My birthday is two and a half months away. I’m going to pass the final stage of adulthood, and involuntarily enter my twenty-first year. I’ve accomplished so much, and yet I still haven’t had sex. Everybody around me tells me “HLG, honey, your time will come,” or “They’re out there … waiting for you too.” And that’s the best thing you can tell someone like me, because literally nobody can verify it. It’s vague-ass comments like these that you hate receiving, but exhale with relief when those same comments save you from the panic that mounts as you desperately search for advice for someone else.
When I entered college, I scoured the internet for rules on hooking up. From looking up how to properly give a blowjob to how to not be so awkward, I tried to compensate for the fact that I had negligible experience (the boys in my specialized high school were unattractive, okay). Nothing could really prepare me for reality: First times are learning experiences, and sometimes you can’t know how to do first times until after you’ve done them. First Hook Up
My first real hookup, not including kissing a friend in preparation for a date, was a boy I went to prom with fresh out of a recently failed relationship. We went from zero to almost 100 (unreciprocated oral sex but not in the direction you’d think) with his mom dropping by the basement room about every 20 minutes. It wasn’t a great time, neither of us knew what we were doing.
Do you know how difficult it is to be a sexually active virgin on this campus? Paradoxical, I know. But it’s true. I’m a girl who loves sexual acts, loves everything about sex, but simply refuses to have it. It was engineered into my brain that sex is reserved for your husband, and after years of religion thrusting itself into my head (pun intended), it’s become difficult to reverse the effects of this forceful belief, even if my own mind has changed.