I Lost My Virginity at 22

Do you ever gaze at how the waves crash on the ocean floor? They gain momentum and energy that encapsulates anything in its gravity. Then it resolves itself as something beautiful - the start of a new wave. I believe that love and sex happen in waves. And it's feast or famine in your twenties.

My first time having sex wasn't planned or talked about. It kind of just happened. As we intertwined, time stopped and it felt right. I was saving myself though, and he was not "the one" that I'd spend the rest of my life with.

But he was my first, and it was exquisitely memorable. There was an odd sense of trust that had grown between us in a short time. Maybe it was just lust - I'm not really sure. There was sexual freedom, a lack of judgment, and empathy for each other's bodies and insecurities. It's kind of funny because it happened by accident.

It happened in a moment that felt like a wave.

I was raised by two old school parents who told me that sex was bad for as long as I could remember.

They scared me into abstaining from sex for a long time by going into grave details about STDs, getting pregnant, financial burdens that accompany a baby, and everything you could think of to deter a teenager from "doing the dirty."

I didn't mind though because I genuinely didn't want to have sex for a while. I was told it was only for married people. Plus, it was always an awkward conversation about the birds and the bees with them.

As I drifted away from religion and became more spiritual as an adult, my view on sex surprisingly stayed the same. Though, it morphed into a perspective even more potent than before.

I began to think of sex as an energy exchange and felt that it would greatly influence my vibration if I had sex with the wrong man.

So I continued to abstain because I feared how someone else's energy would be potentially detrimental to me. If you couldn't tell, I was never one to think of sex lightly. But the worst part about being a virgin for so long was feeling left out of the conversation.

I felt like a kid that had to grow up already. My friends never made fun of me and supported my decision to be celibate. Despite this, societal pressures are what pushed me to feel isolated as if there was something wrong with me. I went out of my way to avoid having sex, carefully resisting temptation. It was especially difficult when those younger than me questioned my reason for abstaining.

It's like every day that passed, I felt less desirable because I was led to believe men didn't want an inexperienced woman in the bedroom. Society told me that being a virgin halfway through college was a turn-off. To my surprise, many men found that trait to be sexy because they fancied the moment they would be the one to harness my virginity. At times I just wished I wasn't a virgin anymore. I wasn't just going to do it with a random guy from the bar after holding out for so long. But, I kind of wanted to experience casual collegiate sexual relations too.

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In my last semester at Rutgers, I met a guy on Facebook Dating (yep it's a thing). We met up at a local coffee shop one day, and we hit it off instantly. I got butterflies for the first time in what felt like forever. We got closer over many months, and one night we had sex. I finally realized that having sex had absolutely nothing to do with me being a high-quality person or not.

There was no intimidation, no expectations, and no awkwardness. It's not what I was expecting, but I wasn't disappointed either. I didn't feel dirty or weird after having sex for the first time. I felt like a normal person and it was cool to be comfortable enough to share that energy exchange I was secretly dreading a little bit.

During sex with Facebook man, I said, "Holy crap, we're having sex."

Yes, I know I'm a dork. It was such a weight off my shoulders though. I finally lost my virginity and it didn't hurt one bit. And it was sexy! I called my best friend on the phone immediately after and she was shocked but happy for me. She knew he treated me well, and always told me he looked at me with love in his eyes. It helped me to normalize sexual intimacy, and I was lucky enough to experience it with a man I trusted and cared for.

A few weeks later, I broke the news to my mom.

I just had to because I was so tired of hearing the way she described me to others as "such a good girl."

I finally realized that having sex had absolutely nothing to do with me being a high-quality person or not.

And I was kind of pissed at her. I felt like she had brainwashed me, and even betrayed me with lies of the realities of sexual expression. I felt as though I missed out on what could have been some wonderful experiences with men throughout my college years I had come to share deep chemistry with.

But I tried to empathize with where she was coming from.

I knew she was raised to fear sex and thought of women as dirty for engaging in pre-marital intercourse. She even dared to tell me on multiple occasions that she always hated the act and refused to engage in oral sex, ever. And in time I realized she was only trying to protect me from perhaps some sexual or childhood trauma she knew. And my anger faded. For the first time in my life, we had a conversation about sex that wasn't awkward. It was freeing, yet strange.

The Universe always works in divine timing in my eyes. The social construct of virginity shouldn't stop people from living life and experiencing people. We are all are worthy, desirable, and sexy. It is our birthright to experience sexual freedom and expression. No one has the right to tell you that you're not good enough, inexperienced or not.