Loosing The Virgnity

I was on my equivalent of the traditional "schoolies" trip every Australian high-school graduate takes, in Hong Kong. It was a whole new city, and I felt out of place, out of my depth, but strangely excited — secretly, I was thinking this was my chance to truly try out the life of drugs, drinks, and hookups that I'd been restraining myself from during school. I still don't know if it was actually excitement or just pressure from the expectations of being in such an alive city. Either way, it suited my very pragmatic outlook on these things; sex was also just another hurdle to get over in my mind. There wasn't any emotional significance attached to it.

I'd had hookups before, but they were mostly just kissing. For some reason, my looks made my friends assume that I'd gone far, and I let them believe that, because it was simpler and kinder to my pride. But I kept getting curious about what it would feel like to have sex or get completely blind drunk. I'd never allowed myself to get more than tipsy ever before, mostly because I was afraid of how I would act or what secrets I would let out.

One night I and some of my friends from back in Australia decided to go explore the clubbing districts of Hong Kong. An endless stream of drinks on sex dating resulted in me getting smashed. My last two friends left at two a.m., with one entrusting me to the care of two random people we'd met that night.

From here on, my memory gets a bit hazy, but at one of the bars we went to, we bumped into a group of European guys from the local university. This makes me want to slap myself, but I'm quite sure I started dancing with — no, on — one of them. He had Middle Eastern looks and a face that I've forgotten. We started making out drunkenly on the dance floor, then I dragged him into one of the club toilets.

I'm a happy drunk. I'm up for anything. So suddenly I was having sex with him, and it was going okay until one of my new friends started banging on the door because she was worried.

We left at six a.m. I ended up going home with the two random people who my friends had asked to take care of me. Thankfully, they turned out to be my age and completely nice.

To this date, I've never been so scared as the moment I woke up and realized I'd been too drunk to use a condom. We went to buy the morning-after pill immediately, but ultimately I may have been saved by the fact that my new friend had interrupted us before the guy had finished. I felt seriously ill. Meanwhile, the guy had entered his number on my phone and texted me continuously until I blocked him.

I still have conflicted feelings about my first time. On one hand, I'm glad the "hurdle" is over with, but I'm not glad that I was completely drunk, that it was in a toilet in a club, that it's something I will never tell the majority of my friends about because I'm ashamed — hell, that I can't even remember the guy's face. I still cringe looking back on it.