The Virginity Project

Back in the 1980’s when I was a teenager and we felt like the first generation of women who could make like a man i.e. have sex with whomever we chose (not without its issues but that’s a story for another time), it wouldn’t have occurred to us to think of virginity loss as anything other than awkward penetrative sex with a member of the opposite sex. This was the demarcation line between cool and not.

On a personal level, wearing a faded pink Fruit of the Loom t-shirt and tumbling in the grass with a French boy with cheekbones like razors on a balmy Spanish evening, I made sure I was cool, even though the physical experience itself still makes me wince when I think about it (the story behind it, however, was enough to inspire a book). My point being that times have moved on. People are freer to define their first sexual experiences in a more personal and frankly, interesting way. To give you an example, a female interviewee once said this to me:

"After a few months of sleeping with my boyfriend, I started to feel the twinges of a possible orgasm. And then he made me come. That’s when I really started to lose my virginity."

THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. Is that not one of the most joyous, evolved sentences you’ve heard? Everyone should be able to put pleasure at the center of their sexual experiences whether it be the first time, the fiftieth time or the last time - and not to concern themselves with the route they took to get there, whether it be trad penis in vagina sex, tongues in all manner of places or the classic dry hump.

And it definitely shouldn’t involve guilt, shame or at the worst, a doctor, politician or religious person who feels the need to define what to this day and forevermore will remain indefinable. There is no such thing as a test that can prove or disprove female virginity. I sincerely hope that one day we will live in a world where the need to even discuss this will cease to exist. Your virginity, or ‘lack’ of, is nobody’s business but yours. End of story.

Today’s story teller drives home, if you needed more reasons, why, contrary to what Susan Sarandon says, you actually DO need to vote with your vagina if you value the freedom to make your choices about your body. Susan Sarandon has enough cash to flee the country and not worry about the outcome of this election if it all goes tits up. If you don’t, close the lid of your lap top now and go and vote.

Hi Kate! I love your blog. Reading about other people's experiences is amusing and interesting. So I wanted to share mine. I'm Samia. I was born in 1995 and I'm from the United States. 

I come from a conservative Christian home. I was raised to believe that your virginity is special, only to be given to your husband. And also that no good guy wants a girl that's already had sex. Youth pastors used horrible analogies to get this point across like ‘Would you want a present that's already been unwrapped? Exactly’.

This scared me a lot. I've always been intrigued about sex from the time I got ‘the talk’ in fifth grade, but I didn't think I wanted to do it until I was married. I even had a purity ring, which sits, dusty, in my jewellery box as I type this. I had also been told by many people that you would experience immense guilt after doing it before marriage. So I felt pretty confident in my virginity pledge. 

I met Evan when I was 16. He was so easy to be around. I never felt uncomfortable or judged by him. Soon after we started dating, the topic of sex came up and it turned out he’d had a pretty crappy experience with it at first. He had been kind of talked into it by a girl he was dating for a few months and didn't enjoy it. We decided it was in both our best interests to wait. 

Fast forward two years later; we were on his bed, getting hot and heavy. He asked if I wanted him to ‘go down there’, I reluctantly said yes and I didn't regret it. It was bliss. 

After about a year of doing everything but intercourse, a few weeks ago, we tried it. 

This huge experience that everyone told me about was finally here. I was anxious to see what my own ‘first time’ would end up like. 

It was pretty bland. It only lasted about four minutes, neither of us finished. It was very uncomfortable and slightly painful. Afterwards he held me and kissed me and told me he loved me like thirty times. I was excited to have done it, and I can't wait to get more practice in. 

The thing is, I don't feel guilt like I was told I would. I don't feel this big emotional connection either; I was already so emotionally connected to Evan. He's the love of my life, and it was simply one of many first experiences we have shared together. 

That is my theory. Sex is what you make it out to be, and for me, it's an experience to share with someone. Don't get me wrong; I'm glad I waited to do it with Evan. But honestly, we had been ready to do it for a long time! Our relationship is strong and solid, with or without sex. And that is what my youth pastors left out: Sex does not make or break a relationship. People do.

I was at a new media event last week. Ahead of it, I was preparing questions for the speakers, some of whom I was hoping to interview for the company communications blog. ‘How do you think technology is changing media?’ ‘How do you see the future of content?’ And so on. Interesting questions but the thing I really want to ask is ‘how do you think technology is changing the way we live?’ Because it is.

I remember when we first got an answer machine at home in the 1980’s. It was REALLY exciting. No more hanging around waiting for boys to ring! You could go out, come back and check (you hoped) all your messages. It was the absolute cutting edge of technology. The point also being that if a boy took the time to pick the phone up and risk the humiliation of having a conversation with someone who may possibly reject them at the end of it, you were in receipt of important information - even if you weren’t conscious of it at the time - he probably quite liked you.

Not so much now. It’s so much easier to make digital overtures to people on instant message, Facebook, twitter and numerous dating websites. And it’s just as easy to give people the flick when you’re over them. I’m not saying romance doesn’t happen in the digital age. Neither am I saying that all of the boys who had the guts to ring me up in the 80’s were stand up guys BUT…there was a quality to the pre digital era that allowed something a little more substantial to evolve. The process was slower. In between dates, we weren’t bombarding each other with a constant flow of communications via text and email. You knew nothing of your potential conquest’s movements/dinner or feelings about the weather in between times. We made a date to meet and turned up on the appointed day. It was all fresh and the only way we could get to know each other was to talk face to face. If you wanted to blow each other out you had to pick up the phone and do it with your voice…unless you were prepared to deliver the ultimate blow out i.e. standing them up. Tell me I’ve got my rose tinted specs on. You might be right but meanwhile, what do I like about today’s story?

Its two main characters allow time to build a fire beneath their union. It doesn’t happen over night. In my experience, the best things often don’t. It also demonstrates that love can have quite ordinary beginnings…’I spent a while fantasizing about meeting this guy’ she says, ‘but I cared very little when he was there.  Weird.’ I like this. We’re bred to believe that if it’s not a constant stream of fireworks then it’s not worth bothering about. I take issue with this. Ask any couple who have been around the block with each other a few times. There might be fireworks but that’s not the glue that’s going to hold you together.

In practical terms, I always enjoy a ‘re-definition of virginity loss’ story too. Simply because the ways in which we traditionally define virginity loss are so limited. There are myriad ways in which we could define this step in our sexual history. Gay people, for starters, might take issue with the heterosexual dictionary definition of the act.  Plus ‘virginity’ + ‘loss’ is such an archaic combination of words for most Western women. Its not like we are going to ruin the reputation of our families (as some people choose to believe) on the day that we part company with virginity.

Today’s writer tells a story I have heard before. It’s the story of someone who did feel like they had lost something the first time they had sex. But who went willingly on to ‘present’ it to someone else much later. In the modern age I might add, not way back when I had my rose tinted specs on. I like the way this story builds, if one wishes to resort to such clichés, to a climax worth talking about. Here we go.

“I hope that you remember me but I shared my virginity loss story with you in 2011.  It was entitled 'Good girl gone bad', though that's something I have recently grown to regret.

It was a story about how I felt that my virginity was akin to an anchor, weighting me down and keeping me tragically tied to my unhappy past, a past full of confusion, fear and guilt.  The person i lost it with left me pregnant and alone and angrier than I think I was to begin with.  In my original story I jumped to where I was in 2011, in love for the first time and expecting my second child with my now-husband, Dennis.  But I probably left out the most important part of my journey.  I think I may have re-virginised myself in the intervening time between falling pregnant and falling in love.  I lost my virginity to the father of my first child.  But this story is about how I gave Dennis, my now husband my new-found virginity.

Following the birth of my first child, my fear of sex increased.  It never hurt, but it really wasn't all that great. It just never felt... good.  I had told myself that sex for girls is rarely wonderful.  My elder sister, who had only recently lost her virginity with a boyfriend she loved, had plenty of lovely things to say about sex but explained she could take it or leave it, because it wasn't all that.  I just wondered what was the point.  As a girl you lie under some guy while he gets his rocks off.  You might as well be a blow-up doll, that's how little input you have.  (I must also explain that the last time me and my first partner had sex, he was watching porn DURING. That was the extent of my appeal to him I guess).  So I was convicted to stay away from anything with a penis because nothing was worth feeling low about myself again.  

I spent a year-and-a-half post birth adjusting to being a mum which was tough, and any time a guy showed any interest I'd turn on my heel and run away.  I became decidedly anti-men and anti-romance.  Until I started hearing random little bits about Dennis.  Yes, my sister started just talking about him and my ears would prick up.  I learnt very little about him, but what I learnt I liked!  He's an amazing cook and he used to hold infamous dinner parties for his friends, a couple of which my sister had attended.  He was also unduly generous.  I saw his picture and can't say my heart skipped a beat, but he had a really kind face and I developed a little crush.  I didn't dare tell my sister about it, because I knew she would embarrass me.  

We eventually met at my sister's boyfriend's birthday party.  I didn't recognise him at first and wasn't blown away seeing him in person, but we instantly got along.  My sister did remark that he stayed at my side all night, but I didn't notice.  This makes no sense to me at all!  I spent a while fantasizing about meeting this guy, but I cared very little when he was there.  Weird.

Anyway, I'm rambling on.  I added him on facebook, we messaged once or twice and then I decided to hold a dinner party.  I, too, love to cook and since I was still living with my mum and dad and not working while taking care of my daughter, I cooked all the time and decided I was quite good at it.  I wanted to impress him and invited him along.  He couldn't make it and I was disappointed.  But when I checked my messages a couple of days later he'd left a very long message inviting me to dinner.  A lot of things went through my mind, namely that I wasn't attracted to him, per se. I thought he was nice and we got along, but I thought sex was so gross and unnecessary I couldn't think of him in that way.  Needless to say I said yes.  

I dressed a little dowdy for a first date and only had a very small glass of wine with my meal (tactical, as wine makes me feel a little horny), which was out of this world!  He'd booked a table at a Michelin starred food-tastic little spot near Soho and I was amazed.  The conversation flowed effortlessly but he didn't even try to kiss me at the end.  I was thankful for this.  In the past I had sat across from one too many guys who were just a tad too pushy when it came to initiating kissing and more.  And they were all so dull, if they weren't cruel and arrogant. Dennis was laid back, he asked me questions and made me laugh.  A lovely first date.

We continued in the same vein for a couple more dates; fantastic food, easy conversation, not even a peck at the end of the night.  By this point I was getting frustrated.  What the hell was wrong with this guy?! I was dressing a little more provocative each date, but he didn't seem to bat an eyelid.  So after our third date I text him to say I just wanted to be friends.  He said fine and I was gutted.

A week went by and I was a little miserable.  So I asked my sister if she thought Dennis was interested in me. She looked at me like she wanted to slap me.  She said of course he was and told me to call him, which I did. So I made amends with him and he gladly booked a table for our fourth date.  Another superb meal and a couple more drinks and finally everything seemed to fall into place.  I was adamant that I wanted him to make the first move and so we sat, both a little tipsy, with a lot of tension in the air.  He seemed to take a deep breath before he leaned in, but it was probably the most amazing kiss of my life.  Obviously, the kiss is the first step into becoming physical, so I took it as a sign of our growing feelings for one another.  I had been denying my own sexual needs for so long, I didn't expect much.  Besides, I'd told myself I didn't find him sexually attractive, but after that kiss I stoically ate my own words.  I was attracted him, but I also needed to know he fancied me too. I think I got a resounding yes that night.

We could only see each other once every ten days because we both had other commitments (he worked shifts).  This is one of the awesome things about our early relationship.  It went at such an even pace.  As the old saying goes, 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder' and it certainly did that.  He lived in West London and I lived in Guildford, so when we met up I noticed he was booking things closer and closer to his place, but I never went back with him. Eventually he invited me for dinner at his place.  

He had never cooked for me before that night.  He made his own pasta for tortellini, cooked duck in chocolate and prune sauce (so delicious, I could have wept) and finished with an amazing chocolatey meringue tower.  I had planned to leave by half nine to get the train back into Guildford, but I couldn't, we were caught in a lip-lock so intense I found myself completely reneging on every promise I'd made myself about never having sex again.  I gave myself to him.  It seemed like the most natural and honest thing to do at that moment.  And I realised something.  The whole time we had been dating, all of those times he had given me amazing gastronomical experiences, easy conversation, gentle approaches.  He had been wooing me the whole damn time, even by not kissing when every other guy would!  While it's not the most important thing, he spent a hell of a lot of money on our dates.  Most guys don't want to part with money without some guarantee.  He knew I wasn't a virgin. I had a child for goodness sake, yet he was still careful enough to go at a pace I was happy with and not rush ahead.  And do you know something else?  The sex felt amazing!  That's why afterwards, while he wanted to cuddle, I bawled my eyes out.

I am embarrassed by this now, but it's true.  I cried for ages.  Poor Dennis didn't know what to do.  Our society does something to girls that is so unhelpful it's obscene.  It tells girls from a young age that the greatest thing that can happen to us is to be wanted, but that sex (in itself) is damaging to us.  We're told guys think about sex all the time, they are the predators, clearly implying that women don't think about it and we are the helpless prey.  That's why so many of us love the chase.  We doll ourselves up, head out on the town and love to see the men baying like wolves, but only the real sluts among us give in and let themselves be 'had' and only the really experienced whores know how to enjoy themselves as much as the guy does.  All that combined with my years in Church, hearing about the virtue of abstinence and how unholy fornication is, made me feel like I had failed yet again.  When I gave myself to Dennis that first time, I was shocked at myself that I had enjoyed it and let him know I did.  I tried to act bashfully and fumbling like I didn't know what went where, because I didn’t want him thinking I was a slag who went out and had sex all over the place.  I had the baby, but he didn't need to see me as an easy lay and this is why I cried.  I couldn't explain all this to him then and it probably wouldn't make much sense now.  

I cried the first few times we did it because each time it felt better and better, until eventually, something else that I didn't think ever happened to girls during penetrative sex, happened to me.  I orgasmed.  By this point we were both head over heels in love with one another and we found ourselves in a trusting relationship, which I think certainly helped me.  So why was I still so ashamed of enjoying it?  

Only in the past week or two, since visiting your blog again have I become aware that I have slowly let go of my neuroses about sex.  But has that come about through age?  Do I feel like I have been given permission to enjoy it because I married my lover and we have a family together?  Or am I finally comfortable with sex and my body.  It's interesting to me that all the men I dated (aside from the guy who hated my body) were lovers of food too.   But Dennis came at a point when I was trying to be like everyone else.  I trained many times each week at the gym with my trainer to get a 'perfect body' and looked the best I ever have.  He stepped in and opened my eyes to food as art, so I stopped denying my stomach at the same time I stopped denying my sexual urges.  And I've not looked back since.  The sex is still amazing and adventurous and I'm at peace with it.

I'm sorry. This is incredibly long as before!  But I remember how helpful it was talking with you before, so I felt the need to share again!” 

Inside out...

Once again, here is the acknowledgment that having penetrative sex for the first time - which is, after all, the way that most of us define the ‘loss’ of our virginity - can be a total non-event. What often sticks in our memories, as it does for today’s story teller, are other, more emotionally resonant moments.

Sharing a sleeping space with another human being for the first time can be a big deal. Taking your clothes off together is unforgettable. Going through the physical motions of having technical sex for the first time can mean little in comparison. It’s down to the individual. What means something to one person can mean nothing to the next. Which is why judging women for having broken hymens is so mind-crushingly pointless, fake and judgmental, not to mention misogynistic. Crikey, how did I get here?

I guess I’m saying that the loss of virginity and the way that we define it is a very personal thing. No one else should have a say in the matter. But unfortunately it seems that they do. Not for today’s story teller though….

‘I'm from the UK and I am 20 years old. I lost my virginity just over a year ago when I was 19.  I actually ended up, in a bizarre twist of fate, losing my virginity to my first boyfriend.  We dated when we were 14 and then when we were 15... and when we were 16... but it was never serious, and throughout sixth form I was involved in this torturous long distance relationship with this chiseled, handsome guy but I had strict parents, he had strict parents, so it was a lot of kissing in Trafalgar Square and St Pancreas Station and then he would go home and I would sigh over him and nothing ever really came of it.

So I was as surprised as anyone, after he dumped me (because he got religion and I was giving him 'impure' thoughts) to meet a new guy in my first week at university.  We started dating straight away and as we were both completely inexperienced, didn't rush stuff.  We progressed through the bases in a couple of months but then term ended and we went home for Christmas... and he didn't call once!  I was so cross and I called him and asked why/tried to find out if there was someone else etc etc but there wasn't. He was just so laid back he was on the point of falling over. 

I was so mad that I stopped all sexual stuff between us and without it the problems with the relationship became quite clear and it ended at the start of the summer term.  Over the summer I briefly dated someone else but it never got far enough to have sex.  And then suddenly, summer was ending and I was turning nineteen and I'd never had sex!  None of my friends had either because most of them were religious and the rest went to girls' boarding schools so suffered from a severe lack of opportunity, but I really did sort of want to, but not with a random. 

And then my first boyfriend came back into my life.  We'd been friends the whole time, but had been really busy.  And wow.  Chemistry, fireworks.  The night we had our first drink we ended up kissing in the alleyway next to the bus stop and I knew I wanted him.  Things headed south and when he came to visit me at university a couple of months later we had sex.  It was my first time but he had had one previous partner.  It was quite underwhelming actually and hurt a lot, and he totally guessed but promised me it would be better in future and it was but then I found out he was sleeping with a man so we split up, which was sad, but I've had lots of fun with other people since. 

I think my story is probably about as average as they come, but what I wanted to say was that when I think about it, the two moments which I found to be the biggest watersheds in my life were the moment when my university boyfriend and I first were naked together and slept in a bed together - it was a really big moment for me and felt like more of a change than losing my virginity, and the last time I slept with my most recent ex-boyfriend when I knew that this make up sex wouldn't be makeup sex and this was the end, because I wanted to save up all the memories I could and it was a very emotional moment.  Plus sex is better for me now.  But for me I don't really feel that losing your virginity is all about those five minutes with someone when you actually have sex for the first time - maybe because a lot of my friends are gay, or because I was in a 6 month sexual relationship but didn't have sex, or because every time I sleep with someone new in a relationship (only 3 times so far) it feels like losing my virginity all over again because I get nervous and flustered and excited.  But I'm also really glad I waited because having the experience with my first boyfriend, who is now my best friend was so much fun and he was so excited and appreciative and my uni boyfriend just wasn't that fussed. 

So that is my story.  I also had lots of random sex this term because I was trying to be cool, and that was just lame because sex with people you don't fancy and trust is just a physical and mental failure with me.  So now I'm waiting for a relationship where I actually fancy and trust and they won't know what hit them!  I hope this is not a stupidly long email but I have EXTREMELY religious parents who would kill me if they knew I'd had sex and all my friends are jealous and won't talk about it.  I also hope you can tell the boys apart but I didn't want to use their names as they are posh twats mostly with unusual names.

From Lara.’

Quote of the day...

Girl 1: I know it smells kind of cheap but I like it because it’s the perfume I was wearing when I lost my virginity

Girl 2: I thought you were wearing ‘Ralph’ when you lost it?

Girl 1: No, that was my other virginity

overheardinnewyork.com

Ride 'em Cowboy...

As ever, losing virginity can mean many different things to many different people. Never was this more true than in the case of Brad, the owner of a story that caused consternation amongst my friends, family, various random passers by in the street and selected members of the local clergy.

Brad is a long standing correspondent of mine and when he dropped the following bombshell one day, I was only too happy to listen. Brad wanted to tell me about the time that he lost his anal virginity. Yes readers, his anal virginity - to his wife. Now whether this is in fact a legitimate loss of virginity is a matter that we could debate all day. But in the end, tying down virginity loss to one universal, agreeable definition is nigh on impossible and the point is that this was a significant moment of ‘loss’ for Brad so who can argue with that?

Let me give you some background detail. You can read the story here but in short, Brad is a househusband. He has raised two small children at home whilst his highflying executive wife has gone out and pursued a career. Brad plays the dutiful husband at all his wife’s work ‘do’s’ whilst his other half discusses business with the other highflying partners in the company, many of whom are also women. Brad is not the only househusband within his wife’s law firm either. In fact, Brad is currently mentoring a new member of the house husband community, Frank, who also raises a small child at home whilst his wife goes out to make the bacon.

None of which is the point I want to make because what got me right from the start of this whole episode was the realization that here is a man……who knows a lot about what it feels to be a woman. Not that I would quite put Brad into the bracket of Mel Gibson in ‘What Women Want’ i.e. being able to read our minds but its not that far off because when Brad talks about the experience of being penetrated, the words could just as easily have come out of the mouth of a woman.

Brad originally wrote to me following a gender related article that I had posted on this blog. We mailed back and forth for a while and eventually one day, he decided to tell me about the time that his wife had first made love to his bottom with a dildo. Well now, as you can guess, I was all ears. This is not a story you get to hear every day.

The Internet is littered with dull, predictable images of men penetrating women’s behinds with their penises. So much so that in a piece of research that the Guardian commissioned several years ago, a twelve year old boy admitted that having watched a substantial amount of pornography since the age of eight years old (supplied to him by his father), he had his first experience of anal sex at the age of twelve. Yes readers, twelve years old. This is what young people are learning about sex these days. That it is all about blonde women, forming large 0 shapes with their mouths whilst being penetrated by very oily looking men who are not usually that taken with the concept of foreplay.

But where on the Internet are men talking about having anal sex with their womenfolk…with themselves on the receiving end? Because my guess is that if it’s happening in small town Texas where Brad lives, then its probably happening in a whole bunch of places. Not that I care one way or the other because once again, the point of interest in this story, at least for me, lies much less in the nuts and bolts, or even the in’s and out’s, which, don’t get me wrong, are fascinating – but I am much more taken with the idea that here is a man who knows what its like to ‘give it up’, to receive instead of to give, to lie back and think of England or whatever other sex related metaphor you prefer to pick. Here are Brad’s latest thoughts on his wife’s sexual proclivities:

‘My guess is that it's not nearly as far a step for a woman to be done anally because it's probably not her first experience being penetrated.  Does that make sense?  Anyway, I think I understand better now why girls sometimes are not enthused about sex and why men are usually the aggressors.  I have never initiated a pegging, because we do enough of it as it is, thank you very much.  So Lynette initiates and frankly I'm sometimes not interested.  Just not very horny at all.  But I never deny her.  LOL.  One thing that occurs to me as I write this is how BORING the whole thing can be.  It's like the same thing every time, or at best a variation that is similar to all the other times.  And even when the foreplay is different, the screwing part doesn't vary a whole lot.  Right, girlfriend?  You're probably nodding in agreement.’ 

This had me in stitches. Having penetrative sex can be one of the most intensely erotic and intimate experiences that two people can share together. Conversely, it can also be dull in the extreme and rather pedestrian at times. Partly because that’s life and that’s sex. Sometimes it’s exciting and sometimes it is not and that’s just the way it is. But also because the penetrative part of sex, at least for a woman, can often be the least interesting part of the evening’s activities. You have to relinquish control, not just of your pleasure but also of yourself and in the end, perhaps that’s what this story is all about.

Brad feels this loss of control all the more keenly because as a man, he has relinquished all the ground that the male of the species would traditionally occupy. His wife is the initiator, or the ‘aggressor’ as he terms her. She earns the money. Invariably she also decides how they spend it. When she wants to have anal sex with him, she’ll pat his behind in the morning before she leaves for work and give him a wink. Brad knows exactly what this means.

So it is a story about gender role play and the positions, literally and figuratively that we feel we should – or should not - be playing in today’s society but it is also a story, bizarrely, about just how unimaginative we can be as sexual people.

Of course, sex should consist of whatever two consenting adults want it to consist of but I am constantly drawn back to the story of Hannah, a woman I interviewed for my book. Hannah lost her ‘technical’ virginity at the age of eighteen. But by this time she had already been in a relationship with her boyfriend for over two years and in her own words, had been having so many orgasms with him that going ‘all the way’ always seemed a bit pointless.

Jumping to the penetrative part of the sexual experience can cut out a lot of pleasure because it can limit our imagination. There are so many different ways to pleasure each other that don’t actually involve penetrative sex. I often think that young people, well, all people really, would do well to get to know their partners bodies really well – and all the amazing things that they are capable of doing – before jumping ahead to the penetrative part of sexual intercourse. We shouldn’t have such a prescriptive idea of what ‘sex’ should involve. Sex should be about pleasure and how you go about finding that can be a very interesting exploration, one that does not necessarily have to involve the placing of one thing inside another.

I digress. Perhaps I am also attracted to this story because over time, and during the course of many emails with Brad, I see how very much he loves his wife. Perhaps his willingness to ‘give it up’, to lie back and think of England on the occasions when he really doesn’t feel like having a dildo up his bottom are a testament of how much he wants his wife to be happy. If he were a woman, the feminists among us would be up in arms at such a concept. Why must a woman, or anyone for that matter, sublimate themselves for anybody else? But perhaps that is love. The willingness to let go of what we want from time to time and to give someone else what they want. I don’t know, I’m no expert.

FYI, Brad signed off his latest email to me, ‘Bow-legged of Texas'

Sunshine on a rainy day...

If you’re sitting at work staring into space and thinking to yourself that sun really should be enjoyed whilst actually sitting in it…as opposed to observing it through a pane of glass, here is a Grade A, top quality virginity related distraction. This will keep you quiet for a good ten minutes. It has all the charm, pathos and shock value of the mighty Post Secret but without the visuals.

And you can probably tell that I wrote that a couple of days ago when I was a. at work and b. The sun was actually shining. As opposed to today when I am contemplating a trip to a field in Somerset and the celebration of a friends birthday in a large tent alongside the promise of rain. What it is to be British. Virtually a moment goes by when we feel we can’t possibly continue unless we mention the weather.

No matter. I am off to Greece on Monday for my holidays but before I go, here is an interesting little story that I found when I was searching on ‘gay virginity loss’. I was actually looking for a rock solid definition of virginity loss and whilst this story doesn’t supply that, it is still a beautifully crafted little tale with some vivid imagery.

Definitions have been on my mind lately as I work on the chapter of my book that seeks to define virginity loss. If anyone has anything to say on the matter, email me, I would love to hear what you think.

Is virginity loss a physical process? Or is it more of a spiritual or emotional matter? And how much does our definition of it change over the years? i.e. would you say the same now about virginity loss that you might have said twenty years ago….or do we refine our  definition of that ‘loss’ as we grow and change and become more reflective about the past?

Your contribution could be vital – please email me on [email protected]

Happy Holidays!

 

Happy Blogday me...

The reverberations from last weeks ‘anal cherry’ story can still be felt. I loved this short, but very sweet email I received from a regular correspondent….

‘Well now, Kate, I was shocked speechless by the anal pegging virginity loss story. Wow.’

What are you laughing at?’ Someone asked me at work the other day as I read this email….’Nothing’ I replied. I didn’t think this was the right time to introduce them to my blog.

But I tell you what, you could have knocked me over with a feather when I got this email from my partner in crime, Therese over at The American Virgin. You know how I often try and name posts after Steely Dan songs? And you know how last week I named my anal cherry post ‘Peg’, after the official name chosen to illustrate such an activity…..? Imagine my surprise to hear this little nugget of information from Therese…

‘Here's some trivia for you, courtesy of Wikipedia:

There is a depiction of pegging in the William S. Burroughs novel Naked Lunch. The dildo used in the scene is called a Steely Dan III, and is the source from which the musical group Steely Dan takes its name.’

My turn to be surprised.

Changing the subject, I realized last week that I had let an important date slip by. It’s been two years since I started blogging and I can hardly believe the time has passed. I had no idea what an adventure I was about to go on when I started this blog. I had no idea how many wonderful people I would get to communicate with. It’s all very well me sitting here telling you stuff every week but really, this blog would be nothing without your contributions.

Thank you to all the fascinating, brave and talented people who take the time to put pen to paper and write to me. A lot of people get a lot out of reading your stories. And so do I. 

 

'Peg'

For those of you with good memories, you might recall a time when I was naming blog posts after Steely Dan songs. I know. I can’t explain it, its just one of those things. But for anyone who is an actual fan of Steely Dan, you will also know that one of their best songs EVER is a song called ‘Peg’. Never did I think I might have an occasion to reference this song in a blog post…but today I do.

Today’s story is totally, completely and utterly unique. It is all the more special because it comes from one of my regular correspondents.

Brad* and I mail on a regular basis. He was first prompted to write when I posted this story about modern day gender issues. As a stay-at-home-father-of-two, this clearly struck a chord for him. Since then, we have bantered back and forth. Sometimes we swap news stories and often we just talk about the weather….until recently that is, when this question came out of the blue:

Him: May I bring up a sensitive topic?

Me: Please do.

Him: OK.  Here it is. I lost my virginity well before I met my wife. However, about three years ago, she took my anal cherry.  I've never breathed a word of it to anyone and I thought it might be cathartic to write about. Just a thought.

Me: ‘Damm straight’ as Brad likes to say!

It is not just that there are so many different types of virginity to lose – we have seen on this very blog that not everyone is so fixated on the idea of virginity loss being limited to the penetrative experience. People have written about first loves, first climaxes, first allsorts of everything….but no man has ever written about his first experience of anal sex….with a woman.

For a man who stays home to raise a family whilst his wife goes out to work, this is all the more interesting. Because we could draw all sorts of parallels between the ‘bedroom’ part of their relationship and the rest of their lives together, but for me, the really interesting part of this story is to see just how close a man can get to feeling female.

It is only through the total relinquishing of control, from letting go of the idea of being the ‘giver’ and becoming the so called ‘receiver’ that a man can begin to understand the sexual act from a female point of view….quite literally.

This is fascinating stuff. I applaud this couple for pushing the boundaries and exploring new territory together. It may not be everybody’s cup of tea but I admire their ‘give it a go’ attitude. So if your friends ask you to sit their kids one Saturday night but they don’t actually appear to have left the house…perhaps this will give you some sense of what they might be up to?

Oh, and before I forget, the mysterious link between the Steely Dan blog post titles and ‘Peg?’ To ‘peg’ is the technical term to describe the above act. Don’t ever say I don’t tell you new stuff. (It was news to me as well!)

Brad from Denver. Born 1964.

‘I am not exactly sure what qualifies as losing one's virginity.  I suppose that it's commonly thought to be when one engages in sexual intercourse.  By that definition I lost mine when I was eighteen.  But that's not what I am writing about here. 

I have been married for more than ten years and was dating my wife for four years before then.  I took her virginity (if that is the right way to put it) three years before we were married, when we were each in our mid-twenties.  But that's not what I am writing about here either.

I am instead writing about an experience that, even as recently as five years ago, I'd never thought I'd have had, and until very recently I'd never thought I'd ever mention to another person, let alone write about.  It was the time, two years back, when my wife and I engaged in anal sex, with me as the receiver.

I had, what in hindsight were awkward, even comical, sexual experiences, in my teens.  By the time I met my future wife, Lynette, I was a bit more experienced but still barely more than a rookie, although I didn't realize it at the time.  Lynette, however, WAS a rookie.   So by comparison, I fancied myself a real Don Juan.  And I was in love with her.  Still am.   So I pursued her, relentlessly.  She finally gave in and we made love. 

I will never forget the look on her face - a mixture of love, fear, helplessness and shame - when I penetrated her for the first time.  She was a bit traumatized and confused but in the end very proud and pleased.

We were soon married and our relationship was very satisfying.  Lynette began to overcome all the inhibitions that had been drilled into her all those years.  On other fronts, her career as a banker was flourishing while mine was just going OK.  We decided it was time to start a family, and were very lucky. She got pregnant quickly.  She had planned to take time off work for a while but shortly before she realized she was pregnant she got an incredible promotion at work. 

The baby arrived and she took her maternity leave.  Then came crunch time.  Her job was paying too well to turn away from it.  So she went back and after a series of false starts I started to work part-time.

That set into motion a series of events that led us to where we are now.  We have two kids, Lynette works, and I stay home full time.  It's been a hard adjustment for both of us, although I complain louder and longer.  Even today, when the world has become so much more progressive and accepting of alternative lifestyles, being a househusband has, let us say, it’s down moments.  These changes have carried out into other areas too.  Lynette became much more confident and assertive, especially at work.  Her world expanded as mine contracted. 

Physically, we have not changed (except for getting older - drat).  But on the inside, and how we relate, especially to each other, we have changed.  To take one illustration, I've gone from thinking myself as a fulltime worker who happens to be in a part-time job, to a part-time worker with primary duties at home, to full-time dad with plans to return to the labor force, to househusband and corporate spouse with no plans to work again.

Things changed in bed too.  Lynette became more assertive, not in an S&M way or anything, but rather more willing to experiment and, quite frankly, more willing to have a good time. 

Part of that I chalk up to her maturing and shedding past bad lessons and part of it to her outward-directed life.  Years ago she would giggle or cringe at an attempt to give her oral sex.  Now she loves it and is quite appreciative of a good effort.   

So, two years ago, while we were in bed, she first brought up the idea of anal. I was, to put it mildly, petrified.  Visions of ‘being gay’ ran through my head.  She assured me I wasn't but I tried to let the topic die.  She wouldn't.  She brought it up again and eventually we made a date to go to a sex-toy store, just to look.

We went, we looked, and I was astounded as to how many toys and videos there were about woman-on-man anal.  Lynette was amazed too.  We both laughed and I found myself going along with things, retreating from a ‘no way’ attitude to one in which I was saying, ‘but that's way too big.’  Eventually we settled for a harness with a dildo on the small side but still long and wide enough to do its damage.  The salesman nonchalantly rang up the sale.

That night I was about as nervous as I'd ever been.  Lynette had made over the bedroom.  Lots of candles, burning incense, everything.  We took our clothes off and kissed. There was no turning back.  She looked at me. 

‘Ready?’  

‘Yeah.  I can't believe we're doing this.’

I went over to the bed and lay down.  She went over to a closet, out of my view, and finally reappeared, fully harnessed.  I must have gasped.  The sight of that missile protruding from her, and meant for me, brought everything home.  This was real.  I was about to get fucked. 

She smiled, sensing my apprehension.  ‘Don't worry,’ she said, ‘there's' nothing to be afraid of.’  She lay on top of me, pushed the tip of the dildo to my face and asked me to lube it up.  I did, thoroughly.  We'd talked about this moment and I remembered the rules.  Be calm.  Resist the urge to tighten up.  It will fit fine.  

‘OK,’ she said, ‘all ready.’ 

On my back, I spread my legs as wide apart as I could and lifted my bottom up.  She looked at me and the next thing I felt was a plastic, sticky object rubbing up against my inner thigh and balls.  In hindsight, this was funny:  Lynette was a total amateur with the harness and dildo.  But at the time I tensed up.  ‘It's never gonna work if you're so uptight,’ she said, ‘just relax.’ 

I tried to.  She guided the head with her hand and the next thing I felt was the tip touching my anus.  Then, slowly, it began to enter.  I tensed up and felt horrible.  She withdrew, quietly applied a bit more lube, and returned it to just outside my anus. 

‘Try again,’ she said, ‘trust me.’ 

I did.  I put my arms back and the pushing returned but this time I did not resist.  Slowly, slowly, the dildo pressed in and then all of a sudden it just slid forward.  

I moaned and gasped, ‘Ohmygod.’   

‘Mmmm,’ she said, ‘Here's some more.’ 

With that, she pushed in even further.  Another ‘Ohmygod’ from me.  Then the thrusting began.  ‘Keep with me,’ she said.  I did, mimicking what she'd done for me hundreds of times before - bucking my hips in rhythm to meet her thrusts.  I couldn't believe it.

Then she slowed down, stopped bucking and began to maneuver the dildo deeper inside me.  She hit the spot after a while and then I rolled my eyes.  Ecstasy.  Ready to come.  But she moved away. 

‘Now,’ I said, ‘do that again. 

She did, but moved again, and repeated this several times.  I got the picture.  No demands from now on.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she hit the magic spot and stayed there. 

‘Blast off,’ she yelled, and that's exactly what I did. 

It was a mind-blowing orgasm, the likes of which I'd never experienced before.  I was joyful and ashamed at the same time.  But she wasn't done yet.  Back to bucking.  This time with greater force.  Then slowing down.  Then back to the magic spot, but this time she didn't tease.  I came again.  Then she starting bucking again.  I was totally drained, and yet I did my best to keep up with her.  Her moves were smooth and not too fast.  I met them again.  What an odd sensation.  It was so impersonal.  It was as though my private parts were just there to be used by her.  She lay atop me, eyes half glazed, staring into space or at the wall or something, but not at me.  After some time, she again stopped, looked down, kissed me, and put her head on my shoulder.  Unbelievably, I felt the shaft probe for my spot again.  It hit it and just like that I came, though not nearly as much as before.  Lynette lifted her head up and looked at me. 

‘You're quite the stud, old man.’ 

In truth I felt like anything but a stud.  I was lying on my back in a daze, with semen all over me, dripping onto the sheets, lubricant dribbling out of my anus, and feeling battered.  Both reflexively and with a sense of self-preservation, I proceeded to give her oral sex.  It was a relief to be back in a more typical situation, one that probably lasted longer than the screwing I had just received.  I was shocked when she put the harness back on. 

‘Oh no,’ I said, or something like it. 

‘Just once more,’ she replied. 

I assumed the position, but she asked me to turn over and get on my knees.  We were going to do it doggie-style.  I acquiesced, and quickly felt her hands holding my butt and then the dildo pressing up against its target.  It zoomed in, I gasped, and then it began probing.  Again.  And again.  Finally, it hit the spot, I moaned, got hard and came.  Mercifully, she withdrew and we lay next to each other and cuddled.  It was over.

We said nothing for a while, just holding each other tightly.  Lynette hadn't removed the harness, so the dildo was still on her, pressed up against my stomach, a silent reminder of all that had just happened.  And what had just happened? 

The physical act had been one thing, and a weird one at that.  But the psychological effects were just beginning to waft in.  I'd just come about as close as I ever will to experiencing what Lynette had experienced the first time I had screwed her.  This was not like my first experience all those years ago, from which I took away feelings of power and exhilaration.  To the contrary, this mostly involved powerlessness - being pursued, penetrated, and under the control of another person. 

All my life I had been the penetrator and even when the woman was aggressive, there was no doubt as to who was doing what to whom.  But now, as the one being penetrated, I was on the other side.  She'd gotten me to give it up.  Four times.  She'd probed, thrusted, and done any manner of other things, all of her own urging and without regard to what I wanted.  She had been cool, under control, self-assured, while I'd been emotional, afraid, out of control.  And yet, I'd experienced great orgasms, real rock 'em, sock 'em ones.  My mind had reeled at the experience; and my body had enjoyed almost every second of it.  Even the pain (and there was pain) was rewarded in the end by pleasure. 

I told her all these things.  She hugged me all the harder and explained how it had been great for her.  She told me how she loved being in charge for a change and how great it felt to be able to control me, as opposed to usually being under my control.  She said that what really surprised her was how protective she become of me when she realized that I was now vulnerable to her.  (Yeah, I thought sarcastically, you really acted protectively.)  She said that she felt like she'd conquered me but at the same time wanted to make sure that I was OK. 

She also said, mimicking a cornerstone on which patriarchy is based, that she felt surprised at how easily I'd let her do what she was doing and in a way lost some respect for me.  I nodded.  I was surprised by that too and a little angry that that was how she felt.  After all, I'd just done what she wanted me to.

So that was that.  Since then we have added anal to our repertoire, and I must admit that it is enjoyable but I've never shed my ambiguous feelings about it.  Maybe that's part of what makes it so exciting.'

* All names changed.

Well said that woman….

Once again, The Virginity Project has been a busy bee. Dating, pitching, writing, early morning trips to the swimming pool in the dark British gloom, life never stops here in the Big Smoke.

In amongst all this, I am happy that all sorts of folk still find the time to send me a story. I particularly like this one from Cheryl in Manchester. She raises a pertinent question: does virginity loss only happen once? Or could it be something that we ‘grow into’? A process instead of one single isolated incident?

I like this point of view. This is what virginity loss is all about. In the end, its never going to be the greatest experience of your life is it? I could count the people on one finger who told me their stories were the fairy tale they imagined  – and upon reflection even that person had changed her mind by the time she had finished telling me her story. (Please note, I am not factoring in the one about the lesbian who told me that losing her virginity was one of the greatest sexual experiences of her life – I am saving that one for the book!)

But losing virginity is a beginning. It’s the first step at the start of a journey. You don’t expect to drive a car well the first time that you try. But with practice and patience, you might become a world-class driver. We all have to start somewhere and the first time you have sex with someone that actually means something is much more likely to be the ‘first time’ that you really remember.

The only comment I can make about this is based around an incident that occurred in the bath with my first proper boyfriend when we were about seventeen years old. I shan’t go into the details but it was the first sexual experience that really knocked my socks off - not that I was wearing any of course. But it certainly wasn’t the first time I had had sex. And as Cheryl says, if we can keep on losing our virginity in that manner, for the love of god, lets hope it keeps on going for a very long time….

Cheryl. Born 1984, lost virginity aged 16.

Losing my virginity? I don't even know when it was. I know I was sixteen when I definitely, 100%, had penetration. When I was thirteen I had a drunken fumble with a boy in the year above me. I don't think I lost my virginity then though. When I was fourteen, after a huge party in the woods I woke up and found condom wrappers near by. I don't think I lost my virginity then either. But it was certainly a start...

No one I know lost their virginity in some whirlwind of romance or love - or anything even resembling it. I can't help but think that 'losing your virginity' is something you should grow into; not something which is over in a split second amidst pain or embarrassment. The first time for a girl and probably the second, third, fourth and fifth are quite uncomfortable experiences. Uncomfortable doesn't even do it justice. It hurts, it bleeds, it confuses and worries... And that's what all the fuss is about?

I was seventeen when I had my first sexually active relationship. I had never orgasmed before other than on my own. After a few months of sleeping with my boyfriend, I started to feel the twinges of a possible orgasm. Even those vague sensations changed my outlook on sex. All of a sudden it seemed that it might, just might be possible for my boyfriend to make me come. And then he made me come. That's when I really started to lose my virginity...

Surely if losing your virginity is meant to be so monumental then the point when it should be recognized is the point that deserves such recognition? The intimacy, the exhilaration – the awakening and acknowledgement of every part of your body when an orgasm ripples, when someone else makes that orgasm ripple through you and your bare flesh is touching bare flesh; when you cannot get any closer to that other person - that's monumental.

But on the other hand, if that's the time to acknowledge losing your virginity then 'losing' is surely not the right word for such an incredible feeling and experience. I didn't ever lose my virginity; I grew out of it, shedding it like a caterpillar sheds its cocoon, to stretch its wings as a butterfly and all of a sudden see the world from a completely different point of view.

I hope I never stop losing my virginity.

Perfect shmerfect...

I was just about to post this story yesterday and blather on about how good it is to seize the moment but then I got sidetracked by an email from my ‘born again’ virgin friend, who try as he might, has still not persuaded me that this is a path worth following but it did get me thinking about why, lovely as he is, he really gets my goat?

First things first, born again virgins believe – and this is official blurb that I have pulled from a website, that ‘secondary virginity, or being a ‘born-again’ virgin, is when an individual who has had premarital sex chooses to ‘start again’ and wait until marriage.’ Which is all well and good, I have no problem with this. I have met all sorts of interesting people and encountered many vexing theories and this is one of the more interesting ones.

In fact, I have a certain admiration for people who, given how much pleasure one can get from doing the do, have the sheer force of will to forego sexual intercourse until they meet ‘the one’. Nope, this isn’t the part that winds me up. What really twists my melon is the idea that life should be perfect and that this is what we should all be holding out for. Life is not perfect and nor should it be. What would we learn about anything if we drifted through the days in a series of scenes reminiscent of ‘Little House on The Prairie?

Because where is the grit and the grub and the edge that we need in order to really learn stuff? And where is the inner grit and the skills that we need in order to develop into healthy functioning adults who can go with the flow, roll with the punches and if necessary, put up a fight if the occasion calls for it? You’re not going to get that by foregoing sex until you meet the person that you want to marry.

Its like all these kids that suffer from asthma related conditions because their parents got so obsessed with Dettox’ing every single surface clean when they were young that they actually have no immune system whatsoever. Exposure to dust and dirt renders them completely helpless. This is not good. We cannot live a homogenized, vacuum packed existence. It doesn’t help anybody, least of all ourselves.

And so it is with our virginity. Waiting for perfection is not a good use of our time. You’ve got to get down and dirty and make a mess of things because at the end of the day, if you have been allowed to develop some degree of self awareness then hopefully you will also have the ability to choose a nice partner - someone who will listen to you, support you, be your biggest cheerleader and hopefully have some top quality hot sex with. Can we ask any more than that?

Phew, I’m glad to get that rant off my chest and while I’m here, I’ll say this. When I get into bed at night, I close my eyes and I thank god, my maker, my intuition, whomever or whatever you want to believe in, for all the experiences that are bestowed upon me. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Because I appreciate them all, I learn from them and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Which leads me to today’s story, a goodie from a girl with her head screwed onto her shoulders the right way round. She does ask that question – ‘should I have waited for someone I love?’ And who wouldn’t? It’s the most natural question in the world. But she follows this up with some good old-fashioned pragmatism. It might not have been the greatest experience in the world but it certainly wasn’t the worst, heck, she spent most of it laughing, not many people can say that!

I’ve said all this before, and no doubt I will say it again in another post, and in another way but I can’t help it. We are human beings not robots. We are supposed to grow and mature as we get older, not go backwards. We all have to roll with the punches, so why not learn how to do it at the earliest opportunity?

Fern. Born 1989. Lost virginity aged 19.

Before…

I always had an image in my head of how it would go down. In every mental movie, I was in love with the guy. But after nineteen years of waiting, and no such guy coming along, I grew impatient.

I went to Israel for the summer and one night I met up with a few friends for some drinks. My friend Teja brought her beau Yoni who brought Daniel B and Daniel L. Daniel L was hitting on me all night, and what nineteen-year old girl can resist a sexy Israeli soldier?

I couldn't. But I didn't lose it to him. As Daniel L. went to the bathroom, Daniel B. made his move. I gave him the come hither look which he picked up on immediately.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked.

‘Nothing…’ I responded coyly.

‘Oh really?’ he responded as he grabbed me by the nape of the neck and pulled me close to him. Our lips were millimeters from touching, my eyes were closed and I waited. Nothing. ‘Was that what you were thinking? he growled in an Israeli accent, as I opened my eyes. I just smiled and then went in for the kiss. There I was at a bar by the beach in the heart of Tel Aviv. The music was pumping, the people were pulsing and I was ready to get out of there.

We headed to his car only for me to discover that we had to give Daniel L. a ride home. Awkward. Finally we make it to his place. His brother stares at me from their couch and I scamper away into the bedroom. I made it clear that we weren't having sex that night, but he asked anyways. I repeated ‘No’ and he replied ‘Okay. It's no big deal.’ But that sentence echoed in my head. ‘It's no big deal.

And it was then and there that I decided that it wasn't. That maybe this trip to Israel, which changed my life in more ways than one, was the meaningful part of the experience. Not the man but the place and the time in my life.

And with that, I changed my mind. ‘Okay. Let's do it.’ And we did. 3 times. I was clumsy and I laughed more than I probably should have. But we had fun. I tried to see him again, but some confusion in dates and some miscommunication prevented that from happening. I doubt I will ever see him again. 

…and after

Since sleeping with Daniel, I’ve had a mixed bag of emotions. Part of me feels relief that I don’t have to wonder what my first time will be like. Part of me is happy that I had such a unique and relatively positive experience. But another part of me is sad that it wasn’t with someone I loved. And I can’t figure out if this is because society tells me that is how it is supposed to happen or if I actually believe that doing it with someone I loved would have made that experience any better?

The guy I am dating now knows the story and sees nothing wrong with it, so maybe it’s a female perspective to regret something like that? Who knows… all I know is the overall reaction when I tell people is a kind of high-five, ‘way to go’ reaction.

Also, as far as ‘virginity’ goes, I think virginity is almost self-defined. Heterosexual culture defines it as an act in which there is a chance the girl can get pregnant. I think the definition should be more along the lines of the moment in which you physically give your whole self to another person. How ironic then, that for me, this happened on July 4^th, 2008 -Independence Day.