The 20-Something-Year-Old Virgin

Here’s a brief recap of my sexual history using cliché baseball analogies: Went to first base at age 13. Went to second at 15. Rounded third at 16. Scored at home… never. I’ve led off quite a few times, but never quite made it past the catcher. It’s a bit of an anomaly that I’ve never managed to touch home plate, but sure enough my “runs scored” count for the last 20-something seasons has remained a solid zero. And I’m cool with it. My batting average is still pretty damn high.

I’ve never gone more than a month or two without some sort of hookup, and up until my self-implemented sabbatical from boyfriends this year, I had never been single for more than a four month stretch since age 13. So, you may wonder how the hell I am still the owner of the rare, platinum level V-card? Or more importantly, why? Let us explore.

First, I would like to shed some light on the 13 years of nuns and plaid and abstinence talks I endured during grade school and high school. Catholic school will actually make you believe that the devil will crawl up your vagina and infect the rest of your body with horrid disease and immorality if you allow the genitalia of another human being anywhere near your own before exchanging vows. Hell, I’ve got friends that were afraid to use tampons for fear they would turn into demoralized sluts if they accidentally popped their own cherries. A painful biking accident at age eight involving a pothole and awkward positioning rid me of this worry — I had already bled my maiden voyage through girls’ size 6-8 “Wednesday” undies back in 2000. I went through high school with a flock of 200 other virgins (okay, it was probably more like 180… we had to have had a few Mary Magdalenes) never thinking my lack of penetration was an oddity. At no point did I declare I was saving myself for marriage, but do you really have to when you can quote the Catechism word for word regarding procreation?

Now, you probably think once I got to college I was tempted with an entirely new society marked by blackout hookups and casual relationships like most other college freshman. Good guess, but ‘twas not in the cards for me. I found myself in a spartanic community distinguished by androgynous grey uniforms, rigid open-door room policies, and a 200-page manual of everything I was allowed/ not allowed to do (sex was explicitly prohibited). Welcome to the United States Military Academy, ladies and gents, where we boast an impressive 86% to 14% ratio of dudes to chicks. You would think this would make it easy for a girl to get a little action, but between the ultra-competitive environment and the distinct lack of alcohol, everyone’s libido was pretty platonic. There was one night the stars aligned: my boyfriend’s roommate was away, I got my hands on some contraband Jack, and I managed to sneak into his room after taps (curfew) without getting caught. We thought we were going to hit a homer that night, but got caught up at third when we realized neither of us had a condom. Bummer, dude.

Nowadays I’m in REAL college and I get drunk and I go to parties and I make out with strangers and I dance pelvis to pelvis in four inch stilettos until my legs are sore, but guess what? I still don’t have sex. It’s not that I’m standing on some moral high ground as proud ruler of Blue Balland… I just haven’t found anyone I want to pursue that kind of intimacy with.

I think I’m just too into myself right now. I’m exploring my ambitions, my social presence, my independence, and my capacity to maintain long distance relationships. Further exploring my sexuality is an adventure I just haven’t devoted much time to recently. The time will come when I am indeed ready to embrace the facet of my persona with arms wide open (legs too, I suppose). But for now I’m content living DFMO (dance floor make out) to DFMO and listening to friends recount their thrilling sex lives while we drunk-eat carrots and hummus in the pre-dawn hours. I’m not too worried about being past the teenage years and never having “done the dirty.” It’ll happen when I’m ready. And hell, even if it doesn’t happen in the near future, I’ve still got a good 19ish years before they make a movie about me starring Steve Carrell. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

image – Shutterstock

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