I used to be bad at sex. Not that I didn't have the anatomy down in theory, or that I couldn't perform, but I had very backwards ideas about it that kinda ruined it. Basically, what I'm saying is that I was probably a typical raised-Christian teenager. I was wracked with guilt over the desires I had and the ways I acted out when feeling sexually frustrated. And while of course none of my romantic relationships explicitly allowed for physical intimacy, boy did we ever. I always felt bad afterwards--kinda.
So I admit I regret the times I had premarital sex... but not for the reasons one might think.
1) I regret that we never talked about it beforehand. Encounters were consensual, but if you'd asked us on our better days about our relationship boundaries, you'd probably have gotten an answer like "we kiss, but not with tongue" or somesuch. We never discussed with each other where our boundaries really were, or what felt good, or what we were curious about. We let our hormones lead, fumbled around a bit, and took advantage of what chances we got to explore. The illicitness was exciting, of course, but very unsatisfying, and we both dreaded that time afterward when we'd inevitably have to apologize and walk back everything we'd just done.
2) We never got to enjoy each other. We took a long time to work up to sex, but only because we were inching up to the pre-established line and then just a tiny bit over... and then each waiting to see if the other person would call us on it and end things for the day. Sometimes that did happen, if you'd believe that of a couple twenty-year-olds. But this slow boundary-creep meant no relaxation during intimacy, no easygoing "hey, why don't we just hang out naked?" No rose petals, no showering together, nothing that might be an obvious sign that, rather than just unstoppable hormones, our intimacy was premeditated.
3) As such, we were never responsible about sex. Even when condoms were free down the hall outside the dorm RA's room, we never picked one up. We were Christians, and supposed to be a good example - what if someone saw us take a condom? The completely backwards logic in that line of thinking had not occurred to us. The same applied to other birth control, too - we weren't supposed to be having sex, it's immoral, so why would she go and get on the Pill? So... we took our chances, very stupidly. We were lucky, but stupid. I'm wanting to say "stupid" several more times here.
4) I regret what it did to the relationship. It's not that I think the sex was wrong, though it was a very bad idea considering my immaturity about it at the time, as the above illustrate. And setting boundaries is good, but a relationship built on crossing them is not going to be healthy. So we ended up with zero trust (of each other or ourselves), lots of guilt, and, since we were both mainly just in it to see how much we could get away with, no long-term plans or security.
5) And I regret how we saw the intimacy relating to our spiritual lives. We were constantly in a state of thinking God was mad at us, and it kept us spiritually stunted to always be lying to ourselves and others. I am still Christian, but I'm much more aware now of concepts like "consent" and "having responsible sex," and I no longer think "sex before marriage" is even all that sinful. We are not to be slaves to our passion... but when I think about it now, my early fumbling was a time when I was not free. We had no control, or thought we didn't, or at least told ourselves that we didn't in order to assuage our consciences whenever we crossed the lines. Whereas if we'd been able to talk and explore and enjoy things in a more measured fashion, we would have been showing some control over our passion.
It's likely that many Christian college kids find themselves in the same situation as I was, where the cycle of repression/transgression repeats every couple days or weeks. I sometimes wonder whether my past will turn out to be useful to others, if only in a cautionary way, and this is one area that always comes to mind, even though it is very difficult for me to talk about and taboo in most Christian circles. I wonder what someone could have said to me, back then, to help change my state of mind. I'm not sure.
As it was, it took a ridiculously bad breakup, depression, then years of learning to accept myself. And I learned, too, that not all Christians see God as a sin-tallying rules-lawyer when it comes to sex. Sex is important, but it's not the be-all and end-all of holiness. And shame over our bodies is disrespecting the image of God.
I should definitely add that years of being happily married have helped, also. Not that I am a fan of marriage for its own sake, but finding someone I could be myself with, be human and fallible with, has made marriage amazing. I'm well aware it's not the same for everybody.
Today, I am sex-positive, an ally of people who don't share my orientation, and generally very liberal and permissive. The regrets I've listed derive from this liberal perspective, somewhat ironically - I was irresponsible, did not get enthusiastic consent, lied to myself and others, and managed to do it all while ostensibly condemning as immoral the behavior of my peers. Eesh. Thankfully, God has been far more chill than I had imagined possible, and hopefully what I have gained from all this is a modicum of wisdom. That hope, and the hope of maybe using it to save some other poor soul some inner trauma, easily overcome these regrets.
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