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This is truth, not dare. every week I read this column with intense curiosity, so I know it is all about sex, dropping off your pants and getting it on – and on and on. But, what about the people who are not getting any? Or even worse, what about the people who have never gotten any? Ever heard of them? Newsflash!
There is still a slim-to-none percentage of people whose only sexual partners have been their own hands. They go by the name of virgins, Madonnas, the sexually inactive, losers I’m sure that in a couple of years this almost extinguished species will have a place in museums standing next to Jurassic dinosaurs.
You may doubt the existence of virgins because you’ve never met any and think they’re a myth, like witches, the tooth fairy and Michael Jackson. I present Exhibit A: me, a 25-year-old virgin, who feels as if a white halo follows my every move.
I know what you’re thinking. Am I ugly? No, I’m pretty hot – and I’m not biased. As a matter of fact, if I wasn’t me I would totally do myself. OK, maybe that’s why I’m still single, because I want a fucking clone since I’m a total narcissist. But seriously, it’s not like I’m saving myself for marriage. I don’t plan to say “I do” unless it’s to the ice cream girl who just asked me if I wanted sprinkles on my sundae.
I suspect that, like me, most virgins out there are involuntary, except for nuns (not so much for priests, as we can see these days). We all want to have sex, but not with just anyone. We don’t want to get it over with just for the sake of doing it. We want it to be that dreaded word, “special.”
The awful truth is that if I wanted, I could’ve been a slut machine by now, with a sex mileage that would make the real Madonna pale by comparison. I’ve had many chances with material girls, husband material and even geriatric sub material, but I’ve turned down those horizontal offers because I’m very vertically inclined and too much of a Virgo to lower my standards. Are there more Virgo virgins in the world because of our sign’s pain-in-the-ass pickiness?
I can blame my pickiness on my astrological sign, but I blame Hollywood for my virginity. Many parents and psychologists have linked violence and anorexia to Hollywood’s poison ivy, and my overexposure to countless love-at-first-sight movies selling the idea that there is one person meant for everyone has left me in this love limbo, waiting for a Princess Charming who only exists in a movie script.
Add that to the life philosophy I picked up from Seinfeld reruns, where nobody is ever good enough to be “the one.”
I always feared becoming a sexual anorexic, a term coined from the horror movie Scream that seemed to capture the essence of my life. Of course, I haven’t experienced any serial murders and screaming, but lots of serial love horror has come my way.
What I find funny, irritating and interesting at the same time is that everybody naturally assumes that I’m not a virgin. I guess I’m one of those sheep in wolf’s clothing. People must think, “She’s hot, she’s got genitalia, of course she’s doing it.” Well, I’m not!
Everybody assumes by default that you’re not a virgin, especially if you’ve passed the 18-year-old mark, just as people assume by default that you are straight. So when people find out I’m actually one of the “untouchables,” they have one of three responses: 1) pity for all the things I’m missing 2) something must be wrong with me, my intimacy issues must be caused by some freakish third-nipple-type abnormality 3) a desire to help me with my problem by offering to pop my cherry. I tell them to go fuck themselves, as I’ve been doing all this time on my own.
And just for the record, I’m not ashamed of being a virgin, but I don’t wear a “100 per cent virgin” button broadcasting my sexual status either. I have to admit, though, that sometimes I play the part of the sexual literate because I want to fit in, especially when it comes to parties where the sexually savvy recount their multiple experiences in an open forum, sort of like guys comparing their dick sizes and egos.
I just nod a lot and comment on the limited experience I’ve gained from those random soft porn flicks I run into in the late hours when I’m trying to zap away my insomnia. I know, it’s pathetic.
But you know what’s even more pathetic? The way our society looks down on virgins. I mean, can someone tell me when virgins became the social pariahs of our generation?
A few decades ago, virginity was considered the social norm for the young, respectable crowd. Today, it’s the exact opposite. The non-virgins are the ones in power and virgins are the weirdos who apparently have no life. How did we get from that to this? You don’t have to answer – it’s a rhetorical question.
I’m all for “viva the sexual revolution,” but I don’t like it when people think there’s something wrong with me just because I am not screwing like the wildlife on the Discovery Channel. My theory is that our rotten society sees a taint in everything and can’t stand that virgins still contain some iota of purity and innocence. Or is this is just what I tell myself to feel better, to compensate for the lack of action in my panties?
The thing is, I’ll do it when I want, with whom I want, where I want. Society is not going to tell me when to do it, I will not listen to that biological virginity clock ticking inside in my vulva.
I’m praying that virginity is like fine wine – the longer you wait, the better it gets – and not like milk, which has an expiration date for good taste.
