Normal is such a rubbish word and it gets used a lot in this story. Not that I am blaming its author. Everyone is confused about the word ‘normal’. In the end, ‘normal’ doesn’t really matter. Normal is indefinable. What matters is what feels right for you or I.

One thing that has struck me a hundred times since starting this blog and interviewing people for my book is that the more sexualized our society becomes, the more disjointed we become from our real needs and desires. What matters more to Desiree is what appears to be ‘normal’ to her peers than to herself. Once again, no judgement. We have all been there. It’s the by-product of a society that wears sex on its sleeve. We all feel that we must compete. If we’re not having sex, what is wrong with us? If we pass up an opportunity to shag, what is the problem? The problem is that there isn’t a problem. We’re just not in tune with ourselves.

Some years ago I dated (how I hate that word!), nay, I ‘went out with’ a lovely man for a few months. Handsome, clever and funny, leaping between the sheets with him seemed an obvious choice to make on date two or three but as it turned out, it was a bit of a damp squib. Not for any reason I can put my finger on other than to say there was no fire between us. However, something akin to magic occurred afterwards as we lay in the half-light of his bedroom, the landing light casting shadows across us and he started running his fingers gently up and down my back, across my collar bone, over my face and neck. Slowly, with no purpose other than to express affection and appreciation, we experienced a moment of genuinely soul warming sensuality together. It felt way better than the sex that we’d just rushed to have and we both knew it.

That experience has stayed with me. It’s not like I haven’t had half hearted sexual encounters before, the ones performed simply because you had the opportunity to HAVE SEX!!!…..But this one demonstrated to me in the most simple terms possible that taking your time can often yield the most spectacular results. Going at your own pace and not adhering to the competitive nature of today’s very sexual society has a raw sexiness all of its own. What could possibly be abnormal about that?

‘Born: 1985, United States

Hi Kate,

I have never actually told anyone the full truth about my virginity. I have hinted at my lack of experience to prospective partners. I had been debating whether or not to tell you my story for years now.

I had my first boyfriend and first kiss at the age of 15, which is pretty normal. I didn't have another boyfriend until 18 and that was my first sexual experience. I moved away for college. I was ashamed and felt left out of this cool kids' club, so I lied about my virginity. I told everyone who asked that I had lost it at 15 like a normal American female. That I had had multiple partners like any normal American female older than 17. What I thought was normal.

I made it through all of high school and college without having sex. I went to art school, so I think the sex there was probably even more weird than a normal college. I had already started my first serious post-college job by the time I had sex. I didn't like most of the guys I went to school with so I started online dating off and on. Meeting a lot of dudes I did not like at all, mostly because they weren't attractive in person or possibly not attracted to me, and having very few second dates. This guy, Michael, was another online prospect.

(I realize now that it was extremely dangerous that I went back to home of someone I had just met.)

We went to a pub in Santa Monica, seemed to get along OK, so I went with him back to his place. He lived in the basement of his sister and brother-in-law's house, it was a nice little bachelor pad actually. We started kissing and groping, and eventually I was only wearing bottoms while he was naked on top of me.

I was 22, and hadn't really been touched sexually in more than two years. So when he started touching me and trying to persuade me to take off the final obstacle I didn't want to stop. Soon enough he was trying to convince me to let him ‘put it in.’ His words were something like that. The thoughts went through my head about whether or not I wanted to go through with this, and when would I have another opportunity to have sex. He was attractive, the athletic body type I like, and a face with nice features. Sort of Sephardic looking in his coloring, but definitely American.

I told him to put a condom on and he did. He asked me to pick a CD to put on some music. It hurt, in spite of having used a vibrator on myself for years. I didn't orgasm. After the first time, I went use to his bathroom and saw I was indeed bleeding a tiny bit. Perplexing because I was certain I had no hymen by then. We tried it once more in another position, it still hurt, and that was that.

I mentioned to him that I had bled a little bit. I don't know if he drew the conclusion that he was the first man I ever had sex with because he didn't have a response. I'm sure it was obvious because I was so awkward. I laid in bed next to him for a while, trying to finish myself and not succeeding; frustrated that he wouldn't take the initiative to relieve me. We talked for a little bit, he talked about maybe going out again, and then he drove me home.

I never saw him again, so that was also my first and only one-night stand. I know your blog is full of people saying they don't regret what they did, even with a one-night stand, but in my case it's not true. I've had four years to reflect on the experience, and even though I was older, I still wish I would've waited for someone I actually felt close to. I realize now the reason it hurt wasn't because of some remnant of hymen, but because I just wasn't ready.

I am still trying to find that certain someone to whom I can feel close and also sexually attracted. It is frustrating. I long for an experience that most of my friends already had before graduating college. I think I'm attractive, and I have curves in the right places. I'm certainly not the rail thin model type that most people think of in Los Angeles, but supposedly some men still like hourglass figures. The men who have seen me naked have always been more than happy about it. I think, ‘Men are supposed to like breasts, right?’ Mine are certainly nice and much larger than average. I have nice, healthy hair and pretty blue eyes. A cute nose. Supposedly a solid 8 on the 1-10 scale. So the frustration continues with what still feels like 10 years of pent up sexual energy building up inside of me.

The worst part, however, is I can't share this with anyone who already thinks I was a normal American girl growing up.’