Easy A

I was fourteen when I lost my virginity. It was a horrible experience. My first boyfriend and I were together at some party in some random house in Rutland. I think it was the first time we even met. I snuck out of my dad’s house and walked down to the bridge where he and his friends picked me up.

My first experience was shitting on this boy in a house party, and embarrassingly we left as quickly as we could. He’d sneak me into his grandfather’s house to fuck me on the carpet again. I can’t believe he’d go for round two after that experience.

I was young and clueless. I didn’t understand what it took or how to douche. When you’re a young queer kid in Vermont, nobody teaches you the ropes. You don’t have a fairy godmother to make it all rainbows and whisk you away in a beautiful dress to fall in love with Prince Charming like Cinderella.

I wish it was that easy, but with hickeys covering my neck, that would start the journey of becoming a slut. I thought losing my virginity made me cool. From that moment on, I’d lie my way to the top to impress my sister’s nineteen-year-old boyfriend so he’d think I was cool.

I told my friends I’d sneak behind the library in Woodstock to give Mickey a blowjob or had a boy in the pavilion at the field next to the elementary school. I’d start spewing out stories like wildfire, spreading them, and they would all believe them, hell I believed them. I was already a loser who everyone made fun of, so I might as well become a whore too.

Funny how as time progressed, I’d start to earn my title, destroy relationships, and find every willing participant in my local area to get a piece of me. Boy after boy, my reputation caught up to me.

Secretly, it only made me feel worse about myself. Maybe being molested and my father telling me it was my fault because of how I dressed kicked-started me to run with it.

Much like Olive in Easy A, once I was made out to be a “dirty skank,” I’d embroider that A on my clothes and embody the role. I just wanted to feel loved but ended up only being used. At fourteen, I didn’t have the concept of what love could be; even at twenty-five, I’d still be lost chasing dick for validation to feel admired to only ever become more of a slut.

So the dresses got shorter, my attitude whoreier, and the infamous behavior of my sex life would grow larger. I remember being the hottest topic at school because of everyone sending anonymous messages about how much of a whore I was on this app I can’t even remember now.

Deep down, I just continued to be hurt and allow another guy to take me on as his side piece, never ever fully admiring me for just the person I was. I was only ever smart; it was all I was good at. I wasn’t pretty or demure like my twin, always awkward and chubby, wearing quirky outfits, but when I was in bed with a guy and he was inside me, I felt beautiful for the first time in my life.

I chased that feeling for years until I actually met the one, the one person I want to stand an eternity with. The one who loves me for much more than my body or my abilities. And it’ll always be hard for me to accept that, to learn to love myself and allow myself to accept love beyond just getting fucked by a boy.

So much like Olive and Hester, it’s shitty to be ostracized and made out to just be a slut. To be seen as less than and looked down on for things that aren’t always as they seem. And so I slowly rip the A off my clothes and just exist like everyone else.