Amber Martinez

Gardner

English 10H

20 January 2017

Losing It

Never have sex when youre in high school, Amber, my mother told me one afternoon as we drove

home from my middle school. You wouldnt want everyone thinking that youre a tramp.

Tramp. 12-year-old me was stumped, and for a lack of better words, confused. I would continue to be for

a tampon up there terrified me to the point

the next year, until I got my period, and the thought of putting

where I couldnt talk about it, even to my own mother. So, like any good researcher, I consulted Google.

Does a tampon make you lose your virginity?

The results were unanimous; tampons didnt make you lose your virginity because virginity wasnt

physical. It was emotional.

One afternoon, as my mother sat at the dining room table, paying the bills, I apprehended her. She kept it

short and successfully dodged all of my questions, never even once referencing what was the topic of

conversation. My vagina.
Vagina- the same word that boys my age and older still laugh about; the same word that is rarely heard in

ads for tampons and pads, even though erectile dysfunction commercials practically dominate the

airwaves and Viagra is becoming a household name; the same word that was never once spoken in my 6th

grade health class; the same word that is associated with schoolyard insults like cunt and pussy,

because the worst thing that anyone could be compared to is a woman.

Two years later, I was a freshman in high school and starting to notice boys. I practiced kissing in the

mirror, I pretended to call them on the phone, and I drew little hearts in the margins of my homework. I

still remember the look of sheer horror on my mothers face when a boy a grade older than me walked me

to my car, and how I spent the rest of the day trying to convince her that we were just friends.

I dont want you to be dating anyone yet. Youre too young, youll make mistakes, theyll take

advantage of you, all men want one thing, she rattled on. I didnt believe her. Maybe it was the start of

my teen rebellion, maybe it was frustration, or maybe, in my hearts of hearts, I knew that she was wrong.

As I grew older, more restrictions and expectations were placed on me. I had to be home by 8:00, I

couldnt wear cut-offs or short skirts when I went out, there had to be another girl with me whenever I

went out, I couldnt be friends with boys who were older than me, my clothes couldnt be too tight- once

again, I was reduced to my sexuality. I was reduced to my mothers fear of being seen as a tramp.

Tramp. I wish I could say that, in some miraculous turn of events, everything changed. Nothing did. The

tension only grew.

I began noticing something was very wrong at my high school. If a guy had sex with a girl, he was

congratulated by his friends and nobody would bat an eye. But if the girl had sex with a guy, she would be

ridiculed for her behavior, rumors would be spread, and she would be reduced to a slut.

Slut. Whore. Tramp.

Safe sex is a lie. Even with protection, there will still be repercussions.

And in October, 2016, the world listened as the future president of the United States said when youre a

star, they let you do it. You can do anything. Grab em by the pussy. You can do anything. Our future

president would be memorialized by his approval of sexual harassment, and the horrific, disgusting

comments that were made in favor of his statement.

Im tired of lying down. Im tired of turning my head and falling in line with what society expects of me.

Im tired of worrying about a word, tramp, and Im tired about the stigma that surrounds virginity.

Watch out, Mr. President- this year, the pussy grabs back.

I would like to live in a world where vagina is not a dirty word, where its ok for teenage girls to have

sexual freedom, and at the same time, not have to worry about being shamed for their choice- in the words

of my misguided mother, not have to worry about everyone thinking they are a tramp.

If I have to live in any other world for another day, then I might just lose it.