GIRL.IS.A.GUN

GIRL.IS.A.GUN

GIRL.IS.A.GUN VIRGIN

Editor:Natassa Stamouli Styling, photography & illustrations:Natassa Stamouli Words by: Aphrodite Sakka, Natassa Stamouli, Georgia A.,Nikoleta Vernardaki, Charlotte C., Olga Dritsopoulou & Sergio Zalmas Models: Nikoleta, Aphrodite, Reigen, Amy, Seda, Lynn & Kheira Special Thanks: To Stephanie Kane & Tatiana Makrinova for letting me in their rooms To Lidia for being the initial inspiration and for bearing with it all, Aphro for everything, Serg for being honest and essential, Debsy for being usefully available & reassuring, Olga for her enligthening academic -and not only- support.

& To everybody who helped with their support Y Dedicated: To girls who are growing up For contact: info@girlisagun.com For contribution: contribute@girlisagun.com www.girlisagun.com Copyright Š All rights reserved

“You’ve seen how picky I am about my shoes and they only go on my feet”.

It was this quote by Cher Horowitz in Clueless that got me into thinking the grand narratives built around the idea of virginity. There is something great and intriguing about the idea of having something so specific and so abstract marking a moment in a girl’s life. Nonetheless, each girl perceives it differently; as an obsession, as a rite of passage, as something melancholic, life-changing and important or even just as a penetration.

One moment you find yourself carelessly dragging and dropping Mary-Kate Olsen style photos in your “M-K STYLE” file on your desktop, under a poster of Aston Kutcher who’s eating watermelon in a white T-shirt and before you know it, you’re in the “20’s clan” talking about sex, thinking about boys and overthinking about feminism and vice versa, feeling lost, knowing more but feeling like knowing nothing and that’s scary but exciting. Growing up; that’s what this magazine is all about really…

It started out with one and only aim: to be a visualization of the girl culture of the millennial generation. The means of this visualization remained unknown until its very end.

I found it impossible to have concrete plans for something that was about change. The words and the images are a sample of a raw, long-term exploration of the girl psych of our generation; a generation characterized by an alloy of pop -sometimes cult- references, a generation of girls conceiving love or sex as a particular type of activity, lost in the sweet inertia of staying girls by choice and enjoying it, a generation of unprocessed sexuality and romantic mentality. This issue acts as a shrine to teenhood and an ode to a modern type of a constantly evolving girlhood.

i want him to love me like Lindsay loved Samantha

Nikolera is wearing American Apparel crop top and Levi’s jeans

Words by: Natassa Stamouli

The day Peaches Geldof died made me feel similarly to the day I lost my virginity. I know this sounds too dramatic; I didn’t cry over it or something like that, but these two events triggered the same type of thoughts in my head, focusing on the idea that my teenhood is over forever. I’ve spent countless hours of my teen years scrolling down the Myspace pages of Peaches Geldof and Cory Kennedy wishing I could be a Nylon it girl. I was trying to copy her posh accent, next morning make-up and awkward humor- which I was finding weirdly intellectual. No great sad stories behind the loss of my virginity, but just the fact that I had sex and Peaches is dead make me realize I’m growing up and this gets me upset. I can clearly recall a piece Peaches wrote in 2008 for The Guardian. She was talking about becoming 18 and feeling nothing about it and instead of getting responsibilities she got a teacup Chihuahua puppy (she even made a Paris Hilton joke, cause you know...it was 2008...). I won’t refer to the way she died nor to her children or to her drug problems. I just wanted to make something like a tribute to one of the symbols of my period of self-definition and experimentation and carelessness. Now I’ll probably start having responsibilities and tweet about them, I’ll have casual sex cause I had sex once so its not a big deal anymore, I don’t even know if “it girls” are still a thing nowadays, and you know what? Myspace now gets scrolled horizontally! I miss my room and my windows PC desktop, I miss having files full of low resolution it girl photos... Its the awkward moment when I say I miss the 00’s; I miss Peaches and everything she represents for me.

YRIP PEACHESY

THE FREQUENT USE OF THE F-WORD IN THE FOLLOWING TEXT IS FUCKING IRONIC

By A So, it wasn’t like virginity was a major thing. I mean, I never really thought about keeping it or losing it to be honest. I remember having the ‘sex convo’ with my mom in our kitchen one afternoon. And that was fucking awkward. I wasn’t thinking about it, I wasn’t thinking about the perfect guy or the perfect place or my hymen getting broke while an Oasis song is playing in the background.Oasis? Never even listened to fucking Oasis before. I knew all the practical stuff though, I knew how an errected penis looks like and how it goes into my vagina. I’ve had all the girly girl discussions, as well. “Is it gonna hurt?” “How long should I wait?” “I’m gonna do it when I get 17. That’s what my big sister did.” I didn’t even fucking care. I was 14 for fuck’s sake, who cares about their virginity just yet? It was all about kissing boys and letting them grab your ass and touch your nipples sometimes.

So, I had this friend at the time, I’ll call her Tanya. She was my best friend and one year older than me; she let boys finger her all the time. Tanya is a good name for letting boys finger you all the time. I can’t remember if she was a virgin or not, probably not. Anyway, she used to tell me exactly what to do with my sexual experiences with boys. Whatever these were. She told me how to practice for my first kiss, she told me to use my index and middle finger as lips and try and kiss the lower lip. A couple of hours later I was having my third kiss and man, I was really fucking good. So, you know, I kinda trusted her. Still preferred to dye my hair and pierce my nose instead of worrying about a guy shoving his teenage, probably not fully grown dick in my vagina. So, then I thought I was in a relationship with Mr.First Kiss because we were kissing at school and he also invited me to hang out with him and his friends. He was in a relationship with 2 other girls and had made out with 7 others but that’s something I have now, being 20 years old, managed to get over. Fuck that. I did get in a relationship with the guy he hated the most right the next day we ‘broke up’. And that’s how my erotic life started rolling down the hill; since this very moment. I didn’t even like him that much. He was a friend of Tanya’s, 3 or 4 years older than me, she insisted he was a good choice. Then there was this day, there was this field trip at the planetarium and the whole school would go. I faked my parent’s signature and went to his house instead. I knew there would be lots of making out and he would probably see my underwear so I wore the polka dotted one with a matching bra. We went there and we sat down, listened to music, laying on his bed. Started making out and he wasn’t very good at kissing, he used his tongue abruptly in wrong timing and his taste was something between chewing gum and something like bacon. I absolutely fucking hate bacon. He started touching my boobs and then took off my shirt and till that point everything was allright, I was a bit bored. Then he took off my jeans. I didn’t take off any of his clothes. I didn’t even care to see his dick. Not even out of curiosity. And it wasn’t like I had seen a dick before. I mean in real life, I had obviously googled penises. And then he touched me down there. My lady parts were experiencing another person’s touch and well, that was interesting. He was doing a good job –I won’t lie. It felt good but I still wasn’t thinking about sex... Wasn’t that supposed to happen later with someone I loved and everything? And he kept rubbing and rubbing and that was still fine. And then he put his finger in there. And I was thinking isn’t fucking weird to put your finger, I mean the one you use to say ‘up yours’ to people or to hold chop sticks, inside a girl’s vagina, you know is a virgin? It felt weird. Felt like he was scratching my fucking insides. Hurt a bit. But I kept lying there, looking at the ceiling, feeling kinda awkward and considering the planetarium option if I still had time. He asked me if I was in pain and that I should tell him. I said I was fine. He stopped at some point –well, finally. I sat there, started dressing up wished I could just go home. So I did. Oh my god, I HAD to pee. And there it was. Just there, on my Hello Kitty knickers. Dark and warm. Blood. Called Tanya, she said: “He just called me. He said “Do you remember you had a virgin friend? Well, you don’t anymore.” Fuck. Fuuuck. I didn’t even had sex. I didn’t even get to see the guy’s dick just out of curiosity, I didn’t get to lay with my legs open having a guy moving up and down trying to make this the best day of my life while promising me he will be gentle. I didn’t get the ‘experience’. I didn’t plan this, I didn’t even want this. Well, fuck that. I got over it, never fucking spoke to the guy again. He got in a relationship with Tanya after a while. Declined both of their friend requests on Facebook. I had sex for the first time when I was 17. And it was fucking wicked.Sex is fucking wicked. Am I bitter about the loss of my virginity? Nah... I just wish my virginity thief wasn’t wearing fucking sweatpants all the time.

Aphrodite is wearing Athletic Bra by Urban Outfitters, Cardigan by Brandy Mellville, Denim shorts by Levi’s, Topshop fishnet tights & MAC lipstick Diva shade

Reigen is wearing Backstreet Boys vintage shirt (left), vintage turtle neck shirt(right)

Stephanie Kane, 21 She’s an artist, she doesn’t really have favourite things but she likes Christmas decorations when its Christmas and she had her first kiss when she was 14. She would steal Mary-Kate Olsen’s closet but for now she steals her boyfriend’s.

And she also collects bees. // www.stephaniekkane.com

Christmas tencil scan by Stephanie Kane

all i can think of is nights with you

THAT AWKWARD MOMENT

By N So, I spent last night thinking about whether I really wanted to write about how I lost my v-card. Just before I fell asleep I was “nuuuh that’s too much”. But it’s Saturday night and I found myself cursing for my slow internet connection (which is Virgin Media by the way) while realizing I have spent more than 15 minutes trying to load the Showstudio fashion panel for Miu Miu A/W 14. I mean, don’t get me wrong I do like Miu Miu, but OK…trying so much about it feels a bit pathetic; So I decided to document the fuss around the first time as I experienced it, while having an HBO stylish writer moment and write about the whole virginity panic while I imagine my arms getting anorexic and that my window’s view is not a mini market. The first time I thought about my first time was when I was 13. My best friend at the time was the girl who did everything before everybody; she got her period first, she got these pens that smelled like cola first, she had a boyfriend first, she got kissed first, she made out first, she got fingered first, she had sex first, she had weird sex first, she had lesbian sex first… Not all of that until we were 13, but you get the picture.

She did everything first. What I remember most vividly from her though, was her inexplicable wish to experience girly moments, making our lives a how-to-be-a-teen guide. Being born in the early 1990’s my Does-Everything-First friend, as well as I, found ourselves being young teens in a period when the prefix teen- was quite a big thing. While girl magazines were selling like crazy, teen idols were the queens and Lindsay Lohan was fighting with Hillary Duff over Aaron Carter, she was craving to experience everything like she was playing in an American teen movie; she wanted it all: the sleepovers, the singing pop songs, the crying over boys, everything. So we had to have the sex convos as well, even if nobody near us was having any. She was keep telling me how important the first time is, that she wanted candles and everything, that she had to do it in her house, that she is afraid of the whole bleeding thing, that she had read that it hurts, that it had to be with someone she loves, and that she would remember it forever. She was keep mumbling about it, but my head was stuck on the feeling of awkwardness, on being naked with another person and basically on the bleeding. The idea of bleeding in front of someone it’s just not my cup of tea. I didn’t really get how it is possible to come close with someone, how it is to love, why you bleed and how you can avoid it but I remember clearly that I was more worried about not missing the opening titles of the Mary-Kate and Ashley series (I really liked the “So little times” song) than losing my virginity. The idea of sex didn’t actually bother me for years. Then the pre-teen phase was over and I became a real adolescent; an event marked by the deposition of the Sugababes off my wall. And the idea of sex was in again and everybody was talking about it. I was open about sex and about not having any, I didn’t think it was abnormal not to have sex at your 16 or 17.As I was graduating, one by one my friends were becoming women while they still were girls (Britney reference). To be honest everything changes when you turn 18. I found myself diplomatically avoiding any conversations on sex, unless another virgin was in the room. As soon as I got into university and obsessive studying left the equation, I realized I have to have sex at some point because I started feeling slightly left out and unwanted. I was aware that this feeling of inadequacy, connected with the absence of a boyfriend or a lover in my life was a result of a long-standing brainwash within a culture where sex is the new money, founding new tribes in youth societies. Being raised with no great love stories by my parents, I had the “let’s get it over with” attitude towards the whole thing. For a while, I caught myself looking at boys who were interested in me as potential cherry-poppers.

I wanted to have sex with someone I was not going to ever see again. Even when I really liked someone, and he liked me back I just would not even think of having sex with him. And I don’t think I was the only one. Loads of my friends had the same approach, in order to avoid all the awkwardness of the first time. I think our generation tends to be extremely afraid of awkwardness; more than anything, more than the feeling of loneliness, more than the lack of any emotional connection, more than staying in watching the Jeremy Kyle show while eating porridge. After a while I realized I was fooling myself. I wasn’t really bothered about it.I wanted to have sex just because everybody else was and seriously thats a really stupid reason for doing anything. I eventually met a boy I really liked. More than anyone else before. We were sort of going out for 3-4 months. During this time I was avoiding the whole sex thing just because I liked him, being quite straight forward saying everynight “We’re not going to have sex tonight so you don’t have to go out with me” (I had this obsession that he was going out with me having this as a goal). I wasn’t avoiding it because “I wasn’t ready” and I’m definitely not the hard to get type. I was just afraid of getting too connected, too exposed. But I wasn’t feeling awkward with him, so I realized I was either gonna leave it or try it. And I really wanted to stay. So I eventually had sex for a first time when I was 19. I can’t recall the specific day and time of my actual first time, because as I got to know, you can’t have adequate sex from the very first try. But if we consider the trying-to-put-it-in process as sex, then yes it wasn’t what my Does-Everything-Friend would call romantic but I don’t really do romantic. I would call it minimal, it was not that great in the early start but it got better really quickly, and it was funny anyways. I didn’t felt furtherly connected after that. I didn’t feel depended on him or vulnerable. I felt like I liked him more, not because my body produced this oxytocin hormone that everybody talks about, but because he was a great boy. After having sex I started understanding that there is nothing wrong in being awkward, there is nothing wrong in having sex only with people you really like just like it’s not wrong to have sex with people you don’t really like AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING A VIRGIN. I surprinsingly had sex with someone I wanted to see again after that and realized that embracing the chick-flick myths is so uncool that ends up being cool again just because nobody believes in that stuff anymore. The right thing is to do things that feel right I guess. By the way Miu Miu A/W 14’ was great right?

in heaven everything’s fine.

if you love m then don’t

me hardcore walk away

LOST&LEFT

By G My story is neither original nor nice, and I don’t particularly enjoy narrating it. It’s not a boys diss, I guess I’m just still a bit bitter about it, I’m not completely over it, so I’m not objective. I lost my virginity when I was 21. A year ago. For some people it’s quite late, but I was in love with a boy for 6 years. It was one of this platonic one sided types of love. I’ve spent my late teenage years listening to Kate Nash, really believing that this guy was the nicest thing I’ve seen and wishing he had a favourite beauty spot on me, that he loved secretly cause it was in a hidden bit that nobody else could see. After liking this guy for a half a dozen of years, the feeling started fading away, but to be honest I was so focused on him for so many years that I realized I’ve blocked my self from anything else regarding the love stuff. I haven’t seen him for a year, and we met through common friends during some random vacation. We exchanged names for the first time, after 6 years of co-existing. The day after that he asked a friend of mine for my number and I went through the torture of waiting for him to call me, floating in the oblivion of not realizing what was exactly going on. Since the very first second that my friend told me about that, it was like my inner self and my body were two different things, and I remember getting the habit of frizzing my eyes to spots, not blinking for a while until my eyes were totally dry. He finally called me, I played it cool, I knew he knew I had a major crash on him since forever, everybody knew that. He asked me out for a drink, of course I said yes. We went out the same night, and it was quite great I would say, I wasn’t acting weird, I was looking so cool I surprised myself. We went out the day after that too. I started realizing what was going on, but hesitating to daydream anything. That night we made out. We were making out for a while, and then he dropped me home. That night my imagination went a bit crazy. I started thinking that maybe we could be together, and wondering what type of couple would we make, I imagined us walking together, sitting on tables and watching tv. He was cool with me, not saying romantic stuff or anything, but that was great cause this kind of things are generally making me feel awkward. We were going out for a week every night, alone or with other people too. We were definitely not like boyfriend and girlfriend and he didn’t make any grand promises at any point. He was just kissing me, and I didn’t think anything was wrong, but after long discussions with my friends analyzing some moves and words I started thinking he really likes me and that we’re gonna be together at some point. After 6 days of going out together I realized sex has to be part of the whole thing. I’m not gonna lie; the thought that he’s gonna stop being so into it if we don’t have sex was stuck in my head. I didn’t have the idea of virginity as a huge deal in my mind and the idea of doing it with the guy I liked for so long was exciting but really scary in the same time. Anyways, day 7 and he called me to go at his house. I’ve never mentioned to him before that I’ve never had sex before. We started making out and I said it. I was like “you know… I’ve never done it before”. Ok he said. He started taking his clothes and mine as well. He started playing with his fingers down there and then he put it in. It wasn’t that easy but he seemed like he knew what he was doing. We had sex once and then once again after a while. It wasn’t amazing, mainly because I was feeling really weird, but I thought that’s how first times are. After a while he drove me at my house, we didn’t even kiss. I went to my room and I was feeling horrible. I was feeling vulnerable and had this disgusting sense of insecurity; it was like my emotional condition was relying on his next phone call. I started feeling nauseous replaying everything in my head, trying to think that everything’s gonna happen like I want them to. He’s gonna call and we’re going to have sex again and we’re going to be together, even if I wasn’t sure if we really click together. But I really liked him. He didn’t call the day after that. I didn’t know if I should call him. I had this weird fear of becoming an over attached girl. I called him 3 days after that. Our conversation was something like “are you doing anything tomorrow?” -”Tomorrow I’m probably busy, hanging out with the guys, but I’m calling you on Monday”. He didn’t call on Monday. He didn’t call on Tuesday either. He never called, and I was going through the torture of trying to understand why the hell this happened. Did I do something wrong? Was it because I was a virgin? Why me? Questions like that were there before I fell asleep and where there when I was waking up as well. When I was eating I felt like crying and when I was crying I was wishing of becoming 5 years old again not worrying about anything. I felt like sleeping forever, but I couldn’t even sleep. Did I love him? Why was I hurting so badly? I was feeling it inside and I hated that. After some weeks, and after talking about it with almost everyone who was close to me I had some reality checks. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t him. He didn’t promise anything he didn’t do and he didn’t think the loss of my virginity was a big thing just because I was 21 and not 16. Its just how things are nowadays. Sex is something easy, something obvious. If it wasn’t my first time I would probably face it differently, but hey 21 is not 40. 21 is fucking young. I’m not feeling THAT differently emotionally wise. I was still feeling little in front of this whole thing. He didn’t know though, so I can’t really blame him. I realized that I am the one who is responsible of my first time, and of making sure for not getting disappointed by anyone. He obviously thought I was seeing the whole thing really loosely, because that is how I looked like. I always speak out myself, why the fuck didn’t I explain to him some things, in order for him to understand?

Why didn’t I open myself more so we could actually get to know each other? Boys aren’t bad, and they don’t have intentions of stealing virginities and not calling back again. They have every right not to care enough, and see sex as casually as they want to. Do I hate him? I certainly don’t like him as a person. Not because he didn’t pretend he cared enough to call me back, but because I felt like he went out with me 6 times just so he could fuck me. I felt like I was played. I felt stupid and worthless and boring and ugly. I have a quite bipolar approach on the whole thing, I have two basic moments of change: Moment one and I feel okay towards him; I know he has done nothing to blame really, he didn’t pretend at any point. Moment two and I feel like killing this fucker.

MINDFUCK

By V I lost my virginity when I was 16 years old. I did it in the most orthodox way possible; I followed the ‘safe’way. My first time was with my first boyfriend with who I was together for a long time before. He was charming, he was loving and caring, he was ticking all the boxes, and we did have our happily ever after. How did I feel afterwards?Sweat, awkward, a bit tired and unexpectedly neutral.For me though, losing your virginity is not about giving access to your body for the first time to someone else. In fact is not about giving at all. The term itself ‘lose’ next to virginity simply doesn’t make any sense to me. It’s about getting back. So, thinking like that, my first time would come 5 years after that ‘teenage dream’ night.

Many, many men and women can come into your life, underneath your sheets, in the toilet of that filthy bar you want to forget about, in an old car... However at least once, it will come someone that will undress you and you will feel warmer than ever, that will touch you and he’ll make you have goose bumps because of the unexpected intimacy, a hand so familiar. That ‘one’ would fuck first your mind and then it will make love to your body. And here I am going to talk to you about that one.

When I eventually opened my eyes, I had the sudden realization that for how long I knew him, my “one”, I had never slept with him on a bed before, not a real one, not one with an actual mattress. For the first time since we’ve met, we had woken up surrounded by walls and not a camping tent. I looked at him, saw that he was awake as well, and curled my body into his arms. We were lying next to each other on the one side of the bed, even if it was a double one. He said, ‘You do like big hugs, don’t you?’ I nodded, craving him more than ever. After my shower, I stood still looking at my reflection in the mirror. There were dark patches under my eyes and my face was almost entirely covered by my messy, blonde, curly hair. I tried to find something in the bathroom cabinet to make me look better but then I thought, ‘If he doesn’t mind, neither do I.’ He entered the bathroom and gave me my mobile which was ringing; my mother. ‘What happened? Why was she screaming at you? I could hear her.’ He asked me. I tried to explain: “She thinks you’ve turned me into a different person. She thinks I just agree with everything you say. She says because of you I no longer have any respect for them, my sister or the world around me”. I paused, trying to compose myself. ‘What she doesn’t understand is that since I met you, I’ve discovered who I really am. She doesn’t understand me; she doesn’t understand me at all.’

While explaining all these things to him, I realized that I wasn’t really talking to him but to myself. The call has made me so anxious that I started scratching my hand like I always do; scratching it so much it nearly bleeds.

He noticed it and said, “I thought we had dealt with this bad habit of yours. I can’t stand to watch you hurting yourself, it makes me sick, it makes me sad.’ He goes silent for a while, driving the car along the highway.

‘Regarding your mother, I think you should explain to her that it’s not about you changing, nor going away and moving away from them. It’s about growing up, growing into this amazing woman I see sitting next to me’.

He is so easy to say he’s different from the very first moment you meet him. Just like it happened to me that summer day. I was riding my bike thinking how miserable my summer would be in that ‘party island’ I came to work. My thoughts were interrupted when I saw him lying on a patch of grass outside the local primary school. He was reading a book with a title I couldn’t read. To me, he looked like a creature from a different world. Skinny and barefoot, he was ignoring the people walking passing by as if they didn’t exist, even though they were all giving him dirty looks.

That ‘one’ can have the looks of a cave man with ripped clothes, a thick layer of dark beard covering his face, scrappy hair and an attitude towards the world. But that ‘one’, the man that might look scary and distant to the eyes of all the others, will be brave enough and a night when he thinks that you’re sleeping, laying next to you, he’ll whisper: “I know you’re probably not listening to me and that is why it is so much easier for me now to tell you all these things.

Truth is, I want to sleep next to you, every day, I want us to play hide and seek and make you eat cheap food for the first time and see you liking it, I want to give you cd’s that you have never listened to before, and give you books that you have never read before, and sit at the bar smoking till I see you with your bike, and pretend I don’t want you there with me but get crazy when you leave, and dance with you till I can’t feel my legs because I’m old, and be miserable when I know I’m wrong, and show you my worst side and see you accepting it and put up with it and even encourage it every now and then. I want to make love to you at four o’ clock in the morning, and before I leave for work in the evening, and in my own way, I want to express my endless love for you. That ‘one’ will make you prefer killing yourself than letting him know that he came uninvited to your life to open your eyes and not your legs, for a change.

Treat your body and soul just like every time you make love is the first. It needs to be with someone ‘special’ as everyone calls it, someone that would be so special without even knowing it, someone who is special enough to share it with you and make you find the ‘special’ in you and not trying to find it from bars to bars.Or you can simply have in mind that the biggest love affairs never wake up at the same bed, at least…not a double one.

Tatiana “Tanya” Makrinova, 20 She’s from Russia, she’s a student and a model and she could wear Alexander Wang and Rick Owens for ever. She had her first kiss when she was 14 , she has a red brick wall in her room and she really likes rooftops.

I happened to have sex with virgin girls many times. It’s not that I have a thing with it, it just happened. It was awkward and weird and stressful but it was nice. There is this purity of the inexperience, a magical silence in the atmosphere.Not an awkward silence, a really innocent silence. It is a violent introduction into rawness and romanticism in the same time.

Seda is wearing white shirt by topshop, denim skirt by American Apparel

I LOST MY VIRGINITY AT 15, JUST LIKE KATE MOSS

By C

Romeo & Julliet ballet is on Sky Arts. Yea I think this time in my day, just after eating 2 bowls of cereals staring at my TV screen on a Friday night, is appropriate for reviving my deflowerement (is this even a word?). So. For you to have an idea I’m 22, I had sex for the first time when I was 15 just like Kate Moss, and (don’t be surprised) I’m a fashion student in London, with a much higher rent than the one I can afford, but hey, a girl can dream of having wooden floors. As an offspring of divorced parents, with a big number of short-lived relationships now sheltered under my belt, I have my virginity story to share, even if I always find more interesting the girls with no particular stories around this topic. As a teen I was quite quiet; Awkwardly tall and skinny, with big ears, in a group of girls that were always sitting together, dressed in insignificant pale coloured shirts (not the good pale; the “its my older sister’s shirt” pale). I felt like everybody were ignoring me back then- especially boys. Boys were ignoring me big time. But then, one night somewhere between singing “Complicated” and trying to convince my dad to pretend he’s not with me at an Avril Lavigne concert, I got scouted by a really kind woman, ex-model, owning a dreamy loft in Marais, a really oily skin type and the best teeth I have ever seen in my life. She got me black hair clips and booked me some good modeling jobs; I did editorials for big magazines and went to some castings for runway stuff and got two in Paris Fashion Week; I wasn’t everywhere on tumblr (tumblr didn’t even exist back then) but I do have some cool backstage photos in my possession. Anyways, after living a summer as a model I had to go back to school; when I went back everything was changed. The hot girls started talking to me, and I suddenly noticed that boys where saying hi, which I guess it was a big thing for me back then. The fact that I wasn’t talking too much was suddenly looking cool and mysterious for some reason and I started liking the whole thing, I even started dressing differently; I was dressing in what my roommate would say “so American Apparel”, and I did it on purpose, just to promote the model reputation I had established. I got invited to the cool parties and was dancing awkwardly to really bad music wearing skinny jeans, tank tops, high Chuck Taylors and loads of black rubber bracelets. One night one of the hot girls, came up to me to tell me that lets call him F. (using initials in such stories must be a must), the guy I liked, was into me. I remember I felt dizzy, I don’t know if this was because of the smoke or the shock. So me and F. started talking at this party, we started kissing as well. I can’t even remember how we ended up kissing, but I know I didn’t really like it and I couldn’t stop thinking “wow is this it? I really don’t like that, I must be doing something wrong”. He was keep whispering stuff that I was supposed to find nice but I couldn’t avoid thinking they sounded stupid. He was keep telling me that he finds me beautiful and sexy but the word sexy was making me feel awkward. He asked me if I wanted to take a walk with him I said yes, we had a walk and we went to his friends’ car, to make out. He was my first kiss and he was going to be my first make out. My heart was going crazy and I was trying to think really quickly of what was going to happen so I could prepare myself. I knew he was going to see my underwear; I was wearing ugly underwear, white and old. I felt so nauseous about my underwear. We were in the car, it smelled bad and it looked dirty. After 3 minutes of silence and a bit of awkward laughing, we started making out and he put his hand in my jeans. I was feeling so bad, I really didn’t want him to do that and I was keep thinking of my bed. I don’t know why, but I was keep thinking of me in my bed alone. I couldn’t stop him, I didn’t know what to say, how to stop him and not sound bad. He asked me if I had sex before and I said yes. I don’t know why the fuck I said yes. I guess I was really into this idea of being that girl that doesn’t talk too much but has loads of experiences. I started getting stressed, cause I wasn’t that girl. Were we going to have sex? In a car? While radio adverts were on? He took my shirt off, and I was keep thinking that I must look ugly because of the bad lighting, my small boobs and my granny underwear. But he was so into that, that I felt flattered thinking that I turn him on. He took my jeans off, he started getting undressed as well. Was I going to have sex?

Next to a pair of trainers and Mc Donald’s packages in a car? I haven’t done it before. Would he find out that I was a virgin?

Why did I lie? I really liked him and he must been liking me back. He moved my knickers and he tried to put it in. My heart was beating in such a weird way that I was thinking that if I was older I would die. Thinking of death while you are about to have sex is not great is it? He couldn’t put it in, he tried harder, my eyes were closed tightly. I don’t know if it was pain or if I was too annoyed or too awkward. He put it half way in and I felt something like a click and I was in real pain so I moved away from him quickly. He was like “what happened?” I started getting dressed, saying numerous times how sorry I was, and left while he was keep saying “what the fuck girl? Are you a virgin?” I was keep asking sorry. When I went back home I started bleeding. I couldn’t process anything that had happened; I only cared about me getting really embarrassed. I had no real reactions until the moment I realized I had lost my black hair clip in the car and I started crying hysterically thinking specifically about my hair clip. I was practically mourning my hair clip. He told everyone, it was a really bad time for me; to be honest it changed me a lot, I still haven’t had a normal relationship after that, and the first time I have sex with someone, I look at it as something like a chore; something that needs to be done. After that it’s ok I feel fine. I wouldn’t take it back though; I am ashamed for myself for not having an opinion, for being so blank. I’ve never done anything that I didn’t really want to ever again, that’s what I have left from losing my virginity. That, and a weird emotional bond with black hair clips.

Kheira is wearing a vintage grey t-shirt, vintage gery jumper, Grey skirt by Monki

A LIGHTER,VIRGIN MARY & THE LOSS OF MY VIRGINITY

By O I don’t know if you are familiar with the concept of the ‘lighter game’, but it goes something like this: a group of people sits together one of them holding a lighter in their hands. Another person whispers a question in the lighter holder’s ear, regarding the members of the group, for example “Who do you think has the nicest hair in here?” The lighter holder then passes it to the member of the group that they think applies to the question, in this case who has the nicest hair. When I was fourteen (no, do not expect to read that I lost my virginity at fourteen) I was given the lighter during the question “who do you think will remain a virgin until they’re 20?”My fourteen-year old self giggled in awkwardness and never put much thought to that incident again. However, this prediction turned out to be surprisingly accurate.

I was never one of those people that believed your first time is supposed to be special, with rose-layered mattresses and candles, not even that your first one is supposed to be the one you’re in love with blah blah blah.

My high school self was portrayed as a shy and introverted teenager, thus my adventures with boys were limited to random make out sessions outside clubs and parties. I was pretty sure that my first time, when and if it ever occurred, would not enjoy the comfort and familiarity of a relationship. But I was ok with that, because in my twisted (or not so twisted) mind I just wanted to get it over with so I could reach to the good part. Physical attraction was vital, though. The fact that I didn’t care about a relationship didn’t mean I would have sex with the first random guy that showed interest in me. I was, though, very curious to see whom that ‘first’ would be.

During my university years, as expected, I started fooling around more, indulging with enthusiasm into binge drinking and making out with strangers. Little did I know that one of them was destined to deflower me in a sloppy, but otherwise fun one-night stand, one year later after our first meeting.

I met Tom (for the needs of this narration let’s call my deflowerer ‘Tom’), during an almost completely blacked out drunken party, were we engaged in the passionate haze of what would probably lead to sexual intercourse, if my terrified friends hadn’t dragged me out on time. Apparently, Tom was not the best of guys, and as I figured out later, a druggie. That was not a surprise though, since it was not the first time that my taste in men had subconsciously led me to partly surreal interactions with substance abusers. He looked like the kind of guy that would eventually indicate some kind of mental illness, unless he had done so already.

After our initial meeting, we bumped into each other a few times, during which he never hid his eagerness to take me back to his place. One day, after bumping into him again and a brief chase around the bar we spent our night out at. I told myself ‘why not?’ and accepted his proposal, leaving my two girlfriends in surprise and concern that ‘I left with the insane creepy guy’. I could not imagine the Odyssey that would follow in order to get back to his. We firstly took the night bus to make a pit stop to a friend’s house for some weed.

I started getting nervous. Since I knew we were going to have sex I just wanted to get straight to it. After slipping an MDMA bomb into my palm, Tom grabbed my hand and we left. The rest of the journey included a tram, a walking distance, a loss of keys (that brought us to the awkward position of having him mom open the door) and the consumption of a satisfying amount of Greek souvlaki with onion and tzatziki (you know that sauce that smells awful but tastes awesome). The first thing I noticed in his room was a picture of the Virgin Mary hanging above his bed. Kinda creepy. And ironic, given my situation. I wondered what was I doing there, and started laughing with myself.It must have been around ten in the morning when we finally jumped onto the bed. And it happened. And it was fine. To the point that I might say it was good.

Tom certainly knew what his was doing. I had the worst sleep ever afterwards, sleeping with pretty much a stranger in his single bed. The next day, I woke up, got dressed and left. Haven’t seen him since then.

Looking back to this, I have just kept it as a good story to tell. I did not regret anything, and I think the lack of emotional attachment somehow relieved me from my insecurities. Maybe this type of experience is not for everyone, but I was glad that the ‘lighter game’ prediction came out true: I was 20 years old, I was chilled and I just enjoyed it.

I’ve told her. If you feel lonely you can play with anyone.

What matters is how long you stay. That’s all. No, that’s not true. Or maybe it is. I am tired. Anyway, winter is coming.

In

love, there is an almost metaphysical correlation between a girl’s

self-exposure

and

her

desire

to

claim.

To claim whatever makes her feel the best, whatever irritates her the most.

Being the only male voice in this publication

I am witnessing an inconceivably crude female revolution in terms of sexual balance. This equilibrium that entails a male’s endeavour to ‘get the ’, by any means, does not find resonance in our contemporary post-modern society. The romantic cliché image of a girl under siege has already submitted itself to the popular movement of sexual redefinition.

girl

Without any insincere attempt to throw a number of apparently academic examples on this paper, I will refer to Zola’s Nana. Although, she couldn’t even act or sing properly she would attract large audiences in the theater because of her unique charm. If any of the fascinated, by her performance, gentlemen would like to spend a night with the 15-year-old Nana, they had to pay an amount of money. Each of them provided her with wealth, fame, with fashion and authority: concepts that until now Nana’s performance remains an indicative example of the contemporary phenomenon that calls girls with the most experience and a pretty face in top of the popularity chart, making me wonder

get a girl on her knees.

if they have ever been

virgins in the first place.

The vigor of a virgin female body has always been of major centrality in men’s fantasies.

There is not such thing as biological virginity.

I cannot believe that all of the yearning is confined in the width of a hymen.

Virginity is a concept that relates to innocence and submission.

There is nothing sexier than the image of silly girls, of innocent girls that illustrate the experience of ‘the first time’.

You can only leave this girl because you found another girl that is better in sex but then, the revelation comes: ‘you weren’t that good…’

After that came the tears, the suffering and pain…

She wept like a child, she crawled on the floor like a beast and she was ready to love again.

That’s love all about. It was a small death. A small rejuvenation.

She was ready to love for the first time again.Without any sadistic mood, lips soaked in tears are the sweetest. This salty feel of pain; is like blessing them.

And suddenly, her absence governs me even more. where sex is not about the secrets, where people practice it as a means of occupation, In this mechanistic era,

any hidden desire has been ‘legalised’.

“Don’t answer the phone, make him worry” they said…

Apparently love has become a game of strategy. Who is going to win? Who is going to make you scream the most?

Love has become too small for those who cannot love enough.

At the end, only sizes matter in love.

She

knew

that

and

she

wanted

more

and

more.

A l w a y s h u n g r y .

A second-class world awaited me, for the first time.

Zal

www.girlisagun.com