I would never hear his gentle voice, commanding me not to be ashamed, not in that room, not with him. I wouldn't have felt his heavy hand between my shoulderblades as he slept, or heard his heart resonating in his chest, or awoken the next day feeling safe and secure and utterly loved-- though no words of such had been spoken. I would have written him off, sure that any feelings I'd had for him were dead and buried.

I would still feel like trash. I would still feel worthless. I would still hate myself. I wouldn't know that it wasn't me, but them that were at fault. I wouldn't know that opening your legs and opening yourself up are two very different things, and almost the exact same thing. And if I'd waited, I could have spent my whole life not realizing that what I was giving up wasn't sex, but my heart.

SarCatsm SarCatsm
18-21, F
3 Responses Sep 13, 2012

That's deep; it's rare for somebody as young to be so in tuned with their feelings

Wow, that says so much when actually saying very little...it really says it all. Can I ask you if this comes from your past true life experience?

It does. It was a hard time in my life, and I'm still recovering, but it was just one of those lessons you learn the hard way. Appreciate the comment. <3

Hugs to you, I'm sorry you went through that. <3

You are so very, very right. A most beautiful poem.