Being a 23-Year-Old Virgin

I’ve always been hesitant to write about my sex life and have kept it private until recently. Why is it that we’re so reluctant to talk and write about sex? I’m so tired of sex being this secretive and taboo thing. Growing up, I’ve so intensely digested such negative narratives about sex, which made me go to extreme lengths in order to avoid learning about sex.

In grade five sex-ed, I was so shaken up at the diagram of a vagina that I fainted. I quickly assured my parents, teachers, and classmates that I was simply dehydrated. But I was lying through my teeth to everyone, including myself, because I wondered how I could be so petrified of a diagram—especially being a diagram of something I had!

I would turn away during kissing and sex scenes during movies, tell my mom I knew everything I needed to know and that I wouldn’t get pregnant, and I even distinctly remember excusing myself when my friends were talking about hickeys. It wasn’t that I was repulsed or judgemental at the idea of sex, but I was incredibly uncomfortable. All my life, the people and media around me deemed it as inappropriate and private subject matter. Despite sex-ed being a thing, I equated sex education with sex. Subsequently, I equated not being ready for sex with not being ready for those conversations and yikes… did that hold me back…

As I kept the act up and avoided sex, I ended up avoiding any sort of sex-education. This isn’t to blame my teachers or mom—they all gave me the information, but I just refused to take it. By the time society thought I was ready, and everybody around me was ready, I wasn’t. I guess it’s part of being a late bloomer. Once I got a little older, I was able to watch kissing and sex scenes with curiosity and a sudden desire for a movie-like romance of my own. But I still managed to avoid the topic of sex and came to the conclusion that sex was just when two people were under the covers naked, and once their “parts” touched, that was sex—in all its glory. That was as far as the movies got to, and I didn’t have the knowledge to fill in the gaps. I didn’t actually know what penetrative sex was until I was nineteen—that’s right, I didn’t know how babies were made.

I know I’m an anomaly in this sense, but I also know that we don’t talk about sex in a positive way. We need to start talking about sex like it’s not this scary and horrible thing so that we feel comfortable asking questions. We need to normalize sex-positivity, especially for the virgins out there. You don’t need to be having sex to know about it. When I finally learned about what sex actually was, it was like some switch turned on (pun intended); after the sudden shock and the millions of follow-up questions I asked my mom (and the internet), I felt empowered to know more about my body and sexuality.

In hindsight, going abroad for a year of school without truly knowing what sex was extremely problematic. I thought that my cluelessness would protect me. I wasn’t dating and thought, why is this important in the slightest? But today I wonder, what if I had gotten into a non-consensual situation? What if I decided to change my mind? While I had the resources to look things up and people to ask, it doesn’t change the fact that sex education is so important in all aspects; in regard to relationships, consent, health, and self-love. It’s important that we talk about sex in a positive way so that we can truly pay attention to these other aspects of our lives and make people feel comfortable enough to ask questions confidently.

I used to only share the fact that I was a virgin with my close friends. The more I talked about my virginity, the more comfortable I became—I embraced this fact rather than simply accepting it. It soon became a part of my “open book” nature and was sometimes even a “fun fact” during ice breaker games. I’ve gotten all sorts of reactions after sharing the fact. Some people get second-hand-embarrassment for me, some pity me and say “it’s okay,” and others tell me that they want to find somebody for me at the club. Then, there are people who think I’ll judge them for having lots of sex. You see, being a virgin, people don’t automatically assume I’m sex-positive. We don’t talk about it enough—how virgins can be just as sexually liberated as people who have sex.

I used to joke about how being a virgin isn’t a personal choice. Was I a virgin because nobody wanted to have sex with me? But we need to actively work against this harsh self-loathing. How much sex you’re having in no way defines how sexy and sexual you are. You’re not wrong for taking a pass on sex, and you’re definitely not wrong for having it. The only “wrong” thing here is the fact that sex isn’t a normalized enough topic in our society.

This isn’t to say that simply talking about sex replaces the act. But for me, talking about my virginity openly and comfortably was sexually liberating. It reminds me that sex is a normal thing—regardless of whether or not I’ve had it. Talking about my sex life and virginity reminds me that while it’s a big part of my identity, it doesn’t define me. Sex means something different to everybody; some choose to keep it a private and personal thing, but that doesn’t mean it needs to be kept private.

From time and time again, I was always confronted with the narratives that virgins are afraid to have sex, are judgemental of women that are having sex, and so much more. I’ve never related to any of these perspectives simply because I really didn’t know what sex was. The past few months have had me wondering why I can finally embrace my virginity so comfortably. I’ve realized that I like talking about being a virgin so much, because for so long I felt like I shouldn’t talk about it. Joking about it started out as a way for me to use humour to talk about something that a lot of people don’t talk about so freely.

While I don’t owe an explanation to anybody about my personal life, why I’m a virgin, or “how far I’ve gone,” I get my sexual liberation in other ways—part of that liberation is having control over what I do, and not letting it create boundaries about what I can or can’t talk about. I’m a virgin because that’s what I’m comfortable with. While this is the case for me, not everybody has this freedom and comfort. What I hope myself and others can do is carve out a new narrative…the new normal that is… sex. How much sex you’re having shouldn’t equate to your sexual value. What matters is that we’re promoting free choice and sexual liberation and education.