The Virginity Project:

Whats it all about?

Losing our virginity…it happens to almost all of us, no matter who we are or where we come from. How did it happen for you? Ever wondered what other people think and feel about this never-to-be-repeated experience? I am on a mission to find out. Follow my journey as I collect stories from as wide a selection of people as possible. From men and women, old and young, gay, straight, Christian, Muslim and Catholic, from the funny and the sad, to the happy and occasionally, the unbelievable. I am in search of the one story that we rarely share. Come and join my adventure.

August 01, 2009

The Virginity Project has been larging it on a beach in Greece for the last few weeks and it’s been brilliant. I spent much of my teenage years visiting a Greek island called Anti-Paros when unbeknownst to me, paradise was right next door!

Sifnos - yes, it does sound like a sexually transmitted disease but I can assure you that its not - is a sensational island. Of course I would have been bored out of my mind if I’d come here in my twenties, ‘paradise’ being such a subjective concept. But right now, at this stage of the game, it’s pretty much like crash landing in heaven.

I’ve finally got what Otis Reading was talking about when he wrote ‘Sitting in the dock of the bay’. Is there anything more pleasant to do than watch large ships pull into a tiny harbour, unload some people, cars and chaos as an overexcited port policeman motors around trying to direct them all into their correct position and then collapse back into the sand once its all over, grateful that all I have to do is watch and eat an ice cream? I don’t think so.

Actually I did do some sensible reading whilst I was away. I’ve read it before but every morning before it got too hot, I went and re-read a chapter of Anka Bernau’s brilliant ‘Virgins – A Cultural History’ on the steps of the Greek orthodox church. There was no particular point to the location, just that it was shady with a nice view. Some mornings there were ladies in the church jabbering away in a language that I obviously don’t understand and I had the vaguest sense that they might be talking about me. Like why does that woman come and read a book about virginity loss on the steps of this church every morning?

On the days when I didn’t get up early enough and the sun had already moved around past the church, because let me tell you, on some mornings it was 32 degrees by 9.30am. Yes, 32 degrees…I moved up to the Old Captain’s Bar, a shady spot on the beach run by a charismatic man called Theo. Here I sat and read my book with a cup of tea and some assistance from Theo’s rather camp cat, Zaza...

Other highlights of the trip included eating cream pie and this is not a euphemism for anything except eating cake. Cream pie, or Bougatza as it is known, asides from civilization, is clearly one of the best Greek inventions ever. I have no idea what they put in it but it smells like sugar and cinnamon and vanilla and when you sink your teeth into the crispy layers of filo pastry and reach the smooth custardy but not too sweet centre and finally round yourself off with the white dusty icing sugar on the outside….you may just as well utter a round of cliché ridden expletives about dying and going to heaven, discovering things that are better than sex etc etc etc blah blah blah….funnily enough, the only vaguely attractive man in the entire town also worked behind the counter of the pie shop.

On the days when we weren’t reading, eating sweets or watching boats, we amused ourselves with the following conversation. Bear in mind that it was usually 38 degrees by this point.

Stacey: ‘I’m feeling a bit nippy, how about you?

Me: Freezing. You can borrow one of my jumpers if you like?

S: Could I? Can I take some of those woolly socks and scarves as well?

Me: Sure thing. How about we light a fire, pop some extra layers on and I’ll send Celia down to the taverna for some hot soup?

S: Lovely. Then once we’ve layered ourselves up with scarves, gloves and thermal gear, how about we climb thse 330 steps up that dry, arid slope to the church over there, say, at around 1pm?’

Oh how we laughed. You had to be there. It was scorching.

When nighttime came, some of this was involved too:

But nothing like the old days. Partly because Europe is so expensive right now and paying 10 euro's for cocktail doesn’t feel like a paticularly healthy pastime but mainly because early morning in Greece is so beautiful that I didn’t want to miss a single moment of it...