By I. M. Avirjin
A virgin, a chaste maiden—that’s what I am. But as I rapidly approach my 22nd birthday, I wonder when, where, and with whom I may change that one ‘wholesome’ aspect of my, otherwise insalubrious lifestyle.
Oh! (long sigh) Maybe I have cursed myself. Let me explain…when I was 16 years old and somewhat sexually active, at least as far as foreplay goes, I made a bet with a close friend’s sister.
She said, “I bet you $100.00 that you lose your virginity before you turn 18.”
I said, “I bet you I don’t.”
When I turned 18, I was still a virgin, but my friend’s sister had packed all of her belongings and her $100.00 and moved to Montreal. Now, three and a half years later, I remain in the same predicament. There seems to be no way out of this quandary!
I keep on replaying that sunny afternoon over and over in my head—the day I made that fateful bet. Now, after much deliberation, I believe that had she only reworded her challenge I would have had an active and prosperous sex life. Why couldn’t she have said, “I bet that you will enjoy a healthy amount of sexual intercourse (at its best) before you turn 18?” It would have made a world of difference.
However, the fact of the matter remains the same. I am still a virgin and being a virgin in the 90s is both easy and tough.
The simplicity of remaining one quarter part untouched is partly attributed to my whopping fear of STD’s. This fear has been both invaluable and debilitating. Take Cal as an example. I have changed his name to protect his identity. I really, really, really liked Cal, and he showed a genuine interest in pursuing a relationship with me. We had been ‘fooling around’ for a few weeks and I was deliberating over the notion of ‘experiencing sexual intercourse at its best.’ (Now doesn’t that sound better than ‘losing it’?) We were cuddling, one evening, when I decided the time was ripe to conduct an STD test on him.
I asked, “Have you ever used needles for anything besides diabetes?”
Offended, he responded, “Why don’t you first ask me if I use drugs?”
So I asked him and his answer was “no.” My next question was somewhat personal, and I was not expecting the response that ensued.
“How many people have you slept with?” I asked.
He gave me an innocent smile as he told me to guess.
“15?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
I gave a little sigh of relief.
“Lower or higher?” I asked accentuating the word higher as an unattractive response.
“Higher,” he said, and opted for a neutral expression as opposed to his original smile.
Clearly displeased, I uttered the number “20?”
He motioned his thumb in an upward direction. After five minutes, of guessing, “25?…30?…35?…40?…45?…50?…55?…60?…65?…70?”
“No! Lower,” he said.
“67?” I asked while a tear streamed down my cheek.
He nodded with approval. I collected my belongings and left. The trip home was heart-rendering. I imagined how terrible life would be if I had contracted HIV through oral sex, and left to die a virgin. (It would, of course, be a tragedy to acquire HIV by means of any method—please remember I was not in a reasonable state of mind). I went for an AIDS’ test almost half a year later. I tested negative.
However, it is not only the fear of STD’s that’s been instrumental in sustaining my ‘chase maidenhood.’ As ridiculous as this may seem, being a virgin is an enormous part of my life. I love to complain about my desire to meet someone with whom I may ‘experience sexual intercourse at its best.’ But when I find myself in a situation where sex is a definite possibility, I shy away because I no longer view it as a positive experience, but rather an act in which I would be losing something special. More specifically, I would be losing the right to say that “I haven’t lost it.” Am I shallow?
Finally, my virginity has become somewhat of a joke among my dear friends. My close male companions have offered, on a few occasions, to assist me in performing the primitive sexual act as a favour from one good friend to another. Give me a break! And then there are my girlfriends. Each of whom, when they lost their virginity, received a gourmet cake as a present. My friends assured me that my cake would be like none other—I’m pushing for a mountain of Gateaux St. Honore.
Last, but not least, there is my long-time, dear friend Don. (I changed his name too). Don informed me that the first man with whom I have sexual intercourse, will be payed homage to with a golden statue moulded to resemble the copulative male organ. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT ALL OF THESE PRIZES COULD BE MINE (and my partner’s) FOR A MERE FIVE MINUTE ACT OF PENETRATION?…I think I’ll pass.
I. M. Avirjin is a pseudonym for a Ryerson journalism student who doesn’t want to call undue attention to herself through her purity.
Leave a Reply