Reminders For the 20-Year-Old Virgin

I often find myself in conversations with people who have rarely or never spoken about sexuality in their lifetime. Often, I am met with shock and surprise at my willingness to candidly discuss matters of the heart, head, and vagina. No, you shouldn’t be washing your labia with soap, and yes, you should carry your own condoms. You don’t know how long ago his mom gave that Trojan – Bare Skin.

One of the biggest questions I’ve fielded, probably since I was 18, is something along the lines of: “I’m 19 years old, why haven’t I had sex yet?” 

While there’s never a simple answer to matters of circumstance, I often find that it’s the person (usually, a woman) being in a rush to experience the glory of sex. We’ve all been told horror stories of the rug burn, blood, broken hymens, and partners who can’t make it last longer than a few minutes. Usually, the person boils down their experience to feelings of inadequacy, body insecurity, fear of missing out, and a desire to fit in. 

These experiences will be different for everyone, and I won’t even try to psychoanalyze the general reader of this article, but if you struggle with this, I hope that these pieces of advice will ease your mind. Take it from someone who has definitely been there.

It’s a marathon, not a sprint

I know it can be frustrating to not be able to take part in conversations with your friends about sexual exploits. You want to relate, laugh along and share your own horror stories about that one Tinder date gone wrong. But remember that every person in that group, whether they’ve been active since Grade Eight or as recent as two-weeks ago, everyone once experienced those same feelings of insecurity. We don’t come out of the womb having been sexually active (thank god, that would be creepy as hell), and there’s no set date or age where you need to be intimate (honestly, that would be almost just as creepy). Everyone’s circumstance, mindset, maturity, family situation, and opportunities are completely different.

There’s no need to rush. One day, you’ll fall naturally into the kiss and tell gossip circle. For now, be thankful that you didn’t catch chlamydia from a hook up at a club… sis, he’s coming for you!

One size does not fit all

You’ve watched enough TV shows and movies to know what a ‘typical’ loss of virginity looks like. Let’s review:

“Samantha, we’ve been together for two months now, I’m ready to take our relationship to the next level.”

“But Jackson, I’m scared!”

“So am I. But I love you, there’s no one I would rather do this with.”

“I love you too.”

They kiss. Within 30 seconds, Jackson awkwardly pulls off Samantha’s jeans and penetrates her. A moment of wincing from Samantha, then she eases into it. Orgasm ensues.

I know you had no problem picturing that scene. But the fact is, it’s a fabrication, a fantasy, an archetype. In the same way that you’ll probably never meet someone who stands outside your window with a boombox in an attempt to win you over. This standard for intimacy is unrealistic. 

It could happen anywhere, at any time. It could be on your basement couch while your mom is walking the dog. It could be in a dressing room after closing night of a school play. It could be calculated, but maybe someone gets performance anxiety or changes their mind. And that’s fine. 

Oh, also … don’t expect it to be easy, or even very good. That part comes later.

Penis in Vagina ≠ Sex

The first time I was ever intimate with another girl was one of the most mind-blowing experiences of my life. I literally felt like I was losing my virginity all over again, and when we were together, I was on a high.

Unfortunately, I was met with a lot of ignorance and homophobia when it came to labelling my experience. I always counted it as a ‘kill’ (forgive me, that’s what the kids call it when you’ve slept with someone), until someone asked me what it meant to have sex with a girl. I struggled and eventually said that ‘going down’ (performing cunnilingus–god I hate that word) was the determining factor.

“But nothing went inside you?”

“Well, fingers, I guess.”

“So she fingered you.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not sex.”

“Crap,” I thought. “Can’t deny that.” In the context of a heterosexual relationship, I probably wouldn’t define someone going down on me as sex. But then I started to think … why not? I mean, that’s how I defined it when I was with a girl, and frankly, I was sure that we had slept together. After all, there wasn’t exactly a penis in that equation (nor did either of us want there to be), but it felt like sex. Actually, it felt a lot more like sex than some of the experiences that I’d had with guys. 

Sex is whatever you want it to be. The idea that penetration is the only way to have sex is, frankly, a construct designed to enforce heteronormativity. A blow job can be sex. An orgasm through nipple play can be sex. So don’t get caught up in that nonsense about when intimacy becomes sex because the line that separates the two is a lot more broken than we know.

Virginity is a construct

The concept of ‘losing’ your virginity never quite made sense to me. What am I losing? A hymen I may have never even had? My purity for my future husband? My worth? Frankly, none of those things make very much sense to me as valid reasons to ‘stay’ a virgin. When I lost my virginity, I gained much more. I gained bodily autonomy, confidence, a better understanding of my body and the ability to become more intimate in relationships than I ever believed possible. 

If you choose not to have sex, it can’t be about the fear of ‘losing’ something. It’s a personal decision, and whether that choice comes from wanting to be physical with someone you trust, someone you’re madly attracted to, the person you marry (if you decide to get married), or just with a random stranger who winked at you at a bar … that is your decision alone. 

Now go get some!

• dating
• relationship
• sex
• virginity