Intimacy is scary. We spend such a long time trying to figure out who we are, and then others expect us to tell them exactly who that person is, inside and out. In honor of this past Monday’s holiday, I’m diving into something that scares the hell out of me: losing my virginity. Yes, after one long semester, Virginia Snatch will finally explain why she still holds the title of “Virginia.”
Though I like to claim that I’m saving myself for Joseph Gordon-Levitt and/or Paul Rudd (call me!), the main reason I’m still a virgin is that I’m scared. Though every woke 21st-century progressive loves to remind me that virginity is only a social construct, it still means a lot to me — I can’t help it. Ultimately, I’m scared of losing it to the wrong guy.
Exactly five guys have outright asked me to have sex with them, and I’ve said no to each and every one of them. I feel like if I’d done it with three out of the five, I wouldn’t have regretted it. We won’t talk about the other two. After all, hindsight is 20/20.
Most of my friends lost their v-cards back in high school. Some had long-term boyfriends, so I expected them to run all the way to home base. At that point, I don’t think I was as scared of sex as I am now, mostly because I didn’t have a reason to be. No, what scared me was how one of my friends lost her v-card to a guy in the back of his mom’s sedan, and him promptly ending things with her to pursue another girl just days later. I’d keel over and die if that happened to me.
Strangely, she seemed to take it in stride, but her reaction didn’t matter to me. I was appalled for her. She gave herself to this guy, performed a profoundly intimate act with him, and he treated her like muck on the bottom of his shoe. Was I destined to be treated that way, too?
The idea made me want to throw up. Maybe before then, I was nervous about sex, but I think that was when my nerves turned into fears. After all, there aren’t any do-overs for virginity loss.
It also doesn’t help that I’m generally anxious, mainly regarding decision-making. I like to call myself a “chronic worrier” since it sounds much less severe. Anxiety? Concerning! Chronic worrier? So silly and fun!
In other words, everything that could possibly stress me out about losing my virginity stresses me out. First, I need to find the right guy. One I trust, one who won’t perform ye old pump and dump. That takes time. Whether I trust the guy or not, I must be comfortable around him, too.
I wouldn’t call myself a deeply insecure person, but I’m definitely insecure enough to worry about what a guy thinks of my looks. Obviously, I have few to no flaws in the personality department. However, I’ve found very few men with truly vibrant personalities, probably because they’re too insecure to reveal their true interests and passions.
The only way I can stop myself from making the wrong choice is by not choosing at all. Do I want to have sex? Yes, pretty damn bad. Sometimes, I wish I could skip over the first time and go straight to the second. While many consider losing your virginity the main event, I’d argue that the second time around — the redemption round, if you will — is more important. Maybe if I convince myself of that, I’ll actually believe it.
Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever become less scared of losing my v-card. However, I do think I’m getting closer to finding the right moment. I’ve put all this pressure on myself, wanting perfection and nothing less, when no one is perfect at anything on their first try. I’ll know I’m ready to lose it when I’m no longer scared, but excited. For now, I’m not in a rush to get it over with. Quite honestly, I like being America’s Next Top Virgin Whore.
That, and I’d have to change my Sex on Thursday pseudonym. No thanks!
Virginia Snatch is a student at Cornell University. Comments can be sent to [email protected]. The Slip ‘N Slide runs during alternate Sex on Thursdays this semester.