Virgin (25 page)

I gagged as I withdrew my hand and finished peeing. I quickly cleaned myself and pulled my pants up with the dry hand and flushed the loo. The pot was now soaking wet on the outside and the paper label was peeling off. My name was smudged and there was blue ink all over my hands.

I screwed the lid on and washed my hands in the sink. With a shrug I decided I might as well wash the pot too. I didn’t want the poor nurses to have to touch my pee, and the label had pretty much dissolved.

Now for the chlamydia test. I opened the pack and a test tube fell out onto my lap. It had an oversized cotton bud inside. I felt a twinge of panic. This looked complicated. There was a mini-instructions leaflet in there too. I opened it up and looked at the diagram. Right, I had to take the cotton bud out and make sure it didn’t touch anything but the insides of my VJ. Simple.

I unscrewed the tube and took out the long stick. I pulled my pants down again and crouched by the sink. Slowly, I inserted the long white stick into my vagina. It tingled as it pushed in, and I felt my thigh muscles start to wobble under the weight of my body.

I reached for the instructions, trying not to lose my balance. Okay, it said to rub the stick around. I rubbed it around in circular motions. Suddenly my thighs collapsed and I fell onto the floor. I lay on my back, my legs and pants hovering in the air, with a long white stick poking up out of my vagina like a surrendering peace flag.

Wincing in pain, I got back up slowly, trying not to disturb the stick. I stood upright and began pulling it out. It broke in half. Fuck. I was holding half a white stick in my hand. The cotton bud bit was still in there. I flung the broken stick to the side and put two fingers into my vagina to feel around. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could feel the end of the stick. Gently, I eased it out and inserted it into the test tube.

I put the lid on and screwed it shut. I took a look at the instructions. It read “put stick back into tube, and then break off.” I’d just done it in the wrong order. I breathed a sigh of relief, pulled my pants back up and washed my hands. With soap. Twice.

I handed the nurse my urine sample and chlamydia stick. She took them from me gingerly, clearly noticing that the pee pot’s label had disintegrated.

“I’m just going to take a blood sample from you,” she said. “Can I have your right arm, please?”

“Sure,” I said, taking my cardigan off and sticking my arm out. I turned it upside down so she wouldn’t notice how hairy my forearm was.

She took my arm into her hand and turned it over.

“Okay, you’re just going to feel a tiny prick,” she said as she jabbed her huge syringe into the most sensitive part of my arm—the inner elbow.

“OW,” I screamed as pain soared up my arm. She rolled her eyes at me, tutting. The bitch. Clearly no one had ever done this to her.

I turned away as the blood filled the syringe and she stuck a lump of cotton over my arm. I rubbed the sore spot tenderly. I’d better not have HIV after this.

“There we go. You’re all done now. We’ll send you your test results next week. Thanks for coming.” She started to open the door for me.

“Sorry, I just have a quick question,” I said nervously. “You know those, erm, condoms outside? In the box by the water cooler? Are they, um, free?”

She sighed wearily. “Take as many as you want.”

I obliged. Sex with Jack hadn’t been particularly enjoyable but now that my first time was over, I couldn’t wait to start shagging my way to multiple orgasms. Safe sex, here I come.

Today was my last day as a student. I was going to find out my degree results and finally know whether I was doomed to be a cum laude failure, an acceptable magna cum laude graduate with no prospects, a summa cum laude girl who would go places even without having an internship lined up or—God forbid—a nobody with no degree designation whatsoever. I felt my stomach turn. I had done an acceptable amount of revision to get magna but I was secretly dreaming of a summa. I had revised every day from eight a.m. till eleven p.m. with only about four breaks a day. Surely people who got summas did that much. There weren’t enough hours in the day to do more.

I waited anxiously outside the English Department. Emma was meant to meet me here but she was running late. Our department was the only one in UCL that made the students come in to collect their results.

On cue, Emma ran up to me, tottering in wedges under a black maxi dress. She looked like she should be drinking piña coladas on a yacht. I was wearing leggings and an oversized T-shirt with flip-flops. Dressing up had not been on my agenda this morning.

“Sickness on a scale of one to ten?” she asked, hugging me.

“Twelve. You?” I replied numbly.

“Worse. Let’s just go in and do this,” she said, taking my arm and leading me towards the building. I nodded my assent as we approached the notice board.

There was already a small crowd in the common room, scattering out into the hallway, mostly chatting happily. I bet they’d got Firsts, the bastards. We ignored them and walked over to the notice board. My heart pounded as my eyes raced over the board, looking for my candidate number. I’d written mine on my hand over the fading
I am over him
. My hand was
right; I was
so
over him.

There it was.
With great honor
. What did that mean? That was . . . magna cum laude. Oh thank God. I breathed in relief, but then felt disappointment race through my veins. I hadn’t magically gotten summa. I wasn’t a genius. I wasn’t destined to be an academic scholar. There went my chances of getting in to the CIA or doing a PhD on Shakespeare.

I looked at Emma. “Well?” she demanded, her eyes sparkling.

“Magna cum laude. Average,” I said. “You?”

“Summa!” she squealed. “I literally have no idea how this happened. Oh my God. Maybe I shouldn’t go into PR anymore—I could be a Shakespeare scholar.”

My face darkened. She was stealing the dream I’d never gotten a chance to live.

“This is so exciting!” she cried out.

I sighed. “I hate you, but I’m so ridiculously proud,” I announced, wrapping my arms around her.

She laughed. “Thanks, babe. If it had been the other way round I probably would have only hated you. And magna cum laude is still amazing, you know that.”

Still amazing? Ugh. I hated the “still.” But she was right. And she was also wrong. If it had been the other way round, she definitely would have been ecstatically happy for me. Besides, I’d passed; I’d done acceptably well. I hadn’t really worked as hard as I could have, but fuck it—my friend was a genius.

“Let’s go get celebratory drinks,” I announced. “Drinks are on me!”

“Waheeyy!” Charlie called out from the other side of the common room. “Let’s go to the Fitzroy Arms, guys. Drinks are on Ellie.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “Sorry, Charlie, but I was just talking to Emma because she went and got a summa,” I said proudly.

He looked at her in admiration. “Fuck. Well done, Emma.”

She grinned, shrugging. “What, do you think it’s hard?” she asked, and put her arm around me. “Pub, now.”

We all ended up leaving the common room and walking down to the pub in a trickling throng, laughing and chatting as we took up the entirety of Tottenham Court Road’s east pavement. Everyone was being completely normal with me, and Hannah wasn’t even there. It seemed like no one knew my virgin secret. I decided to forget the whole thing and let myself relax. We were no longer students, I was no longer a virgin and the sun was shining.

I was on my third gin and tonic when my phone beeped. It was an email and the subject line said
Re: Internship.
I slammed my drink down on the table and immediately opened up the email. It was from
London Magazine
—a very cool, hip online magazine that I’d sent my vlog to a fortnight ago.

Dear Ellie,

Thank you very much for your email applying for our three-month internship. As you know, competition is high but we would love to offer you the position, starting from September.

We absolutely loved your “vlog” and found it hilarious. It would be fantastic if you could write something similar for us, and we look forward to hearing your ideas. Please get back to us to confirm you’re keen to take up the internship.

Best wishes,
Maxine, Editor,
London Magazine

“Oh my God,” I cried out. “Emma, look!”

She peered over my shoulder to read the email and seconds later screeched with excitement. “Ohmigod, Ellie! This is amazing, I’m so proud of you. They said they
loved
the vlog—I can’t believe it! How cool is that?!”

“I know, this is crazy,” I said, grinning wildly.

“What is?” asked Kara, who’d been at the Never Have I Have Ever party, nudging me. Now that we were all about to go our separate ways and graduate, everyone was being overly friendly. It was the end of an era and we were so terrified to start properly in the real world that we were trying to cling to the student one for as long as possible.

“I just got offered an internship for
London Magazine
.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” she cried. “They only give out one internship every year. Well done, that’s amazing!”

“Get you.” Emma grinned. “Beating all those other aspiring journalists! I’m so impressed.”

“Not just any aspiring journalists either,” said Kara, smiling. “I know Hannah applied for it too. She had her heart set on it, actually. She got a rejection email earlier and stormed off home.”

We all exchanged glances and burst out laughing. I couldn’t believe I had finally got my own back on Hannah Fielding. Fuck her and her hippie headbands—I was a better writer than her.

“What’s so funny?” asked Charlie as he joined us and put his arm around Kara. He gave her a sloppy kiss. I looked at Kara in alarm, waiting for her to shove him off. She kissed him back. Whoa. I’d definitely missed that.

I caught Emma’s eye and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God, how did we miss that gem of gossip?” she whispered as Charlie and Kara walked away, leaving us alone.

“Tell me about it. I’m going to miss these people,” I said fondly, looking at the sun shining on the group and their vintage dresses and skinny jeans. “I feel like the end of a film. Or the end of a Christmas special, you know?”

Emma laughed. “I think you’ve got some serious rosé-tinted and G-and-T-enhanced glasses going on.”

My phone beeped again. “One sec.” I grinned as I tapped open my screen. “Probably just another internship offer. It’s
so
hard being successful.”

Emma rolled her eyes at me. “One internship offer and she thinks she’s the next Jeremy Paxman.” I didn’t reply and she looked at me in concern. “Ellie, are you okay? I was kidding.”

Wordlessly I looked up from my phone and passed it to her.

“What is it?” she asked in confusion, her face scrunched up. “‘Dear Ms. Kolstakis. Thank you for visiting Gower Street Practice. Your test results have come back positive for chlamydia. Please call 0207’ . . . OH MY GOD,” she cried, staring at me. “Ellie, are you okay?”

I stared at her numbly. Okay? Was I okay? I’d got chlamydia on the one occasion in my entire life when I’d had sex. And we’d used a condom. HOW WAS THIS OKAY?

“Babe, it’s fine,” she said soothingly. “Everyone has chlamydia. It’s so easy to treat, and it’s symptomless so no one knows. You’ve caught it so early so they can get rid of it. Seriously, it’s fine. Did you not use a condom, though?”

“YES,” I wailed.

“Maybe you got it from oral sex, then,” she suggested.

“You can get chlamydia from blow jobs?” I cried, and then lowered my voice as people turned to stare. “Why does no one tell me this stuff?!”

“Oh, babe,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s so unfair. Hardly anyone uses condoms for oral sex, and you’ve only done it once and caught it. That’s such shit luck.” She gave me a sympathetic hug.

“I can’t believe I have chlamydia.” I moaned dramatically. “I’m like the Virgin Mary, except instead of getting a baby Jesus, I got chlamydia. And I’m not even a virgin anymore.”

She patted my arm understandingly. “I’ll go and get you another G and T,” she said.

I sat alone on the bench contemplating my news as I waited for her. I was no longer a virgin. I had completed my goal. I’d come into contact with an actual condom on an actual penis, and I’d taken a chlamydia test. In fact, I hadn’t just completed my vow; I’d taken it one step further and actually contracted chlamydia.

I laughed to myself as I slurped the last bits of melted ice cubes through my straw. After twenty-one years of surviving virginity, chlamydia didn’t really seem like a big deal.

Me, Myself and My Virginity

EK: When we started this vlog, we told you we were EM, proud slut, and EK, reluctant virgin. Things have changed. I lost my virginity, dear loyal readers. I reached third and fourth base on the same night and couldn’t stop smiling for days. At the ripe age of twenty-one, I finally lost my V-plates to no less than an attractive older guy.

I thought, after all these years, I had finally found the right guy. I was convinced he was falling for me just like I was falling for him. Only it turned out he thought he was just taking my virginity as a friendly favor. Quote: “We’re more friends than lovers, right?” Um. I didn’t think so.

The thing is, The Jack Debacle, as I have coined it (because he doesn’t deserve anonymity), has taught me a lot about virginity. I’ve realized that I have never really thought about what virginity means to me because I’ve been so preoccupied with what everyone else thinks it means. Examples: the American teen movies where the losers are always virgins. Or the ones where the jocks all try to take the hot girl’s virginity. TV shows like
SATC
where everyone discusses sex the whole time. Magazines that have “Top 50 Sex Tips” on the covers. You get the drift.

I only accepted my virginity after I lost it. I wish I had done it earlier, but either way, I’m glad I finally have. So whoever you are, whether you lost your virginity twenty years ago or you still have it, just accept it. Embrace any STDs you may or may not have, along with the regrets, the disastrous stories, the heartbreak, the pain and the regret. Because if it weren’t for all this stuff, life would be pretty dull. And I, for one, wouldn’t have anything to vlog about.