The Virginity Project

It's only rock n roll...

I did a radio show with the World Service a few years back and was given a semi hard time by a woman who thought I didn’t place enough importance on ‘the first time’. She said it was something that should be treasured and saved for ‘the right person’ and not given away without a thought. I don’t recall saying it should be given away without a thought but I do think we are on dodgy ground when we start saving it for ‘the one’ - for a hundred different reasons. The most prescient one being that a first time is just that. It’s a first time. There will be other times. These, to my mind, are just as, if not more, important. Which leads me to this….

There has been much talk lately of a piece of research conducted by undergrads at the University of Tennessee and Mississippi that claims that the quality of your first time dictates the quality of your future sex life. With the exception of people who have terrible first time experiences, I’m not on board with this. Our first time experience is a meeting of many different factors and influences and after years of listening to your stories, I conclude that our first experiences are the product of the people that we already are, and not the other way around.

If you are a sensible person, you will likely make a sensible decision about the first person you sleep with. Ergo, your first time is likely to be better. My first time speaks volumes about what sort of person I already was at 15 years old: way too bothered about what other people thought. For that reason, I gravitated towards the most handsome man I could find in order to ‘get it out of the way’ and impress people at the same time. Not that I could have articulated any of this at the time.  I wanted the beautiful French boy who could walk on his hands and I got him. I was acting on pure instinct and the instincts in question were not the foundation for grand romance or earth shaking first sexual experiences. It wasn’t the worst time of my life by a long shot either. The point being that as I grew up, got past ‘the first time’ and got to know myself better, I made better choices. This is the ebb and flow of life. Virginity loss is not a one-stop, one-chance-only, if you fuck-it-up-its-all-over kind of deal - and the way we deal with our sexual encounters reflects this. Being a teenager is complicated enough without bandying around (more) misinformation about your first time. And no, its not going to look like it does in porn either. If it does, I can guarantee you the female half of the equation will be dying of boredom inside.

In the meantime, today’s storyteller tells a cracking good tale and brings to light the entire ridiculous charade that is virginity and its loss.

‘I recently discovered your blog and project. Instantly fascinated, I have read many accounts and in the end decided to share my own. I lost my virginity aged 18 in 2009 and am now 21. Aged 14 there had been a girl I liked. She was slightly older than me and liked me too. At the time I didn't catch on to that but she was persistent in her endeavor. She and her friend invited me and my friend to stay the night at theirs. I went, rather oblivious despite the obvious purpose of this double date. We watched films, chatted and got a little drunk. At some point my friend and her friend left and she kissed me. I was instantly turned on and went along with it. As clothes came off I wasn't phased or even thinking of what was happening. It was all instinct.

That's why when she asked me 'Are you a virgin?' I simply told the truth. It hadn't occurred to me to say anything but that. I look back now and realise she had expected the opposite. She stopped and smiled, 'save it for someone important', she said, and no amount of begging changed her mind.

Our friends however clearly believed that we had had sex, for that was precisely what they had been doing. Although I hadn't had sex and thoroughly kicked myself for having bungled it by admitting my virginity, I let everyone believe I had. I was smart, I read about it intensively. From chick flicks to sex forums and thus with not too little bluster and at least one supposedly confirmed lay I duped everyone. I was an expert, I never claimed I was good in bed (which is a good practice anyway!) and made sure I knew everything there was to know. I was terrified that my peers would discover my terrible secret and it came close a few times.

Then I went to university, where of course talk of sex is rife, many having had partners before or indeed were in relationships. Not to mention the stereotype of students having so much casual sex. In my first two weeks in halls of residence I consistently kept leaving and returning at the same as a good looking 26 year old Masters student. We laughed about it the first few times and then chatted happily, rapidly accepting this as the status quo. One night, out with my friends and rather drunk, I bumped into her on the dance floor in a similar state. Within minutes we were kissing.

We went home and as we were kissing and more clothes were coming off she suddenly stopped and asked me 'Are you a virgin?' Inside a part of me keeled over with a heart attack and died. But the years of bullshit and study paid off as I shrugged it off smoothly and answered with a glib 'if I were, would I know how to do this?' as I kissed down the length of her body. Of course, I hadn't done that either so I was rather terrified! Thankfully she was so aroused and easily stimulated that I was very successful somehow. She soon grabbed a condom and we had sex. Hot passionate sex where we both achieved orgasm. It was amazing and I was so proud of myself for not having fallen in the same trap as before. The elation of having done it, of having gotten over with it was amazing. The best part about it was that it reinforced my know it all, sex guru, seducer persona that I had already begun to bullshit my new friends with.

It was only later, as the elation wore of that I found it both terribly sad however satisfying it was that I had been able to lie about it.  I know full well that my close encounter with sex aged 14 and my being able to bluff the fact that I had sex certainly changed the dynamics of my relationship with my peer group both at school and at university. Most definitely in my favour. I had always feared people finding out yet after. I wished I hadn't had to have lied to avoid the stigma of not having done it. Especially since it is relatively hard for a spotty, socially awkward young male to do.’

Anxiety, cars and books we never meant to write...

I’m always slightly irritated by people who begin their blog posts with the words ‘sorry I haven’t updated my blog lately but I’ve been really busy with life/work/Christmas shopping etc….and yet I feel tempted to justify my absence in precisely the same way today. The Virginity Project has not worked this hard since 2007. No particular reason. The day job just got between me and my ability to sit down and write something.

Now, at last, alongside the rest of the world, the pace is slowing as we settle into the shortest days of the year, hunker down and spend time with family and friends. I never really think of myself as a writer, more of a sharer of ideas but for today’s purposes, I’ll refer to myself as one. Any writer will tell you that the battle to sit down and write is a constant one. People imagine that writers make an appointment with the muse, sharpen a pencil and out come perfectly composed prose. If only. There is no mystery or alchemy to the process…(except for an exceptionally gifted and quite possibly tortured few). You put the man-hours in at the coal-face and hope that the words come out interesting. If they don’t, you get over yourself and stay there until they do.

Today, I’d like to bang out something about my Renault 5, a car that has travelled many miles with me, physical and otherwise over the last 10 years. I didn’t learn to drive until I was in my thirties. ‘Don’t leave it too late’ said my friend Charlotte. ‘Its harder to learn when you’re older’. Yeah right, I thought. As if that could be true. Turns out it was. It took me at least 18 months of lessons to get past the fact that I was driving a hulking lump of metal/potential killing machine. I honestly couldn’t believe that anyone would put me in charge of a car.

My reasons for learning to drive were unusual as well. I’d had a testing experience in my early 30’s. I had what could only be described as a 3-month anxiety attack. I was horrified by this experience and when it abated, I didn’t want to talk about it…with my friends, with my family, or, as most sensible people would do, with a therapist. I didn’t want to re-live a single second of this episode so I decided I would learn to drive instead.

I had little interest in actually owning a car or the usefulness of being able to get from A to B without walking. I just wanted to do something that would help my head. I thought of it as a physical therapy. Something that might make me more confident or assertive and that was all. What I never banked on was that driving would be such a pleasure, such an adventure and so much fun. Once I passed the test that is. It took me 3 go’s. I cracked it on the final attempt, mostly because I’d bought the Renault and I wanted to drive it.

My chickens really came home to roost when I was let loose on the streets of London by myself. My jaw was almost wired together in those early days; so intense was the combination of excitement and terror. Progress felt slow. Remember those friends who tell you ‘oh, you’ll get to that stage where you drive home and you can’t remember how you got there’. Really? Is there a chance that might happen in the next fifteen years? There are so many firsts when you begin to drive by yourself…your first motor way, your first trip round the Hammersmith one way system (not unlike a cartoon character careering towards Niagra Falls in a barrel. At least that’s how it felt) and yet somehow, just as I suspected, I found out exactly who I was behind the wheel of my car.

Not long after, apropos of nothing except an increased sense of self, I decided to write a book and the car came with me on my trips to interview people. Most memorably, all the way to Lands End and back to interview a tantric sex teacher. I never felt alone. I had my little red car. I’ve slept in it, laughed in it and spent hours singing, cacooned in the tiny universe that is one’s car when one is going on a long journey.

I shed hot stingy tears when I sold it this last weekend. It is hard to say good-bye but I’m excited about the future. I’m excited about new cars and the adventures I’m going to have in them. I’m thankful for the experiences: the good, the bad and the ugly. I’ve always tried to see the plus side of any situation, even a shitty one. I never wanted to encounter ill mental health but ultimately, it pushed me onto a path that has been more full of adventure – and joy - than I ever could have imagined. I’m talking less about driving now and more about the writing of books, blogs and the receiving of emails from people who take the time to write their stories and share them here on The Virginity Project with everyone else. I never, ever planned on writing about virginity loss in a million years (or Big Guys With Small Dogs for that matter) and yet, here we are. I wish you adventures, happiness and joy in 2013, and most of all, the ability to eek the positive out of any situation you find yourself in. You never know where you might end up as a result.

Today’s story-teller titles her story to me ‘24 year old with a virgin slut complex’. The truth is, the complex belongs entirely to the people she meets. She is utterly normal and well adjusted. Its just everyone else that can’t deal with her virgin status.

‘Hello there, I have a story to tell.....I'm a 24-year-old female living in NYC and I'm a virgin. I have no strong religious views that prompt me to abstain from sex and I am not asexual or closeted homosexual. But these are the things people assume when I tell them about my life without sex. Aside from the closed minded people who make these assumptions there are the ones who believe I'm lying. Even my own doctor implied that I was either lying or a lesbian after hearing that I was not sexually active and so I have stopped telling people that I am a virgin to avoid these familiar questions and doubts about my virginity. I omit the fact that I am a virgin on a daily basis and have grown very accustomed to lying about it.

The first time I lied was in high school but that was only because I was afraid people would not be surprised due to my nerdy and unattractive appearance. Since then I have blossomed socially and physically. I lie now to avoid uncomfortable situations for myself and the people around me (its funny how uncomfortable people become when the subject of virginity comes about....assuming they believe you). I really feel like a child most of the time and try to hide these feelings in my everyday life but it is becoming very hard.

Dating is very difficult for me. Finding men my own age that are patient enough to deal with me is near impossible. According to most men I meet I ‘scream sex’ so it is obvious men are very attracted to me and seem to want to bed me all the time - but this always changes upon me telling them about my situation.

After I tell them that I have never had sex they either lose interest or become obsessed with the idea of taking my virginity. In fact the man I am dating right now has done nothing but pressure me since he found out i was a virgin. With all the chances I have had to get it over with I just don't want to yet.....I enjoy physical closeness. I know that I am a sexual being but I haven't found the right person to share this moment with and at the rate I'm going will never find anyone to share this with. Am I unusual? And how can I be proactive about finding that special someone who wants me for something other than just a weird sexual fantasy?’ 

Ships passing in the night..

We’re back to boats again. Several posts ago, we heard from 'Stuart', a man who sails great big boats all over the world, the captain of the ship if you like. But as he poignantly points out, he is ‘a boy doing a man’s job’. He believes this because he has never had sex. If only he knew how many emails I get from men and women just like him, perfectly normal people who, for one reason or another have never gotten around to ‘sealing the deal’.

I digress. Today’s storyteller comes from the Channel Islands and met her ‘first’ online. She then travels to France to meet him and is surprised when, meeting and spending time together for the first time, she feels nervous. ‘It was daunting and awkward to me, sleeping in the same bed as him and getting used to being open around someone new and different……I was not ready for the intimacy just yet, it took me by surprise.’ No shit!! It always surprises me – although I don’t know why. I was probably the same at that age – at how hard people are on themselves. How could you, at 21 years old, particularly never having had a close relationship, expect to feel comfortable around someone that you have only ever spoken to on the phone? Albeit most days for 5 months but still…..imagining something and being there are two different things and intimacy can be scary when you’re young. And is it even intimacy we are talking about anyway? A genuine intimacy is something that grows between two people over a period of time. It is symptomatic of the comfort and ease that two people feel together. Sex is something different. Don’t confuse the two. Although when they do happen to collide, it can lead to a life-changingly pleasurable situation.

One step at a time and all that.

‘Hi there Kate,

My name is Nicky, I am 22 and I live on Guernsey which is one of the Channel Islands. I read your article in Glamour magazine yesterday and it got me thinking that I would really love to write down how I lost my virginity. I love to have a record of things to look back on, and I hope my story will be interesting to you!

I met my other half through internet dating last year. I will admit that I have never taken such a risk before as to go to France, across to a different country to meet someone off the internet. Was I, at 21 years old, ready to have a proper adult relationship with someone who I had only talked to for about 5 months before hand? Was I just settling for the first man to ever show me any attention? What will people think of me? I have always had low self esteem issues so just the pure belief that someone could love me for myself was hard to get used to at first, and to me seemed a valid reason to take the plunge and make the first step.

That first boat trip I took over was the most nervous I had ever been about anything in my life. I had butterflies and my heart was going a million miles per hour. I was so scared of what he might think of me and what would I do if it didn’t work out how I hoped? My mum didn't even know that I was going to France. She thought I had gone somewhere on a 'girls' holiday. I had to take the plunge, not only for the possibility of having a long term relationship but for myself. It was something completely out of my comfort zone, but I figured what was life without a little risk? 

I arrived in France to meet him. The man I had been talking to online for 5 months. It was daunting and awkward to me, sleeping in the same bed as him and getting used to being open around someone new and different, I was so used to talking to him that to be around him physically I felt very shy and it took me a few days to just get used to that. The first night we spent together in bed was awkward. I was not ready for the intimacy just yet, it took me by surprise.  We kissed but it was too much too quickly, I could feel him getting excited in bed and it scared me. I was a virgin with hardly any experience, in bed with a man for the first time in my life. Yes at 21 it seems a bit old, but I felt I waited for the right person to give my virginity too which I always viewed as a gift. I used to be religious but I am more indifferent now that I can enjoy my life without feeling guilty for doing things like drinking too much or having sex before marriage that people would ultimately judge me for. Who have I got to prove myself to other than myself? I have learnt so much that life is what I can make of it despite what other people think.

Anyway the week progressed that I spent in France last July. Me and the other half went to the supermarket. Ironically we both were eyeing up condoms in the aisle. We went home and later that evening last year we were getting frisky, and I decided there and then that yes he was the one I wanted to do it with, and yes I knew that we were going to be together for as long as we both lived.

I don't know what made me decide that but I love the fact that my first time was with someone I knew was worth waiting for and that the story of it is amusing to me. So as I said we were getting frisky in bed and I said that I wanted to go all the way with him. He asked me if I had any condoms and I said no, I thought you had some. So as it turned out, at about 10 pm in Catholic France we decided to drive to the nearest town to look for a condom machine. We tried several places with no such luck. Although it seems crazy, I suggested that we drive all the way to St Malo which is a 70 mile round trip….for condoms. We looked at each other and we decided that, yes it was worth it for my first time. So we arrived in St Malo, get out the car and go into the walled city, walking around looking for shops that might sell condoms. I spot a newsagents and I make him go in there. He asks the guy for condoms who takes them out from under the counter as if it's a crime, gives them to him for a euro and winks and says, ‘Have a good time’. My boyfriend comes out of the shop, hands me the packet which I stuff in my jeans pocket, (I still have the box as a memento) and then we go back to his house to, well, do the deed. Which I will admit is not all what its cracked up to be. It hurt and I felt sore afterwards. I didn't orgasm but me and him have found ways around that. We love to do other things to each other which is part of the adaptation of having a relationship. A year on the passion is still there and I am counting down the days until I see him again soon. I am so glad that one risk for love has worked out in favor for me'. 

Dear Kate,
‘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...’

The Vow

When I first read this story, I assumed that The Vow in question had been made in response to parental pressure. I was wrong:

‘Both of my parents knew about my vow and both of them, whom have not agreed on a single thing since their divorce in 1996, told me square in the face that I would not make it. Neither my mother, nor my father believed it was humanly possible to hold off till marriage. I think my parents are happy that I chose to abstain but I don't think it is because of the normal reasons. They just had one less worry in the world. I wouldn't be getting pregnant.’

No, I am actually talking about a more powerful vow than that. This is the vow made between children, children on the threshold of adult hood with idealism, adventures and a bright future laid out in front of them. The world is full of possibilities when we are teenagers. Making a pact to do – or not to do something can seem like a good idea when we are young.

These sorts of pacts can be enduring. I have a friend who decided to give up meat with her best friend at the age of fifteen. To this day, a full twenty-seven years after two teenage girls decided to forego the eating of animals, neither of them has eaten meat.

Of course giving up meat and foregoing sex are two different things and our needs change as we grow and develop. Although I did once hear a story about a vegetarian who had a very nasty bicycle accident. As she lay shocked and bruised in the road, the very real possibility of being crushed to death by a ten-ton lorry having just flashed before her face, a bizarre feeling overtook her. She felt an almost overwhelming urge to eat a big fat juicy piece of meat. Which she did and, by all accounts, she felt a lot better for it. Is there something in meat that helps humans to recover from shock? I don’t know. Was it a strange, almost primordial sense of self-preservation, i.e. I almost got killed therefore I must eat something that once lived? One can only guess.

I digress. At fifteen years old, we are taking a stance. We are laying down the law, our law, as we see fit. Making a vow is a way of asserting ourselves, of imprinting our authority upon ourselves, our parents, over anyone who will bother to listen and telling them, this is who I am. 

The trick, of course, is to recognize when the vow ceases to be useful to us because, let me tell you, at some point, that vow is going to become a millstone around your neck. Life changes, we change and situations change. Continuing to do something that you decided to do when you were fifteen is a bit like trying to squeeze into your childhood clothes when you are a teenager. They don’t fit. Don’t even get me started on True Love Waits and the concept of teenage girls promising their virginity to their fathers. People should be allowed to develop in the way that nature intended. If that involves sexual activity, so be it. In Sarah’s case, it didn’t and that is an equally valid choice.

Choice is the optimum word here. Not parents. Or churches. Sarah made her choice of her own free will. No parents were involved in the taking of this vow! Which is the way it should be. Sarah is also grown up enough to know when the choice she has made no longer serves any purpose. Is she planning on being a nun? No. Has she finished her schooling and not got pregnant? Yes. Excellent. Time to move on. The fact is that Sarah probably has saved herself a whole bunch of heartache by not having to deal with the intensity of a sexual relationship at a young age. But at 23 years old, she is more than ready to jump in at the deep end.

The best part of this story is that the opportunity to jump into metaphorical swimming pools comes a whole lot quicker than you think it would. ‘Do keep in touch’ I said. ‘When the time comes, I would love to know how this story develops’. Three weeks later, part two landed in my lap but I’ll save that for next time.

Part One – The Vow

'Growing up does many things. We love, we lose, we learn but most of all we gain a better understanding of our own choices. For me, I have learned that one choice was once right and that now it’s time to change my theory according to life, not past ideals, not personal histories but reality as it is now. The vow started as celibacy, moved to abstinence and is now something else…

My friends and I took the vow around 13. Like typical naive girls we actually believed it would work. I believe what kick started the conversation with my friends was gossip about a few girls our age that were pregnant and had dropped out of school. We were, and are, very educated and so, to us, leaving school was unthinkable. The idea for the vow spawned from there. We all made the pact that we would not become a teenage statistic and we wouldn't let anything stop us from graduation. By the time we graduated high school everyone but myself had broken it.

I saw how miserable sex was making most of my peers so I figured I made a great choice. There was pregnancy; disease, failed relationships and extra pressure that to me, were needless.

At 17, I really began to take my vow seriously and when I received a beautiful ring for graduation, I vowed to keep my promise even more. It worked out great because I was too busy with school to get involved with anyone to the point of intimacy. So no harm, no foul, no lesson. Most of my college days were spent not having a worry about sexual relationships because they never got that far.

At the age of 19, I met my first serious boyfriend. We got serious fast and desires to build a future seemed to only fuel my need to uphold my now, well-known vow. At that time in my life, I was so hung up on what other people expected of me, I continued to maintain my vow even though in my heart I saw my reasons had lost validity.

I always said I wanted to wait until my husband’s ring replaced my fathers, but I have come to realize that in my heart I only wanted to wait for the moment to feel right. Like the heart of my ring I wanted to wait until someone set my heart on fire so that it sparkled like the gem held within the setting. Funny that a loss causes our eyes to become open because I know I had that and even though in the end it didn’t work out, at that time it was real. I always say live life without regrets. Do I regret not sleeping with him? No. Am I happy with my choice to uphold something I no longer personally supported? Well that answer to that is also no.

It’s hard to put in words where I stand today. I am proud of what I have done, I am happy with who I am and I am secure in the knowledge that my vow was valid and is now void. This does not mean I’m hopping in the sack tomorrow, but this also means that who I am today is not who I was 10 years ago. I can honestly say without a doubt in my mind that, at 23, I can make the informed decision to do something I am physically, mentally and emotionally ready for. I know the risks, I know the advantages and I know that it doesn’t change anything. I will still be me; the world will not view me differently. Most importantly I know I will be right.

Life is too short to hold off on your firsts because you never know what tomorrow brings. I recently got a new tattoo that reads my philosophy on life: ‘Doubt nothing Cherish everything Live without regret.’ I fully intend on upholding that for the rest of my life. I will always be Sarah no matter what physical changes or choices I make.'

To be or not to be.....

Whoops! The Virginity Project took an accidental sabbatical. Once again, the day job took over the show but it’s all over now and I am on the hunt again for my next freelance contract. Meanwhile, I had this interesting exchange with a young American woman….This week’s storyteller makes so many interesting points about sex and virginity that it’s hard to know where to begin. The point that stands out a mile for me is when she tells us how shocked she was to discover that there was a word to describe the state of never having had sex – or the ‘default’ state as she calls it.This must be an odd thing to discover at the age of eight. That one is not just an eight-year-old child but that one also a virgin. One has been tagged, labeled and defined. You have barely taken your first breathe in the general context of your life, and yet, you are already a ‘virgin’. Perhaps this is where the anxiety kicks in, the anxiety of being apart, of being separate, of entertaining the very real possibility that you might be different to your fellow human beings. The horror! And as she points out, its not like you gain another label when you finally do the deed. You just cease to be a ‘virgin’.Our storyteller really nails this concept when she says that later on, she begins to feel ashamed about her lack of sexual activity, about her perceived inability to move beyond her virgin status. This is where The Virginity Project really gained some traction because there could not be a richer – or more uncomfortable - seam to mine. Not that I planned it that way, it’s just that I have always received a lot of mail from people who have not lost their virginity – and feel awful about it.Because make no mistake, the pressure is on, even if you are not aware of it. So much of what surrounds us is transmitting the non-verbal message that to be sexual is to be cool, that by jumping into the fray and taking part that you are also a fully functioning sexual member of society.Of course, time and many interviews have proved to me that being sexual and losing virginity are not mutually exclusive but try telling that to someone who does feel different, who does feel excluded because they have not ‘joined the club’ so to speak.Asides from pressure, there is also good old fashioned desire to contend with, and not just in terms of general ‘relief,’ for as our story teller herself says, having orgasms is not an issue, but sharing them with someone else is. For most of us, the sheer mental nourishment that we gain from being in close physical proximity to another human being and from exchanging, not just our bodies but also our minds, is something that we desire and require on a very fundamental level. It is life affirming, it is vital and if you are doing it with the right person, it’s the best feeling in the world.Our story teller finishes up by being one of those young people that impresses the pants off me. Just because she’s has sex once (or perhaps even quite a few times), that doesn’t mean that she’s going to compromise herself. As she herself, says, we place far too much importance on ‘the first time’. What about the 999 times after that? Do they not matter as much?Despite the ubiquitous pressure on young people to perform or to play the game, she refuses to give in. She knows what she wants and she is prepared to wait for it. That’s not an easy thing to do but I can’t help feeling that she’ll find it.Rose. Born 1985. Lost virginity aged 23.‘Definition of Virginity/About me:I am Rose, a law student from the USA and a 23 year old heterosexual female, but I consider oral sex to be ‘sex’ and a loss of virginity. I have honestly never understood women (or men) who would perform oral sex on but not have vaginal intercourse. That is my MOUTH. Much more intimate than a body part that I can't even see without a hand mirror. (Laughing to myself). When I was 8 years old I learned what the word ‘virgin’ meant and was shocked there was a word for ‘the default’ state. I figured there would be a word for the ALTERED state. (Yes, yes I was a brain even then).I grew up in a liberal household. My Mom is an Ob/Gyn so sexuality was never a taboo subject and I had no desire to remain ‘pure’ and no strong desire to wed (so waiting till marriage wouldn’t work) but given the STD’s in existence - my Mom has made me paranoid - I knew I would never be promiscuous. I wanted to have sexual activity within the contexts of a relationship.I dated casually in high school, and my rule was no clothing removed if I wasn’t ready to have sex - my way to set boundaries. I went to a small private school where there wasn’t much opportunity to meet new guys but I was in no rush to have sex. But I definitely FELT sexual and thought that if sex was half as fun as my masturbation sessions, it was going to be wonderful. However, I never worried about WHEN I would ‘lose it’, I figured it would happen in due time.I went on oral contraceptives at 17 in preparation for college and got sent away with a huge supply of condoms by my STD phobic OB/Gyn mother just in case I met someone. Well, I don’t drink - a huge activity in college - and I spent most of my time hanging out in the theatre department. Needless to say, meeting men I was interested in didn’t really happen. I went on a few dates, kissed some guys, made great friends but nobody I wanted to be in a relationship with appeared.Actually I was starting to get nervous about my lack of sexual activity. Around my 20th birthday I began to feel ashamed about my lack of sexual experience. I began to doubt myself, my attractiveness, my NORMALCY. Was there something WRONG with me? Could everyone see it but me? I started to question if was heterosexual (I definitely was). It seemed as if the thing that came so easily to EVERYONE else, was so difficult for me. The only individuals I knew who had never engaged in any type of sexual activity (beyond kissing) at my age were religiously motivated (which is a fine choice).........but I ended up going 3 years without so much as kissing someone.I must say that did make me very depressed at points. There were nights I would cry myself to sleep, just because I longed to be touched, to feel that connection to another human being. The worse thing was feeling as if it would NEVER change, and I would NEVER have the experiences I so longed for. I no longer felt my lack of sexual experience was a CHOICE - it felt like a punishment. I wanted to feel ‘normal’ and to have this ache inside of myself gone. However I was determined not to have a roll in the hay with the first guy who looked my way. I felt that being in a relationship was important and I was rightly weary of diseases and too weary to sleep with a stranger. I still went to school, hung out with friends but I felt there was something missing. To make matters worse most of my friends were in serious relationships and whilst I was happy for them, I longed to have that as well.How I lost my virginity:Well, I had sex (vaginal and oral), touched a penis and laid in bed with a naked man for the first time on my 23rd birthday. It was the happiest day of my life. All of the things I thought I would be - scared, nervous, ashamed - I wasn't any of those things.  I was just HAPPY. It so happened that I moved back to my home city the year before to go to law school and 7 months before my birthday, I met a guy who lived in my building. He was slightly older than myself (28 to my 22) but he was sweet, attractive (muscles galore) and a perfect gentleman. When he smiled at me I gushed. I felt 16 again remembering my first date and kiss (corny I know). I was actually flattered that he noticed me of all people, when, in my mind, it had been years since a man had looked at me. We dated seriously for two months before becoming intimate. The first time I had sex was everything I ever wanted it to be. It was sweet and pleasurable and intimate and completely worth staying up till 6am for! However, we broke up a few months later due to things entirely not related to sex. I don't regret our experience together for one second.I never told him I had never had sex. You may wonder why, well, two reasons.1. Having listened to my friend R over the years, who believed oral sex wasn’t sex, and when she finally decided she DID want to have vaginal intercourse, she was rejected repeatedly. I was afraid that the same thing that happened to her - guys would learn she had never had vaginal intercourse and back out during the heat of foreplay - would happen to me. After years of wanting this, I didn’t want to risk the same. OR that he would find it attractive that I was ‘untouched’ (I have heard that some people get off on that), I did not want to risk that......2. And I didn’t think it was any of his business! My sexual life before him was private, and once we both got tested (before we had sex), I had no desire to learn about his previous sexual experiences. Having penetrated myself with sex toys for the last few years I knew there was no need to worry about pain/discomfort.My thoughts on virginity: The emotional baggage that went along with feeling unwanted and undesirable and ‘different/defective’ was much more damaging than the physical act of never having had sex. If I desire to have an orgasm, I can guarantee that through masturbation. But do I long to have sex again? YES, but I still want to be in a relationship because I need to feel mentally comfortable in order to be open sexually. That is how it works for ME.I know I am not going to be LESS picky about who I choose to be with because I am no longer a virgin. I believe our culture places too much emphasis on the first time one has sex, especially for women, as if the first time is the ONLY time that is special, the ONLY time one should consider if sex is the right choice for you. Once one has had sex does not mean that they are no longer in control of their sexual destiny. If everyone was as particular about the 50x they had sex as they were about the 1st I think many of the negative consequences of sex (emotional and physical) would be minimized.’

'Just for the first time dear...'

Well now, just when I thought I might have run out of things to say about virginity loss and move onto pastures new (hair loss? sanity loss?), someone comes along and presents us with a new conundrum. What would you say to a healthy young woman who appears to have a similarly healthy interest in sex – but can’t, for some inexplicable reason, do it?

We have met all sorts of virgins on these pages. Shy virgins, religious virgins, people with all sorts of issues who, generally speaking, are not entirely comfortable with their virginal status. But they are all able to at least articulate a reason as to why this might be. They can usually point their finger at some area of their life and tell you what they think might be the problem. But not today’s storyteller. And at first, neither could I.  I was baffled. Everything seemed to be in full working order: sociable, healthy, sexually interested, what could be getting in her way?

Upon further investigation, it would seem to be….herself and another vital organ that we discussed last week: our minds. If we, as we did then, work on the assumption that for most people, the brain can actually be considered to be the most vital sexual organ of them all, then you can see why things might go horribly wrong when its not working properly.

Which leads me to my diagnosis. Vaginismus. An ominous sounding word for a straightforward problem. Vaginismus is a reflex that causes the muscles in the vagina to tense suddenly therefore making penetration difficult or impossible. A cursory look at the Wikipedia entry for this condition confirms the following: ‘A vaginismic woman does not consciously control the spasm. The vaginismic reflex can be compared to the response of the eye shutting when an object comes towards it.’

How annoying. And when you think about it, it doesn’t seem like such a crazy response. Having something inside your body for the first time is a tricky thing, Vaginimisis or not. That’s one of the reasons that I loved ‘Peg’ so much, the story I published a couple of weeks ago about a man being penetrated by his wife with a dildo. It was interesting to see how a man responds to a situation that a woman deals with all the time. And much as I came down on the side of men last week when we raised the thorny subject of whether it is harder for men or women to lose their virginity, you should never underestimate the impact of allowing another human being into your body, literally for the first time. That requires trust, patience and respect. And not just for the first time, but for lots of times after that too.

So perhaps it is not such a surprise to learn then that some people’s psyche’s may just respond with the following: ‘Do you know what? I’m just not that into this.’

And there’s your problem. But problems are there to be solved and there is no doubt in my mind that this one is ripe for the solving. A decent therapist, a bunch of patience and a bit of self-exploration  - on every level – and I reckon this story could have a happy ending. Cindy, I look forward to hearing it.

Cindy. Aged 21

'Well, so here I go... sending an email to a total stranger whose blog I just stumbled across is not something I ever thought I would do, but it seems quite fitting. Serendipitous even. I love your blog, because it almost gives me hope. Thank you.

If I am being completely honest, I came across The Virginity Project after typing in ‘can't find hole, positions for losing virginity.’ Because of this, one can assume that this is not a story of losing my virginity, but rather, trying in vain.

I'm a twenty-one year old college senior about to embark on the rest of my life and I feel hopelessly resigned to a life of celibacy. Most days, I feel like the protagonist in Nathaniel Hawthorne's ‘The Scarlet Letter’, except it’s a big red V card pinned to my jacket.

I know the story. I know all of it, because I'm also someone who cannot keep my mouth shut. I think my entire university community must know my status - because its most likely I told them. Whether it be over a cold beer at the bar or Calzone in the dining hall, I have admitted my guilt on numerous occasions as if someone (anyone!) could give me some answers, some guidance.

I know about ‘waiting for the right guy.’ I know about the plethora of procedures (how clinical that sounds...) one can go through to make things easier; to loosen things up. I know that I've tried with more than four guys in the last five years... armed with my ever expanding condom and lube collection, we try different ways at different times in different settings with different ambience and a different soundtrack, and I still feel SOL.

I lost my stage theatre virginity this past month by acting for the first time in Eve Ensler's ‘The Vagina Monologues’. That has to count for something?

Or maybe, its one more way of showing how obsessed how I am with my own anatomy. So obsessed because I can't for the life of me figure out how it works! And here I sit, resorting to a Google search engine to assuage my fears.

When I mention guilt, it’s not that Catholic schoolgirl sort of thing. If anything, it’s the opposite. It’s the guilt of knowing that I can't get over the mental hurdle which has increased exponentially in height.

I'm not shy and I'm definitely not a prude. I love to be naked on Saturday mornings and cook pancakes in my underwear. I like to dance to horrendous hip-hop by myself and I like to drop it like its hot and I like to watch porn. I am not a Christian and I am not from a conservative family.

I've never met a virgin like me. People are usually shocked and I always have to warn guys before things get too far along that I don't put out. I freak out so much anyway that they usually don't want to stick around - and they definitely don't want to stick anything in. I must have penetration phobia or something.

Lately, I have one of those terribly annoying ‘friends with benefits’ who is also terribly satisfying. I like to call him over sometimes when a paper just gets too much to handle or when I haven't talked to him in a week and I feel things slipping away. It’s ok that he's a rock climber - you know the type, crunchy-granola guys with unruly beards and a great body who is forever inaccessible but likes to rage at parties all weekend and make you laugh at three am? He forgets to call a lot, even though he is best friends with my roommates. I always go for the guys with the glimmer of hope.

I'm too emotionally intelligent for him anyway. Remember, I know the story. I know the myth that the first guy you have sex with is NOT the first guy you fall in love with. I've already fallen in love with that first guy. I want the first guy I have sex with, obviously.

We try a lot, but I am scared. He makes up in patience what he lacks in proximity. My legs clench up. I'm like a brick wall and he's trying to pile drive into me but there must be steel reinforcements between the brick and the drywall. Or something. Sorry for the terrible details masked in even cheesier metaphors.

It almost always ends in my tears of frustration and his cold shower. It’s been five months of this and it’s starting to get old. I'm starting to get old.

I'm starting a heated power yoga class this week to try to shake things up a bit. Trying to get the walls to crumble. I went and visited a gynaecologist for advice. She told me to purchase a vibrator and the trusty old classic ‘How To Be Your Own Sex Therapist.’ Best doctor's orders ever? Perhaps, although the 70s era pictures in the volume she suggested leave something to be desired. I just need to get down with myself, she said. My therapist prescribed me an anti-anxiety pill ‘just for the first time, dear.’

I'd rather call over my trusty old not-boyfriend and get down to business without some sort of pharmaceutical contract, thanks.

I'm too much of a screamer to be silenced for so long.

Cindy

United States'

 

Pay attention....

The Virginity Project had to take a little break to attend to domestic issues. Namely, a cat that has run up the largest veterinary bill in the history of cats. But he’s on the mend now so its back to business on a sunny Sunday afternoon and a day when I shall make a staggeringly large selection of generalizations about the human race.

From time to time, a ‘discussion’, lets say, has broken out on these very pages as to whether it is harder for men or women to lose virginity. Let’s break this down a bit. It really depends on which side of the fence you are sitting. In a boy’s mind, it will always be easier for a girl to lose her virginity because men are mostly game for sex. Ergo, a woman only has to say the word and it’s on a plate. This is where our paths divide.

On a plate is not always the most attractive thing to a woman. It is said that the brain is the largest sexual organ. I concur. Sexual attraction does not often begin in our nether regions (although sometimes it does!). It mostly begins in our heads.

A roll in the hay is far more desirable to us when it’s with someone that piques our interest, foxes us, beguiles us, makes us neeeeed to know what you look like in the buff like our life depends on it….because in the end, it is all about the chemistry that two people create together. This is what motivates a woman. This is our evolutionary approach to ‘pair bonding’. We crave mutual passion in every department, not just the bedroom.

So yes, if you want a straightforward answer, losing virginity probably is as easy as falling off a bicycle for most women, but only if you don’t care about quality control.

Men, on the other hand, are very different creatures. Without wanting to get all Charles Darwin on you, man needs to replicate himself as fast as he can because he believes that he might just be about to become extinct! Quality control is not such a big issue, (probably the largest generalization of them all), and it doesn’t matter much anyway because it all leads us to the same problem….

Lots of men who are itching to replicate themselves + lots of women who mostly have the luxury of being able to select the best mate possible. This equals disparity. And a lot of pissed off men.

It also explains the plethora of sad and frustrated stories that I get from men as compared to women. And that brings me to today’s story.

As if it weren’t hard enough for men to lose their virginity already, imagine what its like if you also have ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). This man speaks for so many young men when he describes the depths of loneliness and frustration that one can plumb in the search for love. Or even just plain old sex. He also shows that Craig’s List is useful for more than just flat shares and second hand bicycles.

‘Dear Kate,

Someone told me that I should value my virginity and it would make someone feel special. If I was tall, dark and handsome then maybe it would, but I am not. I also get told that I’m cute a lot but cute doesn’t mean that women want to jump my bones.

What’s more, all this only made me more determined to lose it in the most meaningless way possible just to spite people. After all, in the life spans of sexually active adults, everybody has a bad sexual experience.  What difference does it make if it's the first, tenth, or hundredth?

I'm from the U.S. and I grew up and live in the suburbs of Chicago.  I grew up in the typical suburban surroundings, with access to movie theaters and malls, and low crime and the occasional gathering of high school kids in the woods or some house whose owners are away while a party rages on.  Oh, and I was born in January of 1981, so I'm now 28 years old.  Oh, and I have ADD.  I really do, believe me.

Anyways, I did make a few friends here and there.  I got angry easily in grade school and got in a few fights.  I calmed down a bit in middle school and adopted more geeky tendencies like indulging in sci-fi shows and movies, but I also took up the guitar and listened to a lot of metal and hard rock. 

I never dated in high school.  I absolutely hated the tacky, he said/she said culture that was practically parroted from ‘Saved by the Bell’ and ‘Dawson's Creek’, so I sort of had a stand-offish attitude and didn't go along with school spirit related activities.  I didn't pick fights or anything.  I just had an intense personality. 

Eventually I went to the University of Illinois in Chicago. During this time, I made some more geeky friends who were computer savvy and could handle any tasteless joke you could throw at them.  But they were all men and we didn't do anything that involved meeting women. 

Eventually I cut these people out of my life because they didn't value my friendship beyond my being a butt of a joke and they only called to borrow my dad's minivan to move something. 

Eventually, I made new friends through a girl I started talking to through the internet.  She wasn't interested in me, but we became friends and I sort of asked if she could help set me up with someone.  She sort of said she would, but she's so preoccupied with herself that she quickly forgot.  She's one of those gothic Lolita girls obsessed with Japanese animation who thinks the world revolves around her.  I dismissed her and her friends much the same way.

Oh, for what it's worth, by ‘dismiss’, I mean I stop talking to these people and cut them from my life.  I didn't have to worry about them not calling me because, well, they didn't call me anyway.

In 2004, my dad is upset that I wasn't graduating yet.  Being an ADD person, it's not like I can do college in the four year span that people expect.  In fact, it's rare that people do, even more so for people like me.  So he pushed the union of operating engineers on me and wouldn't shut up until I said I'd do it.  Besides, a night job for $30 an hour didn't seem too bad.

In 2005, I briefly held a job in the union where I worked in a tall office building in the Chicago loop.  My boss told me to take my lunches in the engineer's storage room on the roof of the building which was some 20 stories above street level. 

There I was, with access to the roof, and by myself.  Being alone, you tend to reflect and meditate a lot.  Anyway, there I was, twenty-four years old, still a virgin, no real friends, stuck in a line of work I hated, and robbed of my dream of studying music and pursuing such a career.  Now I know it's rough to make a career in music, but that's just who I am.  I was only at this job for a little over a week, and if I stayed, I very probably would have jumped off the building and died a miserable, lonely virgin.

Anyways, I started talking to a girl online and the subject of my virginity came up.  She convinced me to write an ad on Craig's List where I basically went for broke.  I made it clear that I just wanted to lose my virginity and I was looking for someone to show me what I should know at that point in my life.  I also made it clear that I was a real person with interests and goals.

Four girls replied to my ad, and only one of those four was a legitimate reply.  The other three were narrow-minded morons who were more interested in studying the strange, peculiar weirdo that is the 24 year old virgin.  I felt like I was being interviewed to be a guest on Oprah.

But I got a legitimate reply.  The woman was six years older than me, but I didn't care.  I exchanged a couple e-mails with this woman and I even started talking to her on the phone.  We talked a lot about music and my playing guitar and so on.  She was more or less testing me to see if I was a sicko or the genuine article.

We arranged to meet on June 12, 2005.  I dressed well, wore cologne, and she poured wine and had the place candle-lit.  I awkwardly tried to shake her hand, but she corrected this gesture and moved in for a kiss. 

During my first few years of college, I might have an hour in between classes where I just sat in the computer lab and tried to amuse myself with the internet.  In this way, I came to be rather knowledgeable about beer, how to put together a computer, and the ways of a woman's body.  Where that elusive g-spot is, what to do when I find it and other erogenous zones.  So, when I finally met up with my new friend, I was encouraged to try some of this out. 

After a few words, she leads me to her bedroom.  I take off my pants and shirt and I slowly climbed on top of her, making out.  She provided a condom and I put it on easily enough.  It wasn't too different from a rubber glove like the ones doctors and nurses wear.  She guided my penis into her and I felt something I never dreamed about before.  It was a little scary at first, but not enough for me to back away.  Having wine beforehand helped a lot in the way of relaxing.  After a couple of pushes and pulls (slow thrusts, if you will), I started to get comfortable with it.  She also told me to lick and suck her nipples, and from that point on, I used my mouth more than my nether regions

I performed oral sex and she loved it.  I let my mind wander and allowed my awkwardness and other thoughts distract me enough so I didn't come too quickly.  And when I felt I made her cum enough times, I decided to keep at it until I came myself.

So, finally, I did it!  I know what it feels like!  I've never felt so close to a woman before.  To put it in perspective, before that night, the touch of a woman was so foreign to me that I felt as if I was touching a Van Gogh painting.  Like it was forbidden. I felt mature, like I finally grew up. And I had that going for a few days.  I admit I should have talked to the girl in the meantime, but I wasn't used to being with a woman.

On Wednesday, June 15th (the day Batman Begins opened), we were doing some spring cleaning with the hotel I was working at.  We were repainting the utility entrance where the dumpster and valet car elevator were found.  The dumpster was wheeled out to be emptied, so we moved to that wall to paint.  Being the apprentice, I had to climb a ladder and paint the wall with a hand brush and cup of paint.  Before going on, I should explain that this hotel shared the dumpster with a neighboring hotel, so it had to be a big one.  One that's wheeled on iron rails, like train tracks.

So, I was climbing the ladder, painting an area on the wall, climbing down, moving over, and repeating.  Eventually I had to move the ladder by the swinging door that led to the other hotel.  I was satisfied that the ladder was clear from the doors, so I planted it, went up, and resumed my task. 

But the hotel had hired the services of a landscaping company.  And one of their employees was tossing out a heavy piece of equipment about the size of a sewing machine.  What's more, he decided to play EMT and burst through the swinging doors with the cart, noticing my ladder all too late.  He couldn't stop the cart in time and it hit my ladder. The ladder shook and fell over and I free fell some twelve feet, landing on my right elbow, right onto the metal rail screwed in the concrete.

To make a long story short, I went into shock, and my arm broke something fierce.  Even from a distance, you could tell it didn't look right.  But I was taken to the nearby hospital and they bandaged me up and took X-rays.  I actually was doing fine and kept my sense of humor until the doctor came back with the results and said it was one of the worst injuries he'd ever seen and that I'd have permanent damage.  He said my arm exploded.  My ulna was fractured in four spots and my radius lost the last two inches to the joint, which were reduced to shrapnel.

Now, at some point, while I was waiting for him to come back, my cell phone rings.  It's that girl I met up with on the 12th.  She was being relatively chatty, and I'm sure wondering why I hadn't called.  Well, she basically asked how I was, and I casually told her I was having a bad day (let's face it, how often can you direct a conversation like this?).  She asked what was wrong, thinking I got chewed out by my boss or something.  No, I told her I got knocked off a ladder and broke my arm.  I then asked her, out of politeness, how she was doing.  She was shocked, to say the least.  She did do her homework, and worked out that I was not far from her work place.  So, she took it upon herself to visit me and see me in the hospital bed.  And she became my first girlfriend.  We're not a couple anymore, but we're still good friends.

So, that's my virginity story.  I hope people read it and realize that losing it is no simple task for some.

All the best,

Me (please find a pseudonym for me)’

 

Box Fresh...

This story brings to mind ‘the Monro theory’, a little something that I’ve been working on for the last few years. It’s also known as the ‘don’t save things for best’ theory and I’ll tell you why.  A few years ago, I was burgled.  It wasn’t the first time this had happened but it felt different for one reason. I realized that I had a whole bunch of things that I never wore because I was always ‘saving them for best’. 
Dresses, shoes and pristine trainers, still in their boxes and saved for that day when you want to wear the perfect white training shoe. Let me tell you something. Number one, someone, somewhere on the Harrow Road is wearing those trainers and it isn’t me, and number two, today is as good a day as any to wear perfect shoes. Don’t save things for best. Take them out of the box, put them on your goddam feet and wear them. Because if you don’t, someone else might. And then you’ll feel like a big chump.
What has this got to do with virginity loss? Quite a lot actually because there is something to be learnt from this tale. Whilst I am not suggesting that you get out there and lose your virginity to the first stranger you meet, I would like to suggest this: saving it for best does not account for the vagaries of life. It does not allow us to experiment, to mess up and make amends, to experience life with all its ups, downs, ins, outs and whatever other way you want to do it. In short, it doesn’t allow us to take life by the scruff of the neck and grow from the experience.
Losing your virginity is the first step in the right direction. It might be ok, you might even get lucky and enjoy it, but if you don’t, it doesn’t matter because there is plenty of time to improve your game. Don’t shoot for perfection.
That’s what I enjoyed about this story. I like the fact that its author knows this. She is prepared for the fact that her adventures could be pleasurable, fun or emotional – or perhaps all three at the same time. Conversely, she also understands that some of it might not - but she takes responsibility for herself and dives into the melee with the best piece of armour that money can buy: an optimistic attitude.
Make the best of this moment. The past is gone, the future doesn’t exist yet. This is the moment that we do have. Live it like you mean it.
Mary. Aged 26, from North Carolina.
‘Hey Kate,
To start with, I wasn't raised religiously, but I became an evangelical Christian when I was sixteen.  So I grew up thinking of sex as a natural, value-neutral thing. I looked forward to having it, but it was still something that was a long way off and thus not too worrisome.
Joining the church changed that.  I bought into the idea that ‘good Christians’ remained pure and waited until marriage.  When I went to college, I immersed myself in another evangelical church, where I basically only knew church people who also felt the same way about relationships and sex. 
Although it was common to hear couples talking about ‘struggling with purity’, the public expectation was that everyone was waiting till marriage.  My friends today are shocked when I tell them how many of my friends got married so young, right out of college, but when you're waiting (or you at least planned to wait); it begins to make a lot more sense.
I never really had a problem with this system because I believed in it.  I thought waiting and not messing around with casual encounters was going to save me a lot of emotional and spiritual angst.  And to some degree, I do still see the wisdom of that, or at least I understand the reasoning. 
That changed after I graduated and started working.  I got involved with a co-worker at my new job pretty quickly - it was kind of a new world where I didn't have to go through a long ‘getting to know you’ process simply to make out with someone.  But I was still attached to the church and I told him straight away that I wasn't going to sleep with him.  I felt like that was the best for everyone - no surprises later on.  He wasn't keen on it however, and every effort I made to continue the relationship always broke on that choice - that I wasn't willing to give him what he wanted. 
This earned me a sort of status as a ‘church girl’ who wasn't going to give it up, even though many of my life choices in other respects were edging away from the church.  A major turning point for me was going to grad school in another state.  Although now I look at it as breaking free of the church, I just continued the process of slipping away from the church lifestyle or culture and its value judgements. I never made an out and out decision that I was going to lose my virginity, but I became more amenable to losing it in certain situations. 
Partly that was helped by becoming more confident, interested in non-church people, a part of a culture where sex was accepted or expected, and also by having a handful of casual encounters with escalating sexual intimacy.
The majority of these hook ups have taken place in the last few monthss, and since they've built on each other, they've also built my confidence in myself, my desirability, and my attractiveness, (although the casual/one night stand nature of them can also cause my confidence to fluctuate).  These are the experiences that make me start questioning the status of my virginity and the definition of losing one's virginity in general. 
When I think about my own virginity in the context of these experiences, I realize that, for me, talking about virginity in terms of ‘losing something’ is totally backwards. Rather, with each encounter, I feel more like I'm building up my sexual experience. 
In this realm, there were many firsts, which were always accompanied by a little jolt and a realization that I had a decision to make about whether I was ready for that step: the first time a guy touched me intimately, the first time I took my bra off, the first time I was half naked, the first time I was wholey naked, the first time I touched someone else intimately.
Each of these experiences and the ones in between were like taking steps forward, learning or gaining an understanding of my body and how it worked with other peoples' bodies.  In this sense, I never felt like I was losing anything, but rather crossing developmental benchmarks that are good and natural and which it seems we are all meant to experience at some point.
In other ways, I do understand the idea of loss.  Each time I crossed one of these benchmarks or made the choice to allow them, that jolt was like a bell saying ‘Now you've done it; there will never be a first time for that again’ and I think some part of my brain catalogues the situation and compares it to how I thought it would be or how I thought it would happen. 
Now, post-church, that comparison does not invite self-shame or a feeling of innocence lost.  Mostly it's more of a feeling of, ‘Oh, that's different than I expected, but not bad...’ That definitely wasn't always the case, but that's what makes me glad to be where I am now emotionally.
I realize now that I actually think of many of those intimate milestones as fractions of the whole sexual experience, which are not necessarily sex when done alone, but culminate in the final experience.  In terms of having sex and ‘losing my virginity’, each first time was like losing a little piece of it.  As for the most recent experience I had, when I experienced penetration but not orgasm for the first time, I do think of that as the biggest chunk to date.  
Nevertheless, I think of that more as ‘breaking the seal’ than losing my virginity.  Right now I'd say I'm probably only 15% a virgin, but that my self status as a virgin, emotionally, is still intact. It's this emotional virginity that I'm actually glad to say I still have, for myself.  Most of my sexual encounters have taken place on a one-night-stand basis under the influence of alcohol and are clearly not meant to result in relationship consequences the next day.  While I want to be in a relationship, I don't regret that the experiences I've had have happened in this way.  Nevertheless, that mental, emotional, and spiritual image of having sex, really, for the first time in a committed relationship stays with me. 
I think that's the kind of circumstances that I will need to have to really and truly relax and enjoy good reciprocal sex.  Until that scenario comes along, I don't think I'm going to sit idly on the sidelines, but rather, continue to build up my experience.  I don't expect it all to be great or even good, but I look forward to trying it all out and moving toward the internal ‘breaking of the seal’, now that it's outwardly occurred.
Thanks for listening to my story, and providing a forum for other people's as well.Mary.’

 

No introduction necessary…

And I wasn’t going to write one. But I am an unveiling an unusual creature today. A woman who knows that ‘who I am as an individual is not defined by my virginity’. A radical concept perhaps and if more people thought about it, ‘The Virginity Project’ might not exist.

Isn’t it funny how times change? Think of the stories of old, stories from people who barely knew the facts of life when they got married. It wasn’t that long ago. In the space of fifty years, the concept of virginity has been turned on its head. In today’s society, you could be forgiven for thinking that virginity is a nasty disease. Dis-ease, never a truer word spoken.

Perhaps the media landscape has pushed us. MTV, R&B, sexy ladies, sexy boys, cars, advertising and the promises made by the purchase of expensive products. Buy this and you’ll get laid, get loved, get sexy. The truth is that we don’t need any of this to be sexy, or, more to the point, sexual. We are animals, we already are sexual.

And there are a million and one ways to be sexual, none of which need involve the act of penetrative sex - that which we decree to be the loss of virginity. It’s just that somewhere along the line we convinced ourselves otherwise. Well, all of us that is except for Sally.

‘Dear Kate,

I loved reading your blog because I'm a big fan of oral history and it's great from that perspective, but secretly, I really enjoyed it 'cos I'm still a virgin at the age of twenty-six.

I don't have any story to tell. Nothing hideous ever happened to me as a child; I was a happy (if slightly odd) adolescent. I home-schooled throughout most of my teenage years and the two years I spent in an alternative high school were mostly spent gaining confidence around people my own age -  sex wasn't even on the cards at that point. 

And then I spent ages in university figuring that I'd meet someone who I really liked and who I wanted to hop into bed with. And I met one guy who was great, but he turned out to be gay (despite the alternative school, I have no gaydar whatsoever). And there was this other guy, but he already had a girlfriend, and I stand sternly by the Commandment, 'thou shalt not endeavour to break up other peoples' relationships just so thou canst get laid.' And then I wondered if maybe I was on the other bus, because generally, I just didn't seem to meet that many men I was bothered about. 

And I still don't.  I meet a lot of men who I really like, who I enjoy hanging out with and chatting to, and mostly I don't feel like I have any difficulty communicating with them. But the litmus test always is, 'Can I picture myself in bed with this person', and the answer is usually 'NO'.

I've put far too much time and effort and occasionally tears (not to mention sweat and, erm, other bodily secretions at certain times of the month) into trying to figure out why I'm so picky. Is it biological? Is it a mental or emotional block - am I one big neuroses without realizing it? Are all my reasons for never dating anyone (I'm too busy with grad school/I'm only in this city temporarily/I don't want to have to factor my life around someone else when I don't know what I want to do after I'm done school) all actually excuses for being frigid, which I don't think I am, and, uh, the downstairs neighbours might attest to that fact if you pressed them...

Am I a commitment-phobe? Do I just come up with reasons for the unsuitability of people my friends want to set me up with because I'm not ready to have a proper relationship? (Although to be fair, would you, as a fairly committed atheist, date an otherwise very sweet man who was also very, very Christian in a Calvinist sort of way?...that was the latest adventure in the world of non-dating, although I would like to keep the aforementioned man as a friend.)

Or, and this is the slightly radical bit here, because nobody seems to want to hear this reason no matter how many times I tell them: am I a single virgin because, despite the fact that there are a vast number of people on the face of this planet who I might be into, the vast majority of them apparently don't reside in this relatively small city?  Why is it so difficult and seemingly taboo for a girl to just not fancy anyone? Or to think that maybe, just maybe, she's not bothered about men or having a relationship because she wants to, I don't know, travel? Finish school, and, goddamit, do a good job at it?  Or spend Saturday night eating popcorn and watching Doctor Who and gossiping with the upstairs neighbours? Or work on that one-act play she wants to enter into a local grassroots festival competition? Or spend two hours a day, every day, rigourously figuring out how to sing and play the fiddle at the same time?

And, quite frankly, a relationship would interfere with all of those. It would make certain activities (like travelling and masturbation) much more enjoyable, but it would curtail the time spent on others - and I don't know if I want to give all of those activities up, and compromise my life to fit with another person's right now. (Or, you know, maybe I'm just scared of change and then we're back to the whole neuroses thing again...)

Okay, I should stop drivelling on - if you want to put this on the Virginity Project you can. I just wanted to say 'Thanks', really. It's taken me a long time to understand that who I am as an individual isn't defined by my virginity. It's part of me, and I still fret and fuss over it, but it isn't the sum of my parts. And I'm sure that there's any number of excellently filthy puns to be made on my unfortunate wording of that one, so I'll leave you to it...But really, thanks. It's nice to feel that I'm not completely alone with this one. And if you post this, you can leave my real name on it.

Thanks for listening.

Best,

Sally’