The Virginity Project

Going for the summit...

Your stories

‘Hippie commune’, ‘Muslim’ and ‘virginity loss’. Five words I didn’t expect to hear in one sentence. This is an interesting little story. I like the picture that Amira paints. It’s almost akin to an Everest expedition. The protagonist and her lover picking their way through the snow clad forest, everything they need for their adventure packed up on their backs. ‘Pyjama’s, (heaven forbid you forget the pyjama’s), condoms, spermicide and lubricant’. Whoever said that today’s teens were irresponsible?

Amira*. Born in 1990. Lost virginity aged 17.

‘The community wasn't exactly where I grew up, but within the past several years, I have spent a lot of time there and adopted a lot of their values. They have always treated me like family, like my opinion matters, something I never really received at home.

Home was a different story, but strangely enough, the decision to have sex wasn't very difficult for me, despite the Muslim values of chastity being forced upon me since I was young. In Islam, you are forbidden even to kiss before marriage, which implies the primitive practice of arranged marriage. I am very opposed to arranged marriage. One time when I was young, my father even told me that when I was older, they would place an ‘ad’ in a Muslim magazine to find me a husband. But despite my father being a strict Muslim, when I was fourteen, I finally moved away from those beliefs and found the courage to tell him. He doesn't like it, but I think he accepts it for now, hoping that I will go back.

Of course my story isn't at all perfect, as most first times rarely are, but even if the event itself wasn't, the partner couldn't have been more perfect.

We had been trying to plan a time for us to have sex and because we had never done it, we didn't know how easy it would be to find a spot. My boyfriend was from Germany and he was staying for a year with the community. He had a room in the ‘Main house’, which is where everyone eats their meals and hangs out. Finally, one of the people who lives there went out of town and said that we could stay at his house. The family's houses are spread out all over the property. Coincidentally, this man was also our teacher at the alternative school which was also on the farm's property.

The day came and we ate dinner with the community and waited for them to leave so that we could head up to the house unseen. We packed all the items we would need: pyjamas, toothbrushes, condoms, spermicide and lubricant. As we left to go out into the February weather, we were hit by a cold gust of wind. It was freezing. Enough to have the same effect as sandpaper on our cheeks. We walked against the wind, step after step and it got deeper and deeper as we made our way into the fields. It was so dark that we occasionally went off the path into a knee deep, if not deeper, patch of snow.

We made it to the house unscathed, except for runny noses and pink cheeks. The house which is always heated by a wood stove, was just about as freezing as outside, minus the wind. So he started a fire as I am completely inept at such practical things. We cuddled a bit on the couch, both nervous as the fire began heating the house. Finally we decided we were ready and we brushed our teeth together before heading upstairs.

How odd that our first time was in our teacher's bed. We got out our condoms, spermicide, and lubricant and left them to the side. We both undressed, ready to get into bed together. I remember we both left on our thick wool socks because it was still relatively cold. I put in spermicide to begin with because at that time I wasn't on birth control.

We kissed, licked, sucked, and did many things that we had already done before. He was erect, but I still remained tight; I wasn't loose or lubricated yet. We decided to try the lubricant and that helped as he applied it. We had another minor issue with the condoms which wouldn't fit very well; they were Trojans. He said that they didn't have this kind in Germany. It also led to a running joke about how American condoms are too small for the ‘grande’ German. We managed to fit one out the best we could and we figured it would be alright since we had two contraceptives. We tried missionary, but it didn't seem very effective. Every time he would start to come in, it was almost as if he would just be thrown out, not to mention it was also quite painful. He suggested that I go on top and I did. But the pain was just as immense. Eventually he was in me, but both of us were cringing in pain; me from being stretched, him from because constricted.

We decided to give up for the night. Maybe too soon, but it felt like we had been trying a while and a wave of sleepiness hit us. We cuddled awhile longer, said ‘I love you’ some more, and fell asleep spooning. Of course, we ended up trying and trying again on later occasions until we got it right, and it led to some satisfying sex, both emotionally and physically.

In my opinion, I don't think you have to wait for marriage. Of course some people want to, some people choose to do so for religious reasons and that is perfectly respectable, but I don't think you have to. We didn't know how long we would be together because he had to return to Germany, and he left just about a month ago. If you have someone you really love, who adores you as much as you do them, and you feel ready, I would say go for it. I did. My point is that you never know when is the next time you are going to be in love. Perhaps it will come easily, perhaps it will take awhile, but you never know. I loved him, I still love him, and more than anything, I am happy that it was him I chose to give it to and the fact that he chose me as well.

I think it's an important decision, but to me, the importance is not marriage, it is love’.

*All names changed to protect identity.

About a boy...

‘I’ve found an interviewee for you’, said Paul, old friend and Brighton resident. As a result, this weekend sees me get back, Dukes of Hazard-style, through the open window of my red Renault 5, and onto the trail of a hot story. I’ve been on the hunt for this one for a while. An older man. Eighty-four years old to be exact. I’ve had a few stabs at this story but none have quite hit the mark. I have hit the giddy age related heights of ninety and one-hundred-and-one when it comes to women but men of this generation are a different breed. It is a rare man indeed who is prepared to sit and tell a young(er) woman, the intimate details of his sex life.

‘Don’t worry about Tony’, said Paul last week, ‘he’ll tell you anything. He loves talking about sex. He swears like a trooper as well’. Maybe he does to you, but he was the model of perfect gentlemanly manners when I called to make my arrangements. He was right about the talking though. I had to stop him from telling me the best bits on the phone. ‘Bring your pad and pencil love, and I’ll see you on Sunday’.

Later I phoned Paul to let him know what time I'll get to Brighton. ‘I don’t want to worry you’, he said, ‘but I spoke to Tony the other day and he is bit worried.’ ‘Worried about what’, I asked, guessing as much. ‘Well, he’s worried that he’ll be too truthful. He’s worried about exposing himself.' Women, as we know, are adept at speaking an emotional language. We are encouraged to express a multitude of emotions from an early age. But boys, like the Cure song said, don’t cry.

I looked after my best friend’s little boy the other day. At seven o’clock in the morning, I sat bolt upright to the sound of sobbing. In three seconds flat, I was out of my bed and standing in the doorway of his room. An empty bed. I listened again and heard the sound coming from downstairs. Two months shy of his third birthday, he stood at the bottom of the staircase, his tiny face shuddering to the sound of his own tears. Ever felt like your heart was going to crack in two? ‘I want my mummy’, he cried, as I took him back upstairs and popped him under my still warm covers. I crawled in besides this miniature bundle of arms and legs. He fixed me with a Paddington bear stare and curled his arms around my neck. ‘I am safe in you’, he said.

Later, composure regained, we fixed together some wooden train track and I asked him if he had a nice time. ‘Yes’, he whispered. ‘But I cried, didn’t I’. The second stage of heartbreak was complete. What part of this inchoate little being was already concerned with keeping face, with holding onto himself, with not expressing what he really feels? ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘We all feel like crying sometimes’.

This is where it begins. Two-and-three-quarters or eighty-four, it makes no odds. This is the male blueprint. Younger generations have made alterations. They have had to. Women no longer need to marry. We can control our fertility. We can storm the boardroom. In many ways, we have moved further towards each other’s sensibilities. But some things remain encased within our dna. Sam is embarrassed that he cried and Tony is worried he might express too much.

And me? I am hoping that Tony doesn’t cry. But even if he does, my story- seeking antenna will never switch off. This woman is stepping onto unchartered territory. I am going boldly where no woman has gone before, so that you don’t have to. Wish me luck.

The fat of the land...

Your stories

Anyone who has ever worked with me, or perhaps even just passed me on the street, will know that there’s a fat person in me just waiting to get out. I like to eat. To this end, work life is proving rewarding on so many levels. People book meetings and they book catering. Do they eat it? No they don’t. Fear not, the fox is here. My new life is an endless round of sandwiches, cakes, sushi and pleasingly crunchy Japanese rice crackers. Lucky for me, I have the metabolism of a whippet with which to take this extra ballast on board.

Of course, this is nothing to do with anything in particular, it is merely the gentle runway into a post about something that people frequently relate to food - sex. Earlier in the week, we heard from Sally, a Roman Catholic from New England who was lamenting the loss of her ‘connection to Christ’. Despite being uplifted at the loss of her virginity and the subsequent beginning of her sex life, she had felt unable to return to church since the deed had been done. Needless to say, Sally is not married.

In reply, I am posting an email sent to me recently from a lady in Australia. This is not a direct response to Sally’s plight, but she makes some salient points about the issues with which Sally is wrestling. To my mind, she delivers her sharpest punch with this line. Sexuality begins long before intercourse.

Toni. Born 1988. Not yet lost virginity.

I have problems with the focus on virginity in discourse about sexuality, particularly in religious discourse. How is it more holy to be at any stage of sexual intimacy? Where do you draw the line? What is a ‘sexual relationship’ anyway? I'm coming to the conclusion that any romantic relationship between adults, and most between adolescents, will be a sexual relationship. It doesn't have to be an intimate one.

I was at a conference last weekend where we had several really good and practical conversations about premarital sex and sex in general. It was all unplanned - the conference was a ‘radical discipleship’ conference. We talked about social justice, faith communities and political activism, but at the end of the weekend, we were also very concerned about sex.

I don't think it's something we talk about enough in the church. So I'm going to do my bit for open conversation, and write something for The Virginity Project.

To begin with, me. I'm nineteen, I live in Australia and I'm a Christian. I went to a small community Christian school where the dominant Christian culture is politically and socially conservative. I consider myself a virgin, although I'm growing increasingly uncomfortable with the term. I have chosen in my relationships not to have sexual intercourse, and also not to engage in some of the more intimate forms of, ‘outer course’, (what a great word!). I intend to continue in, ‘abstinence’, (also a problem word for me), perhaps until marriage and certainly not until I find myself in a committed adult relationship with a long-term future.

My choices about sex are religious choices. However, it's important to understand that I don't make a distinction between ‘secular’ and ‘religious’ choices. To live as a person of faith requires that you live your whole life as a religious choice. My choices about sex are also personal, emotional and practical. They aren't made simply because "the bible tells me so". And they aren't made because my school showed a video of an American prancing around and screaming about teenage pregnancy and sticky-tape .

I handed my virginity pledge in blank, because I object to that sort of manipulation and I didn't feel like I was in any position to make that decision as a never-been-kissed-before, fourteen year old. Most importantly, they're not choices made by my Religious Brain repressing other parts of me.

I don't remember reading much about sex which can be attributed to Jesus himself. He told an adulterous woman not to sin again, but it's worth noting that on that occasion, he was the dangerous liberal, preventing the ‘religious right’ of the day from stoning her. I don't think we can know Jesus' mind on sex quite as easily as some people say we can. The greatest commandment, he said, is to ‘love one another as I have loved you.’ It's a useful line. The Christian life must be loving. To me, that means more than just being in love with your partner. It means engaging in sexual relationships which enrich you as individuals and your relationship. It means not knowingly engaging in sexual activities which will cause harm, (emotional, spiritual, physical), to yourself or your partner. It also means not harming third parties, which is a complicated area - if my fellow Christians were distressed by my sexual life, does that mean I shouldn't have one? I'm not sure, and I don't think laying down a hard and fast rule will help anyone in deciding that.

My decision is personal. It's one based on my relationships and the development of my sexuality so far. I want time to explore that, without rushing madly to ‘fourth base’. What an awful way to think about sex- it's not a list of objectives, it's about intimacy. I'm still changing at a rate of knots, I don't feel I can talk with any certainty about who I will be and who I will love in the future.

Abstinence education tells you that the primary focus is on not having sexual intercourse, and on overriding the physical desire to do so. It teaches you that there is a division between body and mind, and that you need to call the latter in against the former. It doesn't prepare you - or at least, it never prepared me - for that confusing state of being, when your body and mind both want someone desperately, and yet both are overloaded with new sensations and desperately want out.

We desire our partners, and it seems daft to me to pretend we can cut that off and then magically call it into being on the honeymoon. There are conservative Christians who will tell you that you shouldn't do anything which will start to turn you on. I think that's a little on the pointless side. They are right when they say that sexuality starts long before intercourse.

Having never received secular sex education, I don't know how they deal with it, but we in the church certainly need to do better by our fellows, in open conversation about sex and how we deal with sexuality.

The other side of the coin…

Your stories

This is what I mean when I talk about hormones…you can’t get away from ‘em. It doesn’t matter how many abstinence programmes you teach or cheap bits of jewellery you flog. People want to have sex. It’s primal instinct.

‘He who does not does better’. So wrote Paul, colleague of Christ and author of I Corinthians. People have been worrying about ‘primal instinct’ since the beginning of time. Marriage was the compromise. Quite apart from anything else, a family’s fortune could rest or fall on the safe keeping of a daughter’s virginity, so everybody was happy. To a degree. I don’t imagine that being female and biblical was a picnic in the park. I digress; my point is that we don’t live in biblical times. We don’t even live in Victorian times. For better or worse, sex has become a leisure pursuit, something we can do for no other reason than to please ourselves. How wonderful! The pay-off? STDS, the risk of unwanted pregnancy and a big old journey as most of us go off on the hunt for ‘the one’.

I flagged up my thoughts on this last week and I’m sticking to them. Life is not perfect. Loving the wrong people, making mistakes and moving on are all part of life’s rich pattern. As Sally has found, applying hard and fast rules to the maelstrom that is your teenage years does not work. We grow, we change. That’s life.

When do I think a woman should lose her virginity? A masseur at the Chinese Clinic on Camden high street asked me this question not forty minutes ago. I had just had one of those ten minute massages that makes you wish you possessed the power to make time stand still. I didn’t miss a beat. ‘When she meets the right person’. It really is that simple.

Sally. Age 22. Lost virginity aged 22.

‘I would like all of this to be confidential.... but I would like to tell you my story because, first of all, I would like readers to read it, and secondly, because writing this will probably be therapeutic for me....

I lost my virginity two weeks ago with my boyfriend who I have been with for a little over a year. I must first tell you that I am Catholic and have always firmly believed in waiting until I was married to have sex. My boyfriend and I actually both believed this, until recently, our love for one another has just come to the point that we wanted to show each other that love in the ultimate and most beautiful way.

My belief in chastity came along when I voluntarily became involved in my church's youth group at age 16. The whole concept really appealed to me, because I felt I was worth waiting for, especially for that special someone! The whole idea of chastity is to remain completely chaste. Unfortunately, though, we all fall into sin, and yes, I did do 'everything but.' There would be times in my teenage years when I didn't have a boyfriend and I was completely chaste, and that felt great. But, there were also other times when I had a boyfriend and we did things, and that felt great too! So, I didn't really know where I stood six months ago when I was ready to lose my virginity with my boyfriend. He was also a virgin too, I don't remember if I told you that, but, that made it even more special.

The first time we had sex it hurt me really bad, and it was a little awkward, so we pretty much got our hopes up about our "first sexual experience." We don't regret it, but I have felt a little empty because since we have been having sex for a few weeks, we haven't been to church and I feel like I am going against all I ever stood for. It may sound strange, but I don't regret the sex, in fact, I want to keep having sex with my boyfriend, but I also want to go back to church and return to my faithful lifestyle....

I am feeling so confused because I am extremely satisfied and overjoyed from having sex with my boyfriend, yet so sad and empty because I haven't been to church and have lost the connection and relationship I once had with Christ.

I want other young Christian women to know that even if they have lost their virginity before they were married, that there is hope to re-connect with their faith again and that it is completely normal to have these mixed up feelings of satisfaction and regret combined.

I feel as though, if you have been with someone for a long enough time and you know that you will spend the rest of your life with them and you are having sex, you aren't doing anything really wrong. I still don't know if I necessarily believe in pre marital sex, but our circumstance has made me feel a little differently about individual "first sexual experience."

I am American, as you guessed, and I am from New England.

In Christ,
Sally'

Skiing off piste

My mind, thankfully, is not always thinking about virginity and its loss. Frequently my mind is full of other stuff. Today I have thought about sex, chocolate, shoes, what I am going to wear this winter (yes!!), when channel 4 are going to show more episodes of ‘Six Feet Under’, is the cat is going through a bad patch because I’m not at home so much, will I always live in England or up-sticks to another country, can I blog from there, where does the wet patch in my car come from (do you know?), have I forgotten a nephews birthday? (yes, yesterday), will I ever get to interview a man who lost his virginity to a prostitute and has George Bush produced more terrorists than prevented, (a resounding, yes sir!).

Sometimes I get the urge to write about the minutiae, the seemingly inconsequential details of life. That I slept in till nine this morning, (I am always awake by seven), that I drank tea and watched two episodes of Hart to Hart. I then went to the farmers market and bought extortionately priced bread, which I spent the rest of the day eating as opposed to doing what I was meant to be doing, which is writing. That I lay in the buff out back between showers, loving the feeling of hot stone on my skin. That I am house sitting in Twickenham and I just watched ‘The Secret’, lent to me by Barry*, one of my interviewees, a married man who, for one reason and another, has never had penetrative sex. That despite the fact it’s hard to see past the marketing phenomena that is ‘The Secret’, that there’s some challenging stuff in this film. I wondered how people might react if they showed it in prisons and if it would inspire people to change their lives?

Now I am considering a bath, ‘Dodgeball’ at 9pm or a post about nothing in particular. The post won out. As the old saying goes, there’s a first time for everything.

*All names changed to protect identity

One day my prince will come...

On first appearances, it might look like I am adding fuel to the fire of those who believe we should be encouraging teenage ‘abstinence’. When Siphesihle* first had sex with a man that she loved, she ‘wished that she had never violated her body before’. This story is powerful confirmation of the fact that first love can be an experience worth waiting for.

I stand firm, however. We don’t live in happy land and this is the real world. Would that first heady cocktail of love shaken with sex have packed quite the same punch had she not kissed a few frogs along the way? It’s all part of the process. I don’t wish to minimize Siphesihle’s experience. On the contrary, her words have left a powerful imprint. I simply think that as human beings, we must embrace every experience that life throws our way. One way or another, learning what we don’t like will only serve to teach us what we do.

Siphesihle echoes the sentiments of Jim Mason*, a young man I interviewed last year: ‘The sex that I have with my girlfriend is totally different to the first time. For a start, I’m much better at it, but it’s more emotional as well. I would have liked to have given my virginity to my girlfriend, but the way I see it, it is my girlfriend that I actually lost it to. I think you can make it up, just be blind to it and let yourself think whatever you like.’

The first occurrence of penetrative sex is frequently the experience we refer to when we talk about ‘losing our virginity’. But it’s a formality in comparison to the experience that these young people speak of. Technical virginity loss is the practise run, a hurdle leapt in order to get to the good stuff. First love, combined with sex, is something precious.

Your stories

Siphesihle*. Aged 21. Lost virginity aged 18.

'I occasionally have a peek at your website and today I decided to write. Virginity is sacred in Zulu culture and they still practise virginity testing, where a large group of girls will go through a special ceremony and be tested by your elders. They basically check whether your hymen is still intact. If not, they will shame you in front of your village. I, however, grew up in the city and was not exposed to these practises, but virginity was still a big thing. Home life was very religious and my dad practised a lot of Zulu traditions. Friends of family even promised their daughters cars and the like if they kept their virginity till marriage. My father was like that.

My mother was different. She worked as a counsellor for young people. This meant that she was more aware than most parents are about what really goes on in our society. Sex was something easily spoken about in our house and because of that, I was never really interested in it. I saw it as something I'd do once I was old enough to deal with its consequences. But like every teenager, I experimented with alternatives like oral sex and dry humping and that was enough for me. I held out till I was eighteen years old.

I was the odd one out because all my close friends had lost theirs. I was proud, but it wasn't a big deal because no one in my group really respected me for it. They just called me a cock blocker. It's not that I didn't like guys, in fact I loved them. It's just that I knew I wasn't ready. I think a large part of me keeping my virginity till I did, was for my mom. I didn't want to put her through what some of my friends had put their parents through. My mom encouraged me to keep my virginity but she didn't force that on me.

I eventually lost my virginity after high school, to no one extremely special, although at that time, I thought he was. No regrets though. After that, I became just like my friends, sleeping around and laughing at ‘frigid’ people. Sex became a way for me to be noticed and it was fun to be seen as this promiscuous, sexy, party girl. And then I met David.

When we first had sex, there was a rawness about the act. As if we were both doing it for the first time. The right time. He stroked me, kissed me all over and looked into my eyes. It had never been like that before. I had never had someone to protect me and look after me. Someone that cared about me and not just what was in between my legs.

See, I'd never really enjoyed sex. A lot of guys think I'm sexy, so I used to do it just for the hell of it. But after that rainy Monday in November, I vowed never to sell myself again. It was so pure, that I wish I'd never violated my body before. I wanted him to have all of me. I've actually forgotten my past experiences. My body knows no other touch except his and he feels the same. A year and a half later, he still makes my clit tick at the mere thought of him. He's caring, loving and protects me.

Have you ever watched a really old couple in their seventies? They probably don't have sex as much as they used to but you can still see the love in their eyes. The way he opens the door for her. The smile on her face when she serves him tea. Their love is at its most pure state. I want to grow old with David. I want to lose my virginity to him over and over again.'

*All names changed to protect identity.

Stuff on my blog

People put stuff on cats. People put stuff on blogs. I was visiting DJ Kirkby today when I got sidetracked by this:

You Are a Seeker Soul

You are on a quest for knowledge and life challenges. You love to be curious and ask a ton of questions. Since you know so much, you make for an interesting conversationalist. Mentally alert, you can outwit almost anyone (and have fun doing it!). Very introspective, you can be silently critical of others. And your quiet nature makes it difficult for people to get to know you. You see yourself as a philosopher, and you take everything philosophically. Your main talent is expressing and communicating ideas. Souls you are most compatible with: Hunter Soul and Visionary Soul

What Kind of Soul Are You?

All I can say is, considering the amount of people I have interviewed over the last year, its a bloody good thing!

Conversations with my mechanic...

If you tread an unusual path in life, you will likely encounter unusual scenarios along the way. And so it was, that I found myself yesterday, perched atop an ancient office chair underneath the arches at Latimer road, breaking the bread with a bunch of relative strangers about sex, love and virginity. It’s a funny old life, I thought as I crouched amongst the grease, tools, tyres and labours of vintage automotive love that Tony likes to tinker with so much.

Tony is my car mechanic. He is a man who likes to know what makes people, as well as cars, tick. He also loves this project, so whenever I see him, he is always armed with a large bunch of questions about my latest discoveries. ‘What percentage of your interviewees say this?’ he wants to know, and, ‘what percentage say that? How many said they were scared? Which ones have the best stories and always, ‘but how does a man know when he has lost his virginity?’ Good question Tony, but not one that I intend to answer right now.

He often talks about his own experiences, growing up in Rhodesia, sibling of many and son of a Catholic mother. ‘Don’t bring shame upon the family’, our mother always used to say. We never spoke about sex, oh no’, he says. ‘I was always getting in trouble for asking where I came from’. ‘From a stork’, said my sister. ‘From a seed,’ my father told me. I got two cuts of the whip for my insolence when I asked the nuns at school. Oh, no, sex was a dirty, bad thing unless you were married, where I grew up.’

Tony often likes to involve other people in these conversations as well. Which is funny because there is always a wide selection of characters hanging around willing to listen. Sometimes it’s hard to work out who’s there to actually get something done and who just popped along for the ride. On several occasions, an old boy has wondered in. Chequered old-man hat and green Barbour jacket, he moves slowly into this spot-lit subterranea and silently takes a pew in the corner, angling, not just his head but his entire body, as if nursing a cricked neck, toward the sound of the words being spoken around him.

Lord knows what he made of Roger, an immense Jamaican man whose entire body rocked with mirth, slowly backwards and forwards as he sat yesterday and recounted the story of his lost virginity, way back when in the motherland. I love the Jamaican accent but I can’t always understand it so I can only tell you that his story involved a few false starts, followed by a large older lady and a lift in a car. This progressed to a field with cows in and an overgrowth of Akee bushes, (please check the link, rarely have I seen more sexual a plant!), in which the lady in question had built a ‘nest’. This was to be where our protagonist parted ways with his virginity. Or as he put it, ‘she crucified me’. I took this to be a good thing and certainly from the giddy look on my storytellers face, the memory induced a rather pleasurable response.

He went on tell us about his grandmother, a woman who ‘taught me everything I know’. ‘Never be jealous of a woman’, Roger’s grandmother told him. ‘What do mean?’ said young Roger. ‘Go and fetch your mother’s washbasin’. He did so. ‘Now fill the basin with water and fetch your mother’s machete’. Roger did as he was told. ‘Now’, she said, ‘stand in the basin and chop the water with the machete’. Roger did as he was ordered, chopping clumsily at the water and feeling, one would imagine, like a prime chump at the same time. ‘Look at the way that the water parts but just goes back’, she said. ‘It never leaves a mark. Just remember that a man leaves no marks on a woman’s fanny either so don’t ever be jealous of a woman’. I think we can tell who was wearing the trousers in Roger’s family.

I sped to my next Saturday morning engagement with Tony’s last words ringing in my ears. ‘Have you interviewed many Muslim girls?’ he asked. I keep telling him that I am interviewing men and women but he’s still struggling with the concept of male virginity loss. ‘No’, I said, ‘but I am trying’. ‘Oh, I’ve got lots of Muslim customers’, he said. ‘Lovely girls, all of them. I’ll ask them for you’.

Now that I would like to see. I might have to engage the Barbour-clad gentleman in conversation next time, just to see how that panned out for him.

Have your cake and eat it...

Ho hum. A slow afternoon in Ad-land reduced me to reading this weeks issue of Campaign. I am glad I did. 'The Gender Divide'. A cursory glance across the cover revealed this, a three page missive on advertising and gender politics that neatly ricochets us back to an interesting subject. On June the 30th, I responded to the cries of some of my virginal male correspondents. The general gripe was summed up by the following paragraph:

'This is the hard, indecipherable bit that even we women don't understand. Women can have sex upside down, standing on their heads whilst road-testing a rabbit and plotting their next career move...but we still want a man to be a man. How much of a man remains a mystery. Should you be macho, strong, confident and assured? Or a great cook, a good listener, a shoulder to cry on? Swing too far in one direction and we don't like you. Too full of yourself, so arrogant, get with the twenty first century Warren Beatty! Stray too close to the shores of metrosexuality and we'll have you down as 'the little brother I never had. AKA, the men we love to talk to but wouldn't deem worthy of a shag in a month of Sundays'.

That seemed to touch a nerve, alongside the realisation that this gender related dilemma is a universal theme. It ain't just the virgins that are confused. Perplexity blows through the corridors of politics; it is dissected by media think tanks. It is chewed up and spat out on in the form of advertising, and its coming to a television, radio or computer screen near you! Gender is a nebulous issue. Don't expect it to solidify anytime soon.

My regular religious correspondent drove the point home. "This paragraph applies to husbands, as well as young men trying to find a woman. As a real time computing software engineer with an MBA, I'm not being arrogant when I say I ought to be able to work things out, but I'm almost as confused as ever about the role of men. In some respects I'm more female than the four females in my family, less aggressive, more intuitive, more of a peace maker, lover of cooking good healthy food etc. Should I conform to male stereotypes, (probably not), or keep on discovering my female side?"

Politics provides the perfect mirror. Wending my way through Salon.com produced this little gem. Check out Barak Obama and Hilary Clinton, America's two leading choices for democratic presidency. Salon.com picks up the story as they go on the trail for votes.

'Obama warms up his audience with The Indigo Girls. They play "Hammer and a Nail," a 1990 declaration of female empowerment and emancipation. "You've got to tend the earth," the Girls sing, "if you want a rose." Then Obama comes out, looking lithe and dashing, with his 6-year-old daughter, Sasha, in his arms. The soundtrack starts to make sense. "I'm a sucker for girls," says the man who wants to be president. "There is nothing more difficult than me being on the phone hearing about their soccer game, hearing about what happened to them in school and knowing that I am not there in the evenings to share a lot of their life." He turns to his wife, Michelle, who is sitting nearby on a stool. "She is smarter," he says. "She is tougher."

In contrast, Hillary Clinton has run her campaign with all the muscular vision and authority of the macho candidates of yesteryear. On the stump, Clinton repeatedly tells people that they should let her take control of the country, eschewing Obama's more abstract calls for national soul-searching. "If you are ready for change, I am ready to lead," she says. "I want to be the president who sets goals again."

Obama is, 'the warm candidate, self-deprecating, soft, tender, sad eyes, great smile. Clinton is the 'male candidate - in your face, authoritative, know-it-all.'

Ironically, herein lays the rub for female voters.

"I am really impressed with his ability to articulate issues and just his sheer graciousness," says Julie Hansen, a local librarian who was waiting to meet the candidate. "He'll try to put people at ease. He has a grace. He has a warmth."

Nonetheless, she remains on the fence, torn between the two front-runners. She says she liked the mastery of issues and authority that Hillary Clinton has demonstrated in the debates. Plus there is the history-making potential. "She is a woman," Hansen adds. "And I want to support that."

In a few words, this Iowa voter had epitomized the struggle now playing out between the top two Democrats nationally. They are fighting for undecided female voters who are attracted by Obama's feminine appeal, but still drawn to the macho performance of the only woman to ever have a real shot at the Oval Office.'

Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.

Where to from here?

In my case, back to the latest issue of Campaign. Or Cam-PAIN, as we liked to call it at my last job. Times have changed and advertising has played a game of catch up. According to journalist Pippa Considine, 'the battle of the sexes is over. Men and women are more relaxed than ever about their gender identities and marketers aren't afraid to treat men like men and women like women'. Interesting. I'm not sure I agree with that, but one thing is clear. As men and women stake their claim over great swathes of new territory, the world of advertising is puffing hard to keep up.

Considine points out Lynx, who have 'reinvented the star of its ads to make him more of an accidental hero, chiming with the mood of indecision prevalent among men in the 21st century'. Roll over macho, welcome metrosexual. Nike grabs the baton with it's 'man boobs' ad, where a cynical male jogger is running to get rid of his flab. 'Its Dove for men, says Guy Murphy, JWT global planning director and a man who argues that men and women are increasingly interested in the characteristics of independence and integrity, which some advertisers are brave enough to reflect'. Again, with the Dove.

Considine shores up the economic incentive for advertisers to get with the programme. A report from The Economist earlier this year suggested that women in the west are responsible for almost 80 per cent of purchasing decisions. We're not just talking about washing machines and powder here. We are talking family cars. What was that crashing sound? Ah yes, the last bastion of male dominated decision making has just crashed and burned. Alongside, it would seem, its advertising.

Skoda are right on the money with a Fabia, and a fabulous, car/cake combination advertisement. You know the one. The nice men in white coats construct a life size motor out of icing, cake, Smarties and Golden syrup. Beautiful. I like cars and I like cake. So does my mum and my step dad. This truly is gender busting advertising for the twenty-first century. I've enjoyed my little afternoon rant, now, pass me a piece of sodding cake.

Tired but happy…

Or, part two, as we join our hero, fresh from the front line of virginity loss and a head void of worrisome mental images. I, for one, will never be able to look at a ketchup bottle in quite the same way again. As the countdown to a life changing moment began last week, we left Daniel* teetering on the edge of adult hood with some big questions. Will I hurt her? Will blood be involved? Will I even make it to the point where either of the above could be an issue? We were right there with you Daniel, every step of the way.

I think I sum up my feelings on this matter in my final comment at the bottom of this post. A lot of words have been written about the Internet over the years, particularly about the perils of pornography and the dangers to which we are potentially exposing our children. There is truth in all of them. But in this instance, a double-edged sword is a useful tool. The Internet undoubtedly has the ability to corrupt, but it also has the potential to educate. The Internet can be an invaluable source of information for people who are not able to have the conversations that a lot of us take for granted. Particularly for boys. I find it heartwarming that so many different people answered Daniel’s call for assistance. You don’t know each other, you likely won’t ever meet. But you care enough to bother throwing some useful advice in each other’s direction when it really counts. Collectively, you helped to make this a better experience for two complete strangers. That brings a warm glow to my heart.

The very excellent forum in question is called the TF Project and you can log in here.

Now, back to the action. We join Daniel, reflecting on the scene, as he takes stock of the last twenty-four hours of his life:

‘If I hadn't posed my question here, I'd likely not be thinking that a lot of people may say the first time is largely overrated, (I can totally understand this from a girl's point of view now), but when you’re feeling this good about yourself, you've got to be thinking they're dead wrong. It was brilliant. Not me, myself, but just the fact that I've finally gotten mine. Selfish that. I also had the best night's sleep that I've had in a long time last night.

All the advice, lists, tips and pointers that everyone contributed here to a question I couldn't have taken to anyone else, I'm completely appreciating, as I'd have likely ploughed into something I know relatively nothing about, and with way too high expectations. We talked a lot before hand, thanks to my collected knowledge. So again thanks for clearing things up and enlightening me on a pretty major step. Bear with me…..you don't need to read all this by any means….I just need to get it out somehow, without splagging about it in the locker room at soccer practice.

I’d been badly on edge since yesterday. As it has been advised, I had taken the matter to hand twice before meeting her that morning, until I was worrying that there'd be nothing left to perform on. Bonus….her parents were also away for the day, all day and far away, so we had time and less fears/terror of being walked in on. That in itself would be a one-way ticket back home for me. Still, the initial atmosphere was very awkward, almost like we just met.

When we eventually made the move to her room, it got a lot better. Again taking to mind and following the advice of taking time on foreplay. I just didn't want to be taking things a step faster than she was ready, or myself. I was getting pretty anxious on performance. I'm not up on the workings of the female anatomy southward so it was having her help me out in what she wanted. This was brilliant. Which led to stepping things up. I had to stave off a loss of major control to bring myself to a tolerable level just to get the frigging condom on. It was almost game over right there.

This part is daft. I wasn't sure of my aim. Like a dippit, I couldn't figure it out. It felt pretty amateurish on my part with a fair bit of fumbling about, so she took the initiative there. I was minding that I was going to be hurting her a lot and there was a moment when I lost any chance of starting. When she tensed up, I had to continue dead carefully. I felt badly and apologized between tentative shaky thrustings and asking if we should stop. Though at this point my body and mind seemed to have suffered a serious disconnection. In reality it was really hard to have to stop, but three times we regrouped and tried again. This part I'll skip over, you will be thankful for that. Because I thought impenetrable might come into the equation here…..until it did give way. I can't describe this part…. she was in a lot of pain, I tried and she wouldn’t let me stop, but I couldn't have put a stop on myself even it I'd tried. Absolutely no rhythm or pace could be reached. It felt really good for about ten seconds, which was actually a good thing for her and not so bad for myself. And there after….it was nothing like I'd ever experienced in all my right-handed ways.

But we did it!!%&$& !!

So..sorry if you're still reading this. I commend you for that. It’s off my chest now. I just want to see her again. I hope the next time her pleasure will be as good as mine. Nothing compares to it. I feel like I’m on a new level in life here. Now the mystery of it is over, I know it’s going to be an important part of my life for now. And I know it’s going to be taking us to more intimate and closer levels in our relationship.

Woohoo! A rite of passage well met! Can't seem to stop thanking you guys!’

I sent a metaphorical bunch of flowers to our protagonist…..

‘How fantastic. I am very pleased for you. Wow. I am quite overwhelmed - at the power of the Internet as much as anything! I just think its great that in this day and age, a whole bunch, of what are essentially complete strangers, were able to help you make this experience something to remember - in a good way. I am happy to have been one of them. Welcome to your sex life, a journey of many, ahem, ups and downs and ins and outs.’

And the plaudits kept pouring in…

‘It sounds like you did a fine job of it. Enjoy your explorations!’

‘Glad it went so well mate, from this point on it will only get better and better, at least that was the way for me’

‘All in all, it read like it went pretty well. Don't hesitate to ask if there is anything more you wonder about, me and the good folks in here are more than happy sharing what we know about the subject.’

‘Congrats to getting yours for both of you!’

A day’s work well done for everyone, wouldn’t you agree?

*All names changed to protect identity.