OP-ED: Sorry Doesn’t Bring My Virginity Back
Oh Jackie, remember when we sat beneath the stars on the Leavey Esplanade and talked until the sun crested over the treetops in the east? You told me so many sweet and exciting things. Things that I wished I could just replay over and over again in my head. Do you still remember all the nights we sat in my room watching Seventh Heaven, curled up on the futon with your head nestled on my shoulder? The whole world could’ve collapsed around us and I wouldn’t have even noticed. Remember when you convinced me to disgrace myself, my family, and my religion for four and a half minutes of carnal pleasure and then left me for a lacrosse player named Sheldon? Yea, well it doesn’t matter what you say now, ‘cause sorry doesn’t bring my virginity back.
For twenty years I kept my body pure. Do you think that was easy? You know some of us have a little pride and dignity. Not that you’d know anything about that. Ugh. I knew I shouldn’t have dated a Protestant. You made me feel like I was the only person in the world. There was no doubt in my mind that our love would withstand the ages, and now look at me. I can’t even look at a crucifix anymore. I feel like I put Jesus up there with every sinful pelvic thrust. I knew it was a mistake, but I just couldn’t help it. I was blinded by my love for you. Oh God, please forgive me. I can’t believe I used birth control.
My friends tell me it gets better with time. Well I don’t care how much time goes by; my innocence is gone forever. All this time I thought you truly cared when all you really wanted was to steal my seed. I didn’t even really like it, to be perfectly honest. It’s just so gross. And to think that this vile act was more important to you than all the tender moments we shared together. It just makes me sick. Next time you want to use somebody for your heathenry, try thinking about their eternal salvation for a change. Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised Reed I’d split a mocha frappuccino with him.