My first time was non-penetrative.

According to Wikipedia, a woman can get pregnant if the penis is in close contact with the opening of the vagina due to the fact that the sperm can travel through vaginal fluids and impregnate the woman concerned.

I wish I had known that sooner.

I was 16 years old, in grade 11 when I had my first real boyfriend, not the ones I used to ghost after 3 days of dating. He was a senior at my school, and quite good-looking. We went on for about a month or so, and for me that was huge, it made me feel like I was ready for the next step, which was sex.

So a week after our first kiss, he began to initiate the sex conversation; I should have realised that his intentions were rigid, but I was so blinded by the prospect of being loved and desired by someone. I felt sexy, fascinating and special.

I recall quite an interesting chat I had with an older classmate of mine.

“It doesn’t necessarily mean that he wants to have sex with you,” she murmured. “I’m sure he just wants to spend time with you, ungacabangi kakhulu (don’t think too much).”

And that I did, I thought less about it, and ambled with the flow. On one lazy Saturday afternoon, I unceremoniously invited myself over to his crib. I think deep down I knew what was going to eventuate, in fact I believe I actually wanted it to happen; not because I was ready or madly in love with him — I only realised years later that I did it to prove to myself that I am beautiful, sexy and desired. I permitted it so I could fill up the hole of insecurity that ate me alive.

You see I wasn’t really the sexiest or curviest girl. I had been a slim child from my childhood up until my teenage years, and for that reason I always got picked on. I remember the most haunting joke some boy made about me. He called me a snake, said it was fitting for me since I had a flat ass, no boobs and no hips; it was supposed to be hilarious I guess. Ever since then I pushed myself into a corner and found it hard to make friends and socialise.

So when he came, and reiterated his love for me, that’s all I allowed myself to see, I didn’t care about his reputation, his lies, his history; basically he was a means to an end for me. He was a face, a name and a body that could take away all my insecurities, fears and anxieties.

As soon as I arrived at his place, well, technically it was a two-bedroomed couples space, a hotel of some sort; what the place lacked in elegance and charm, it made up for in ancient furniture and privacy. I followed shyly to the bedroom with only a single neatly made bed and a dressing table facing it. No time was wasted, the chat was brief, giving way for the actual reason behind the visit.

Tell us: Do you think this girl is making the wrong decision?