‘I've religiously followed your website for quite a while, thinking in half-desperation, half-terror of the day I'd have my own story to share. Secretly, I couldn't imagine it happening and thought it might never. Now that it has, I feel very neutral. I'm neither thrilled nor traumatized, but I did have fun writing the story….’
I had fun reading it as well let me tell you. I normally do a fairly brutal edit on the stories that I get sent but I haven’t taken a single word out of this one. You are a witty bunch out there and this story is no exception…but like many of the tales that I receive, it is one of contradiction. I won’t get many stories in my life that include the phrase ‘Creepy Blow Job Kid’. That made me laugh out loud. But there is sadness in this story too. Being young is confusing. What have we got to judge our feelings against? Is today's writer really asexual? Or is it just that she hasn’t yet found someone that she wants to get sexual with? I emailed her and asked her what she thought about that:
‘My sexuality is still totally unclear to me, but I'm not as panicked about it anymore. Now that the v-card is out the way, I hope to be more capable of assessing sexual situations based on whether I'm enjoying them rather than whether the person is worthy of my virginity. Although my libido is still in hiding, I really want to like sex now, instead of totally rejecting it as I did in the past….’
Asexuality is an interesting area. Most of us find it almost impossible to comprehend a life that doesn’t involve sexual activity of some kind. We also live in a society where, for some reason, it is critical to most people’s sense of well being to categorize the people around them. Have you ever watched a bunch of small children play with another child of indeterminate gender? They will always ask the question ‘is it a boy or a girl?’ because even at that very inchoate stage of our lives, we need to know how other people fit into our own picture. Sexuality is no different. Have a read of this, ultimately very charming, little story and you’ll see what I mean. People are under more pressure than ever to define themselves to the rest of society, gay, straight, asexual, whatever. In the meantime, I have no doubt that time and experience will show today’s storyteller the way ahead. One thing’s for sure, a sense of humour always helps and Sarah possesses this quality in bucket loads.
Sarah. Aged 20 from Boston, currently living in Spain.
‘A friend of mine once suggested to me that if I lost my virginity, I'd also lose my magic powers of man-seduction. Upon hearing the theory, another friend recommended that I relinquish both voluntarily as a favour to humanity.
For the majority of high school, sex was never an issue, as I changed boyfriends more often than I changed my tampon. That's a bad metaphor, because I had never used a tampon - the mere thought of inserting anything into my vagina was enough to swear me to celibacy. However, that didn't stop me from wheedling dinners, movies, and gifts from the unsuspecting wallets of the boys at my high school. If one of them mentioned 'sex', or worse, 'love', I'd drop him and move on to the next fool in line.
This worked splendidly until I got a longer-term boyfriend, who alternated between sweet nothings and vicious insults in order to pressure me into sex. Citing joint virginity loss as something desirable and romantic, he nearly convinced me; until I found out he was sleeping with other women. We broke up. ‘No one will ever wait for you as long as I did!’ he snarled, dismissing the fact that his idea of 'waiting' included SEX WITH OTHER WOMEN. ‘And no one will ever love you as much as I do!’ He'd combined both love and sex into a single tiresome cliché. Repulsed, I kept my phone off and my legs crossed.
Two years later, the situation spiralled out of control when, in a fit of emotional instability, he offered me $750 in exchange for a blowjob. Although the incident was mildly frightening, the subsequent story and resulting nickname (Creepy Blow Job Kid - original or what?) transformed it into something laughable. By that time, I'd enrolled at College of the Holy Coitus, where an annual Sex Party (pornography projected onto the walls, clothing optional) commemorates how mind-bogglingly progressive we are. At that point, my naiveté had allowed me to assume that, after the previous relationship fiasco, I'd simply find another boyfriend to whom I could lose my virginity. Instead, I found myself cowering from the hook up culture under the handy label 'asexual'.
By cowering, I actually mean partying three nights a week and bringing boys back to my room for some hardcore cuddling. For a year and a half, I made both hearts and balls blue with what I cleverly referred to as 'emotional promiscuity.' Although I swore apathy when it came to sex, I talked about it constantly. I was obsessed with it - from a clearly objective perspective, of course. I claimed I was fascinated by sex the way a person could find homelessness enthralling: a rich, multifaceted topic, but not really something I wanted to experience firsthand.
During this time, my fifteen-year-old sister swiped her v-card with the guy she was dating. I was devastated. In high school, my friends and I had joked about ‘winning the race’ with our respective boyfriends. One by one, each friend crossed the finish line while I shuffled along, half on the sidelines. Now my baby sister had beaten me too. Was it time to pick up the pace?
It sure wasn't. In addition to being deterred by my low libido, I sincerely felt that no one DESERVED my virginity. Lowly, grovelling suitors and bedpost-notching conquistadors amounted to very slim pickings. Besides, if I lost it now, it might just be a pathetic attempt to catch up to my sister. Thus, I decided that I had two options: I could keep my virginity for the rest of my life - or I could knock it off on an exciting adventure during my semester abroad in Spain!
And so I trotted off to Europe and immediately began seeing a Spaniard. He was twenty-two and had lost his virginity at fifteen. Needless to say, I was totally fine with this, as it had always been my dream to lose my virginity to a womanizer who'd absent-mindedly misplaced his seven years ago.
‘What is the problem?’ he asked in bewildered English during our first night alone. Then, assuringly: ‘I'm really good!’ Instinctively, I put up my dukes, ready to defend my vagina with all the usual tactics. Though I'd sworn to keep the secret - I'd planned to feign normalcy while abroad - I apologized with excuses of asexuality, virginity, and drug addiction. (My reasons for including that last bit still puzzle me. I'm sure loads of drug addicts have perfectly healthy sex lives.)
(Just kidding, I'm not puzzled. I'd actually been dabbling in LSD, and my experiences with the drug had kindly confirmed that I was as sexless as a baby, or a block of wood.)
Anyway, I was sure the deal was broken. He'd soon get sick of fruitless pleas, or I'd get bored of futile elusion, the whole affair would go up in smoke and I'd have to go home with my v-card - and then I'd REALLY never lose it.
The opposite happened. ‘I'm really good!’ was his final attempt at persuasion, and several fun, pressure-free months passed before I turned twenty.
Hang on, twenty?
Cue crisis mode.
Not only was I now an old, wrinkly hag, but still a virgin too?! I found this state of being completely unacceptable, especially after five rums-and-cokes the night before my birthday. I sent several shamefully obvious text messages (‘Dónde estás? Es mi última noche con 19 años ;)’ and ended up in my not-quite-boyfriend's bed. I was drunk, high, and on Valium. Even though I'd quit drugs upon my arrival in Europe, I wanted to ensure relaxation so as not to panic at the last second. To my dismay, my precautions failed me, and, due to the technical aspects of (extra-) virginity, the attempt was unsuccessful. I was annoyed. I had finally opened my arms to sex, and it had run off cackling in the other direction! AND I was twenty!
The next weekend was his birthday. We got wasted, went to the worst discoteca ever, and tried again (not, obviously, at the discoteca). It hurt, and, in an embarrassing freak occurrence, I couldn't stop laughing. Two words: blue balls. Two more words: nose bleed. As in, he got one. Thus, the question of feminine bleeding will forever remain a mystery.
The third attempt invited complete success, and I had no idea what I'd been so obsessed with for the past four years. I felt exactly the same, except I no longer felt compelled to create outlandish plans for my virginity loss. (I'm certain, however, that I will die of regret if I ever meet a unicorn.) A week later, I inserted my first tampon. Wow, cool, I thought happily. Sex is great!
I spoke too soon. My sexy Spanish lover and I have done the dirty several times since, and I'm decidedly underwhelmed. Even though I'm an intercourse n00b and my asexuality is still at large, I'm tempted to blame my partner in premarital sin. Perhaps I've been deluded by the media to believe that sex shouldn't just be a series of rapid thrusts and a condom.
‘Por qué te ries?!’ he asked recently, slowing from jackhammer to jackrabbit speed. He didn't seem impressed by the return of my giggles. ‘Don't worry, just ignore it,’ I said in English. ‘Pretend I'm not here!’
I found my own joke so amusing that I continued to laugh for another several minutes. I even thought of it a few times later in the evening and dissolved into further chortling.
Luckily, my expectations were never high. I'm happy that my good story came as painlessly as possible: pressure-free, and somewhere between the solitude of a one-night stand and the suffocation of true love. All in all, sex hasn't been a total letdown -- but I do wish it would pick up. Good sex is sort of the prize for finishing the race, isn't it?
Thus I exist for the rest of eternity without my most treasured possession. No word yet on the magic powers, but right now I've got enough to worry about, like who will become my SECOND sexual partner once I return to the States. ‘Hey, hi, have I told you I'm a possibly asexual former drug addict and I've only ever slept with one person...?’
To be continued...’