V-Card? What's that?

'That night, I felt like I'd become something treasured...different.'
Or, at least, that was what I wanted to happen.
Different? Absolutely.
Treasured? Not so much.

I'd always thought losing my virginity would be, I don't know, special. Beautiful.
Call me an idealist, but I wanted it to mean something.
If nothing else, I wanted to be in love.

But when he said “I'll go slow, I promise.”, and then did the exact opposite, I knew that love was the last thing on his mind. It's sad, really. That I gave him everything, when I know I shouldn't have. Although, the blame couldn't solely be placed on him. It's not like I said no. But in my head, when I said “Yes”, it was really more of a “Let's get this over with so it won't be such a big deal anymore.”. It just happened. And it was over before it even started. It's a blur, thinking about it now. I remember him pressuring me. Not with words. But when someone can't keep their hands off of you, you get the hint after a while. So I said yes. That's when things go hazy. I remember bracing myself, gripping the sheets. In my mind I knew it was too much, too fast. That it would make leaving so much harder. The last thing I remember was him finishing and looking at the time. A small smirk played on his face, as he was somehow pleased with himself. “A half hour?” He said, with a hint of laughter in his voice. “That's pretty good, considering how long it's been since the last time I...”
I wanted to scream. Pull my jeans on. Run away. Never let him touch me again. Never look at myself again. But I couldn't do any of those things. I just cried. I cried because it hurt. I cried because I was scared. Because I didn't know what any of it had meant to him, if anything at all. I cried because of how emotionally absent he was throughout it all; he never even kissed me. I cried because I felt dirty. I cried because I knew in my heart that I wasn't ready.
I got dressed and ready to leave, pretending it was nothing. It was then that he showed concern. “I'm fine. It was just a big deal for me, that's all.”
Then he kissed me and drove me home. He told me he loved me. Every day before then, I'd believed him. But not anymore. It wasn't the same.

And, just as I'd predicted, our new “sex life” consumed him. It was all he wanted. So I fed in to it, to keep him. Because I'd wanted him for so long. Because I still wanted him, even after the way he made me feel. Because I was afraid that no one else would want me. So sex was all he would talk about. It was a rare occasion to have an actual conversation with him. Even after I left, it was the same. I felt like I'd become more of a call girl than a girlfriend. Long distance meant keeping him satisfied, in order to keep him. And two months later, I reached my breaking point. I wouldn't be his late night fantasy anymore. I wouldn't hold myself back from the person I could be, by only being who he wanted me to be.

But nothing would erase how empty I felt.