Books We Want: "The First Time: True Tales of Virginity Lost & Found (Including My Own)"

I recently interviewed fellow virginity geek Kate Monro, who has just come out with a new book called The First Time: True Tales of Virginity Lost & Found (Including My Own). It's based on her long-running blog The Virginity Project, where she's been collecting these stories for over four years.

TAV: Our blog is read by a lot of people who consider themselves older virgins, so on their behalf I have to ask if the stories you heard were different depending on the age of first sex.

Kate Monro: This is a side of my research that I hadn't anticipated. As soon as I started blogging, I was contacted by people of all ages who either hadn't lost their virginity or were just about to. In the end, I decided to devote an entire chapter to their stories. And yes, as you would expect, a man who loses his virginity at 54 is going to have a very different story to that of a teenager. In the case of 'Bill', a strict religious background had held him back but in his mid fifties, with the aid of a patient female friend, he finally lost his virginity. The conversations going on in his head as this happened were something to behold. Here's the link to that post.

Losing your virginity is often (narrowly) defined as intercourse. What broader definitions came up among your subjects?

People find all sorts of creative ways to define their virginity loss and again, I took a whole chapter to explore this question as the answers were so interesting. My favourite is from Diana, the Tantric sex teacher, who said:

'Ultimately, I think that losing your virginity should be that gateway into pleasure, a gateway into something very innocent and beautiful. It should be about moving from ignorance to awareness, to becoming totally sexually self contained, to being a person who makes love or becomes intimate because they choose to, and not because they have to. Of course that could come years after you technically lost virginity. And for some people, maybe never.’

Lots of young people have alluded to similar ideas. One said that the first time they felt they were ‘properly consenting’ to sex as opposed to doing it for someone else’s sake was the time that they felt they had really lost their virginity.

As a filmmaker, I'm always jealous of writers because of the anonymity they can offer their subjects. Did anyone offer to go 'on the record?'

That’s an interesting question because right back at the beginning, several people were adamant about the fact that they wanted to go 'on the record' and appear in the book with their real names. However, given time - and it’s a good thing that I had the foresight to check back before the book went to print - because when push came to shove, they both hated the idea. As one of them said, 'its not just about me, it’s about my family as well and I don't want to embarrass anyone'.

For myself, I always knew I was going to waive my anonymity and put my story in the book. It was my way of returning the favour to the people who had taken the time to tell me their stories. But I didn't find it easy. Or at least I found it easy enough telling the story and harder when I knew the book was going to get published and that people were actually going to read it!


Photograph of Kate Munro by Ophelia Wynne for the Observer

How did you find your subjects? Did you just go up to people in the post office and ask for their stories?

Well, its funny you say that because at one stage, that was exactly what I considered. I often used to look at the head-scarved Muslim women behind the counter at my local post office and wish that I could ask them to tell me their stories but unsurprisingly, the timing never felt right. I really wanted the traditional Muslim perspective, i.e. what's it like to wait to lose virginity until marriage whilst the rest of the Western world loses it at the first opportunity. I'm philosophical about my inability to find this story now because in the end, why should anyone tell me it?

But generally speaking, I didn't have a problem finding interviewees. If anything, I couldn't keep up with the offers that I was getting. I began by tapping my friend's contact books and it grew organically from there. People enjoyed the opportunity for a little personal 'me' time and soon passed me on to friends and relatives.

Why do you suppose we women are taught to make such a big deal of the first time someone puts a penis in our vaginas?

You can't change thousands of year's worth of conditioning. That is what I would say to start with. I have a friend who gave me a hard time for constantly referring to virginity as a 'loss' whilst I was writing this book but 1. at least we all know what we are referring to and 2. traditionally speaking, virginity is an enormous loss for a woman. Not just for her, but for her family too - perhaps less so in the West now - but in many parts of the world, women lose honor and so much more when they lose virginity out of wedlock. I think that one way or another, this is fairly ingrained in our psyche as women.

But asides from that, it IS a big deal allowing another person into your body for the first time. One of the most revealing quotes from the entire book is that of a man who describes being penetrated by his wife for the first time:

‘All my life I had been the penetrator and even when the woman was aggressive, there was no doubt as to who was doing what to whom. But now, as the one being penetrated, I was on the other side. She'd gotten me to give it up. She'd probed, thrusted, and done any manner of other things, all of her own urging and without regard to what I wanted.

Afterward, I told her all these things. She hugged me all the harder and explained how it had been great for her. She also said, mimicking a cornerstone on which patriarchy is based, that she felt surprised at how easily I'd let her do what she was doing and in a way lost some respect for me. I nodded. I was surprised by that too and a little angry that that was how she felt. After all, I'd just done what she wanted me to.’

Note: We wrote about that particular story here.

Was doing the book different from writing the blog? How did you decide what to include?

Yes, it took me a while to find the right tone of voice. I had to learn to sit back from the material and let the voices of my interviewees do the talking for me. Plus it was gutting not to be able to include all of the interviews as there were so many wonderful ones. In the end, I had to go with the stories that illustrated the points I really wanted to make. But it wasn't easy. I had to 'let go of some of my darlings' as the old saying goes!

The book is available for purchase in the UK or online here. The Guardian did a story about Kate's work here. They interviewed me as well, and I rant a bit about the stuff they got wrong here.

First Person: E "If I was forced to choose between having sex for the first time or going skydiving, I would pick skydiving every time.'

It's been a while since we've run a First Person, so we're glad we got this great submission from 27-year-old E, who talks about those bouncing hormones, her preference for skydiving and the dangers of 'ambush purity pledges.' Please send us an email if you'd like to tell your story. We'd love to run it in this blog!

Tell us about yourself:

I consider myself a painfully shy 27 year old female from Boston. I was brought up in a generally rigid Pentecostal environment with opinions on sex that pretty much matched up with my church. The turning point was when myself and the other unfortunate youths at my church were roped into what I can only describe as an “ambush purity pledge.” Hopping mad, I left the church at 19 and never looked back.

What is your definition of virginity?

A garbled one. The old me would have said “willie in hoo ha”, but the world is so big, full of so many different people living different lives and looking for different things out of their relationships and encounters with others that all these idiosyncrasies have me overwhelmed. So for now I will just say “untouched”, which is what I consider myself to be.

Why have you chosen to remain a virgin?

I can only speculate that I don’t want a sexual relationship with another person badly enough to pursue it. I mean if I was really eager I would have done it in my teens or at a “normal age” (as my peers often put it), when hormones were supposedly bouncing off their proverbial walls and horny teen-aged boys were hurling themselves at my feet. I dated a handful of people in college (albeit out of curiosity/intrigue), but the relationships never progressed to a level where I would feel comfortable enough to take that step. I actually didn’t become interested in sex until I was in my 20s and began experimenting with masturbation. I can’t express how great it felt to have learned about my body's' needs on my own, and expelling the “christian guilt” attached to that. I thought “wow, I really don’t need another person for this, do I?”

Now that I am not in an environment where I’m meeting people organically, fostering the kinds of relationships I would consider ideal for pursuing intercourse has become more difficult. And to be perfectly frank, I’m not really trying, which brings me back to my original sentiment: I don’t believe I want a sexual relationship with a partner at this point in my life. If there was a person I was interested in romantically the circumstances would probably be different, but even then I would invest more time in nurturing the human connection, which I value very much, than getting laid.

If I was forced to choose between having sex for the first time or going skydiving (something I have wanted to do since I was 12) I would pick skydiving every time. To me, that’s an exhilarating experience I would remember for the rest of my life. On that scale, sex is something I have no qualms with skipping. Would I like to experience it with a partner someday? Of course, but skydiving first :)

Dealing with the Big Reveal: Coming out as a virgin

I recently got a note from Ferrette (who did a wonderful First Person for us a while back) with this question:

"Have you ever written any articles about the experience of "coming out as a virgin" to others? Like to someone you meet, or date, or even friends? I've been thinking about this a lot lately, how when the "big reveal" happens, others will be shocked, or pitying or sometimes even hesitant to hook up (the latter is one I'm familiar with).

Of course, there are also those that don't care, or are friendly no matter what. But it does seem to me that the older one gets while retaining some vestige of virgin means that these awkward conversations will just become more frequent. Course, my turning 26 recently may just have me over thinking everything."

By way of reply, here's a video of Dan Savage at the University of Montana who addresses the comment "I want to lose my virginity but I'm scared" by comparing it to bungee jumping:

"Eventually you just have to jump. You're all strapped in. You're ready to go. There's a line of Australians behind you and they want to go next."

Dan also feels strongly about telling your partner that you're a virgin. It's at 2:00, above.

I first saw this video at Diary of an Accidental Virgin who agrees with Dan:

"Why would you want to sleep with someone who is afraid of or won’t accept such a simple truth about you? Why do it with a person who views you as “less than” because you’re a virgin? Isn’t that the sort of person you wouldn’t want to have that experience with?"

The thing is, there are so many people out there either not sexually active at all, or who haven't been sexually active for a long time. If more people were honest about it, maybe it wouldn't be such a stigma.

On the other hand, I didn't tell the first guy I had sex with I'd never done it before. I was in my 20s and he assumed I was experienced, but he figured it out pretty  quickly due to my utter lack of skills. It was awkward. It was embarrassing. But I don't think it would have been less so had I explained the situation before things got going.

Let's face it: Doing anything for the first time is awkward, and sex is no exception.

What do you think: Tell or don't tell? Or just jump off that bridge and hope the cord is strong enough?

Join the Feminist Virgin Blog Carnival

There's something really fabulous happening over at The Virgin!Roar right now. It's a blog carnival that founder missmarymax describes as an attempt to:

"amplify the experiences of feminists and virgins, as they consider them in their own terms. It defies a cultural conversation about virginity that does not include the voices of virgins, and asks how that conversation would change if we–the virgins–could speak for ourselves."

So, hallelujah! Wondering if you qualify? Well, because of the inherent difficulties of defining who is a virgin and/or who is a feminist, they're leaving things pretty open. I'm going to go out on limb and say that if you're a regular reader of this blog, chances are excellent that The Virgin!Roar wants to hear from you. But you can get more info at the FAQ page.

Check out these highlights from the current posts. They're all good, so this is just a sample...

From Fuck Virginity: Thoughts from a SlutVirgin:

"My inbox overflows daily with messages from the Feminist Majority, Planned Parenthood, and NOW. None of these organizations have ever called on me to fuck someone this weekend or dance naked on a bartop in defense of women’s lib."

From Virginity: No Excuses:

"It can be hard to own a status that some people may consider embarrassing, but then again, it will always be embarrassing unless people own up. Whether we were “too busy” or “career focused” or “waiting for the one”, we just did not feel like having sex."

From Clitosorous Rex:

"...the first time I got head I did not know what to do. He said “do you like it?” and I lied and lied and lied lying in his bed I was nineteen before I knew what a clitoris was. When I asked my mom we had to google it because I wanted to know where it was too, and she wasn’t exactly sure."

From Me, Virginity, and Society:

"Eventually I realized I was asexual, specifically grey-a. That explained a lot, and I learned, with fascination, that most of the people in the world can get turned on simply by looking at someone, can want to have sex with someone they don’t know. I realized, too, (one of the reasons) why I had found it easy to be abstinent– indeed, I’d never desired to be otherwise."

Also, definitely check out MissMaryMax's YouTube channel for some wonderful poetry videos.

Does this position make me look fat? How first sex might lower a woman's self esteem.

I'm fascinated, but unfortunately not surprised, by a recent Salon article about how body image changes after first intercourse. The not surprising part of the study of college students is that men feel better about their body image after their first time–and women feel worse. Writer Tracy Clark-Flory cites a similar study from 1995 [the link to it is broken] and says:

"women were significantly more likely to report that their first sexual experience left them feeling less pleasure, satisfaction, and excitement than men, and more sadness, guilt, nervousness, tension, embarrassment, and fear." The major culprit is that familiar foe, the sexual double standard in which men are crowned as studs and women are branded as sluts when it comes to sex.

So dudes feel worse and worse about their non-sexually-active status, and then when it happens they get a huge esteem boost. Women's esteem rises through college until, bam, they have intercourse and it plummets.

I actually don't remember feeling less esteem the first time I did it, because by the time I got around to it, I was more in the typical dude's situation. I do recall some serious discomfort with the whole if-I'm-naked-he'll-see-my-fat thing, though. Clark-Flory mentions something I used to totally experience, but never had a name for. It's called sexual 'spectatoring,' when you see yourself from a "third person perspective" during sex instead of being in the moment with your partner. She describes it as:

Translation: You think, "Do my breasts look OK from this angle" instead of, "Wow, this position feels fantastic."

As for me, I was pretty certain that the missionary position made my stomach look the flattest. There's another element to this as well, though. A woman's first time having intercourse *could* mean bleeding or pain or pregnancy or being very vulnerable to a stronger partner. And likely *won't* include the payoff of an orgasm. So, no wonder there's more anxiety around it, never mind all the body image issues.

She also points out that the double-standard is double-edged. That both men and women are judged by their sexual behavior - it's just that what's desirable for one is the total opposite of the other. The answer, of course, is not to avert low self-esteem by guilting and shaming women into delaying intercourse until they find their true-love-special-someone, but to counter-act the relentless toxic messages our culture sends out about feminine ideals, sexual roles and the idea that there's actually one right age to start having sex.

Thoughts on the value of virginity from 'Eat the Damn Cake'

"The truth is, I lost my virginity when I got to the point where sex didn’t seem like a big deal anymore. When it wasn’t a scary, exotic, grownup act, but one that seemed normal, accessible, and fine.

So it feels weird to even say “lost” when I talk about my virginity. I knew exactly where I was putting it.

The idea that not having had a penis inside you by the time you’re twenty-one, twenty-six, or thirty says something important about you infuriates me. The idea of virginity almost always fails to take into account other ways in which someone can be, and usually is, sexual. It fails to remember that not everyone is straight. It fails to value many people’s desire to take the time to build an intimate relationship before being sexual with someone."

From Kate at "Eat The Damn Cake." Read the whole essay, and then stay for the comments.

New study challenges the belief that everyone is doing it but you.

The media has been all over a new study from the Centers for Disease Control about the surprisingly large numbers of teens and young adults who haven't had sex.

Now, if you read this blog regularly, this fact may not come as quite the shock it is to the rest of the world. There are a lot of people who delay sexual activity until college and beyond–some because of religious convictions, others because of social anxiety or past negative experiences, and others because they simply haven't met the right person yet.

According to the study, 27% of men and 29% of women ages 15 to 24 say they've never had a sexual encounter, which was defined as anal, oral or vaginal sex. I think it's somewhat more meaningful, and again less shocking, if you look at the breakdown by age*, like in this USA Today chart (left).

What I find especially interesting is the methodology used to gather data, given the very real issues around honest reporting of sexual behavior. NPR describes the process:

To increase the odds that the study subjects will tell the truth about their sex lives, the surveyors are always women, who visit households chosen to represent the 124 million Americans ages 15 to 44. "The more sensitive the questions, the more both sexes only want to talk to a woman," Anjani Chandra, a demographer with the National Center for Health Statistics and the report's lead author, told Shots. Those women are usually in their 40s, she says; a nice non-threatening age.

When it's time for the most delicate questions, the interviewer hands her laptop to the subject, who then listens to the questions on headphones. "The respondent can enter her answers directly into the computer," Chandra says. The interviewer never knows the answer — and neither does Mom, who may be listening from the kitchen.

Various reasons are being offered for this steady drop in sexual activity. While abstinence education may be a contributing factor, the decline started in the late 80s, more than a decade before the Bush administration pushed abstinence-only programs into overdrive.

It also bears mentioning that comprehensive sex education programs teach abstinence along with safer sex practices, which are more important now than ever. The CDC conducted this survey to help them address soaring STD and HIV rates, since half of the infections occur in the people 15-24. Which means that the young people who are having penetrative sex are still doing it in very high-risk ways.  

*For adults 25-44, the study reports that 1.6% of women and 2.3% of men have not had any sexual activity. The full report, with extensive data tables is can be downloaded from the National Survey of Family Growth.

First Person REPOST: "Why choose virginity?"

We're excited that week's First Person is a repost from the blog The Virgin Single: The blog for the shy, innocent and otherwise inexperienced dater. The author, Chicago-based FlamencoKitty, says she's "young, educated, professional, happy, healthy, childfree, spiritual, responsible, and have never had a boyfriend. But I'm off to see if a late-bloomer like me can find romance..." Please send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.

Today I was reading about stay-at-home daughters and Purity Balls. I thought, "These people are nuts!"

But when I said, as a teenager, "I'm going to be a virgin until marriage," it put me in solidarity with these crazies.

When I think back on why I chose virginity in adolescence, though, I realize that despite being connected with these loons, I wasn't exactly like them. Firstly, I was able to choose it. Stay-at-home daughters don't choose their destiny or how to explore their sexuality. They go straight from home to husband, with no time on their own to even think about getting their cherries popped.

I thought about conversations I had with my mother. Of course, she encouraged me to wait until marriage (she only had one partner before my father, her husband), but she still said, "If you do have sex before marriage, use protection!" So there was never pressure from my mom to stay a virgin "or else." It wasn't so much about being pure because God says that's what purity is (even though that became part of it for me). It was more about protection of my body, heart and soul. Protection of the body from pregnancy and STDs, protection of the heart and soul from the heartbreak of breaking up with someone to whom you lost your virginity. Meanwhile, my dad said, "No dating until you're 16!" I was a little too obedient to that! But he said it was because teenage boys were immature and only interested in sex. I went to an all-girls high school so I don't know if that was true for every teenage boy, but the junior high boys sure seemed that way...

I think there's a difference between telling your daughter to be a virgin to please God and telling your daughter to be a virgin to protect herself. I guess both can be problematic, but at least in the latter it's more about your daughter, not rules. My parents taught me that I shouldn't give it up to a guy that didn't deserve me. My mom told me over and over, "your body is a temple, and was only designed for a king." That statement can be problematic too. I think my body is not just designed for a man's pleasure. But again, that statement is taken out of the context of a discussion of how wonderful a person I am, how precious my body is, and how I shouldn't just throw it around at any guy who flirts with me.

And I never thought for a second that abstinence-only education should be taught in public schools! I went to public schools through junior high. In the late 90's, we learned about abstinence and contraception. I liked that the best protection against pregnancy and STDs was just to not have sex. Obvious, straightforward, and you don't have to worry about taking pills or fiddling with condoms or getting tested...protected sex seemed like such a hassle. Get to the fun already!

Again, my stance is in transition. I don't want to have an oppressive definition of femininity or female sexuality. As a teenager, I didn't feel like I was missing out or that virginity was holding me back from living a full life. My early twenties were quite full and amazing, even without a boyfriend!

But now I do feel like I'm missing out. Now, I feel it's a lie to say being a virgin is still liberating or empowering me, helping me live a full life. Now, something's missing...

And I definitely don't want to be mistaken for the SAHD's or Purity Ball people! But if people still talk to me like someone who's had sex, I guess I'm not as loony as the fundamentalists.

A Mormon woman writes about separation from her community and her own body

I'm totally behind in mentioning this fantastic Modern Love column that ran in the New York Times in January. Titled "Single, Female, Mormon, Alone," it's a beautiful, funny and moving essay about a 35-year-old woman's frustrations with the virginity demanded of unmarried Mormons. And it's about her slow rebellion to begin a sexual life.

Poet Nicole Hardy, the author of this piece, has been overwhelmed by responses to this essay, including an offer of a book contract. It's easy to see why. I don't know if it's still publicly available at the Times website, so here are a few of my favorite excerpts:

I was not frigid, fearful or socially inept. Not overweight or unattractive. Didn’t suffer from halitosis or social anxiety disorder. I was a practicing Mormon, and Mormons “wait” until marriage. So I had waited, spent the first two decades of my adult life celibate and, for the most part, alone. Because only after the trial of my faith would I be blessed with an eternal marriage, which, I prayed, would also blow my mind in the bedroom.

It never occurred to me that I would remain unmarried, especially in a system where marriage is not only a commandment, but also one of life’s primary purposes. Turns out, though, that there is no place in that community for a single woman who doesn’t want children.

***

Obviously, I was left over, too — I was just never sure what my problem was. Until one man let me know. After overhearing a friend and me comparing our weekend horror-date stories, he walked up to me and asked, “You know what your problem is?”
No, I did not know what my problem was. And I was dying to find out.
“Your problem,” he said, “is you don’t need a man.”
I thought that was a good thing — to be able to take care of oneself.
[...]
“Men in the church are raised to be providers. We are the breadwinners, the stewards of the household. If you have all the things we’re supposed to provide, we have nothing to give you.”
“What of love?” I asked. “What of intimacy and partnership and making a run at the world together?”
“Nope,” he said. “We’re providers.”

***

Oddly, my trip to Planned Parenthood provided much that the church had not in recent years. During my exam, the clinician explained every move before she made it, asked permission to touch me during the most routine procedures. I was mystified: by her compassion, by the level of attention paid to my body — as if it were fragile, or sacred. Only then did it occur to me how many terrified and abused women Planned Parenthood must treat every day.
[...]
I would have an IUD instead of children; I would have intellectual and spiritual freedom; I would write poems and finally live inside my body; I would, for the love of God, feel a man’s hands on me before I died.  

What's your number? Marie Claire wonders how many sexual partners is too many [UPDATED]

[See update below]

Marie Claire did a story earlier this month on women and their 'numbers,' that is, the number of sexual partners they've had. The breathless headline text makes it sounds like an exercise in judging sexually-voracious females: "How many men is too many? From 0 to 100, women confess their conquests."

But reading the actual first-person stories, it all seems quite matter of fact and goes a long way to illustrate that women have lots of different reasons to have–or not have–sex, and lots of different feelings about when and why that sex is going to happen.

Our actual definition of sex is as hazy as ever, and what earns someone a notch on the bedpost is left to the notcher. Beth (a Presbyterian with a 0 tally who's waiting for marriage) says she gave someone a blow job once, so in her world that doesn't count as having a sex partner. On the other hand, Carlin Ross (a sex educator who's had 100 partners) tells us her number includes the more than 15 women she has 'slept with.'

Unfortunately, despite the fact that the actual article isn't particularly judgmental, the commenters are, saving their harshest words for the women with the highest numbers. About Carlin, one commenter writes:

"That is pathetic and gross. I mean, wow 100, that's just really sad. I'm assuming she went through a difficult period growing up, because I don't see respectable women who were raised in a loving household to turn up to be a "loosey goosey".

Of course neither I nor this commenter knows anything about Carlin or the nature of her household. And I don't exactly know what being respectable entails – or what 'loosey goosey' means, for that matter. But I do know that I'm pretty tired of the slut-shaming (and yes, virgin-shaming) that's par for the course any time a women discusses her sex life. Do I even need to point out that if this story ran in Maxim and it was about 5 guys, there would be high-fives all around (except maybe for the 'virgin').

It's interesting that the women with the two highest numbers, Carlin and Lena Chen (who is in our film and has had 30 partners) both have no problem showing their faces, while the other three hide behind their hair. To be clear, I don't have a problem with the anonymity if it allows people to be honest about things they're uncomfortable sharing. I just found it interesting that the women most likely to be harassed put it all out there. And I think being more open about our sex lives (whatever that entails) is a good thing. As Lena writes on on her Tumblr about this story:

"While being honest about our 'number' might be a good start toward becoming comfortable with our sexuality, I think it's wiser to encourage women to talk more openly about their sexual histories in general, whether or not the acts involved include that narrow yet murky concept of 'sex.'"

UPDATE: I neglected to mention that Carlin Ross is one half of the duo 'Dodson and Ross.' (Dodson being the legendary Betty Dodson) And if you don't know who that is, you must immediately go to their site. We're fans of their work at Trixie Films and I'm sorry I claimed to know nothing about Carlin. My only excuse was that I've been running a fever all weekend. Apologies.

Should a woman hire a sex worker to lose her virginity?

"I have never met a woman who raved about the experience of losing her virginity. Perhaps that's partly reticence, but from the stories that I have been told, for most women, losing their virginity was awkward, painful, a total non-event, ruined by their partner's excitement and inexperience, or some combination of those things. Which, to me as an escort (whose job is making sex and sexuality fun and enjoyable) is a shame."

That's John, an Australia-based escort, talking about why women might seek out a male sex worker  for first-time intercourse.

Young men losing their virginity with female sex workers is a standard narrative trope, and in some cultures a celebrated rite of passage. Nevada's Moonlight Bunny Ranch, a brothel which calls itself the 'devirginizing capital of the world' isn't talking about virgin women (except for Natalie Dylan, the one notorious, if unconsummated, exception). And aside from the rom-com The Wedding Date, where the escort isn't even hired for sex, women hiring male sex workers remains a very taboo subject.

Given all that, we wanted to know more about why John, whose clients are usually sexually experienced women and couples, started reaching out to a new potential group:

First, we'd love to know how you define 'losing your virginity,' since it's sort of a hazy thing.

I will admit to being a bit "conventional" there. For me, losing your virginity (for a heterosexual couple) means penis-in-vagina sex. Why? Probably mostly because that is what I learned as I grew up. But also because to me it is the most intimate act possible between two people.

Everything else - while just as or even more enjoyable - is "foreplay", or an extension of sex to me, but when you get right down to it, penetrating, or being penetrated by another person (especially-face-to face) is as intimate a connection as you can make with another person. That may be one reason why rape is so devastating, because it perverts and abuses that intimacy and connection.

Why do you think women might need or choose to go this route, sexually?

I don't know if this is something that is "needed" as such (like food, or water are "needed"), but it fills a gap caused by the nature of our society.

No woman should feel that hiring an escort is the only option for them. But because of the problems caused by things like religion and the emotional immaturity of most of our society this is unfortunately how some women do end up feeling. I would be happier if that wasn't the case and men and women were able to treat each other with respect. Because this isn't always the case, there is an opportunity for me to help these women.

Do you think demand is growing?

Yes I think so. It is a result of two things: 1. our generally more relaxed social attitudes to sexuality, and 2. our ability to communicate with more people more easily.

Women who are virgins can hear about the idea of employing a male escort more easily, they can find and participate in positive discussions on the issue more easily, and ultimately they can connect with male escorts like myself more easily (and with complete anonymity).

That wasn't possible prior to the Internet and given that people are more open minded about sexuality, it leads to more interest and perhaps more demand. You could also view this issue as a consequence of women taking more control over their sexuality. As a result some are choosing to employ a male escort for their first-time sex.

How do you think women differ from men in terms of the experience they're looking for?

Since I am a straight (heterosexual) male escort, I can only speculate on that question. Being male though and knowing other men I would say that the difference is significant. Most men (I think) don't see any inherent value in being virgins, we are just interested in having sex. So losing my virginity was a milestone, but I didn't see it as a "gift" or something that a woman would actually value.

As mentioned on my website though, I was lucky enough to meet a woman who made losing my virginity a very memorable experience. It could have been much less enjoyable for me, but that wouldn't have made me any less eager to actually do it.

By contrast, my experience with women considering losing their virginity with me is that there tends to be more emotion invested in this experience than there was for me when I lost mine. However every woman that I talk to about losing their virginity is different in what they think and feel. Some don't care much about it and want to lose it and get on with life. Others are worried about having a bad experience, so are looking for someone who understands and will put their needs first. Then there are the women (often older) who find it hard to establish relationships with men (let alone have sex). For them virginity, emotions, self image, and doubt all seem to get tangled up together, which makes things very hard for them. The second and third groups are the ones I have most experience with personally.

The third group are the women who seem to get the least support in our societies. That is why I like the work that people like you and The Accidental Virgin are doing. I try to support that effort by being available for women to talk to about losing their virginity (be it with an escort like me, or any other man). So the difference, in my opinion, mostly comes down to the emotional content of the experience of first-time penetrative sex. It "matters more" emotionally to women than to men. So it's not surprising that the majority of women don't have the glowing memories of losing their virginity that I do.

How about the differences between men and women in terms of social taboos?

The social taboos are probably too numerous to list here, but women seeking a male escort to lose their virginity with just adds one more opportunity for narrow minded and manipulative people to stigmatise women. Which is ironic perhaps, given that the service that I offer is meant to help these women to overcome the shortcomings of our society in the first place. Thankfully though many women seem to be supportive of a friend who is considering employing a male escort.

A surprising twist on this issue is that I have been told by a father once that he would much rather his daughter lost her virginity to me (an escort who will actually try to make it a good first experience of sex), than to some random man (with all of the uncertainty that implies). Fathers may have (rightly, or wrongly) even more emotion invested in their daughter's welfare and virginity than their daughters do, so maybe that shouldn't be surprising.

First Person: Bob"The longer I stay a virgin, the more it becomes a self-perpetuating feedback loop."

This week's First Person interview comes from 30-year-old Bob, who ponders the various factors that that have contributed to his current sexual status. Please send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.

I am almost 30 and never thought I would be a virgin male at this age. I did not date in high school partly because I was too mature. In my junior year I could grow a full beard and was interested in religion, social and science television programs, and books. Little did I know that dating becomes more complex as one ages, and in that way I was very immature. In college I dumped my religious baggage at the dorm door. I still believed in morals–being truthful, kind and good to others–but not in the abstinence part. However, my focus in college was completing my degree and not getting into too much debt. Then after graduation, my focus was on finding a house.

At 27 I was happy. I had a house and liked where I lived, so I started to earnestly look at dating and losing my virginity. I thought dating should be easy. Dating was not easy. I had not dated before so everyone I dated was more experienced than I. Also, I was comfortable being alone, I had a house, friends, a job I enjoyed, freedom, porn, and so I did not need anyone.

After dating a while, I started to get a fear of rejection–not being rejected initially, but being rejected after spending time and effort, then having the relationship end before getting laid. The rejections made me ponder what my excuse for being a virgin is. I am bald but I went with it and shaved my head. I drink and party occasionally. I am 6 feet tall, 190 lbs, not gay, religious, overly shy, or a social introvert.

So basically I am normal and I have no good excuse except it has not happened yet. The longer I stay a virgin, the more it becomes a self-perpetuating feedback loop and the harder it becomes to break free. I still try–I just know now it is more difficult than I expected.

This ain't American Pie: A trio of shorts explores male virginity

David Ketterer is a young film student finishing up his BA at New York University. He recently emailed us about a trio of films he made on subject close to his, and our, hearts. Here's how he describes the project:

"3 Short Films About Virginity" is a triptych of films describing male virginity past the "normal" age. I made them because I felt that virginity is a topic about which our culture talks very poorly. 

I wanted to have a virgin male protagonist who is not the awkward kid (e.g.Michael Cera) or the adult who is somehow trapped in his childhood (e.g. Steve Carell). For me, being a virgin later than I wanted to be has meant staying outside our culture's favorite topic of conversation. These films describe that mystery.

"Evening" is directed, produced, and edited by David T. Ketterer, written by Joey Abisso, shot by Michael Crommett, production sound by Alan Kudan, and starring Collin Leydon and Elizabeth Evans.

Check out all three films on Vimeo:
I. "Suit"
II. "Evening"
III. "Advice"

First Person: Sarah "Sexual experiences don't have to fall into the categories of 'right' or 'wrong' or 'mistake.' They are simply expressions of myself."

This week's First Person interview comes from 25-year-old Sarah, who talks about where her sexuality is rooted and why she doesn't want others to define it for her. Please send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.

Tell us about yourself:
I am 25 years old and studying creative writing in New York City.  I grew up in Texas, and until a few months ago, I was a virgin.

How do you define virginity?
I know the definition I grew up with: that a virgin is someone who has not had penis-in-vagina sex. Now, I find that definition unsatisfactory for lots of reasons. It is not just that this definition applies only to heterosexuals, but I'm not sure that it works for heterosexuals either. When we talk about virginity loss we are not simply talking about a physical change, but something far more complex, an intangible, filled with deeply symbolic meanings. The categories of "virgin" and "non-virgin" fail to take into account the richness of sexual experience. It invests so much in one single moment (the moment in which a penis first enters a vagina) as this moment of profound change in our lives–when we pass magically from girls into women.
We are taught that this moment will somehow determine the rest of our sexual lives and it's a decision we take cautiously, because (as women especially) we are told that when and how we lose our virginity has a lot to say about the people we are.

Why did you wait and why did you stop waiting?
As a girl, I grew up hearing that for women sex is profoundly emotional. We must be careful, we must protect ourselves, and we must be very, very certain that the decisions we make about sex are the right ones. Why? Because the emotions that accompany sex for women might be too difficult or overwhelming if not shared with the right person at the right time.
When I did finally have sex it was with a guy, a friend of a friend, who I knew for about twelve hours.  They were a significant twelve hours in my life, and they were not devoid of emotion; in fact, they were full of emotion–excitement, aliveness, and loneliness too–but I did not fall in love as I knew I would not, nor did I fall apart (as had for years been subconsciously told I could).
Recently, after hearing I had had sex, the a male friend said of the guy: "I am not sure this guy was deserving of that." An older friend said to me, "Well, you are still emotionally a virgin." My younger sister, outraged at my one-night-stand said: "Sarah, if a guy is worth it, he shouldn't care about your past."
These comments, though meant well, have a somewhat disturbing message underpinning them: that my sexuality is somehow not my own.  That I threw away my virginity too easily.  That somehow the sex I had was meaningless because it was not shared with a partner.  That I had sex for my future partners or just to get it over with.  When in fact, I had sex because I wanted to.
I found a deeper truth I had known for a long time but was finally giving power to: Each sexual encounter is an expression of my sexuality, but my sexuality has to do with so much more than who I have sex with, or how much sex I have, or if I have ever had sex before. It has to do with my own relationship to my body.  My sexuality is deeply rooted in me.
I can trust in my own desires, my own emotions and move with them. Experiences don't have to fall on the categories of "right" or "wrong" or "mistake".  They are simply expressions of myself–among  many I will make over the course of my life–some of which will feel more authentic than others but all of which matter and are important and true.

Any thoughts on virginity in our society?


Perhaps the most lasting message girls get is that sex is powerful, scary, and has the potential to hurt you if you are not ready for it.  I think back to my brother and the messages he he received. Decide when you are ready and be safe. Boys hear, in essence, that they are able to make their own choices; that they should trust in their own intelligence and are aware enough of their desires to make responsible decisions about sex.  What a girl hears is very different: That her emotions and desires are not to be trusted but that she should be protected from them.  That she is fragile and could make a bad decision that will leave her harmed.
It perpetuates this notion that our sexuality is defined by external factors. I think of sexuality differently; as something internal whose movement outward takes many forms of expression and sex itself is only one of those.  In this I find great freedom and confidence and joy.

Fromt the archives: What's this film all about? A bounty of Q&As will answer all your questions (except what color dress Therese finally wore at her wedding)

As we work though the tough process of boiling down 70 hours of interviews and Miley Cyrus videos into an hour-long film, I've been looking back at some of the things we've been writing about. This is a pretty good distillation of the things that have driven me batty enough to do this film. So for those of you just joining us, a little distillation and review:

I want to thank a group of fantastic bloggers who have spread the word about our project far and wide. A few of them did Q&As with me, and their questions were so good, they made my brain hurt. Here are some of the hopefully smart-sounding answers I produced in response.

From Amanda Hess's The Sexist who asked about the different meanings of virginity in the contexts of abstinence pledging, porn and the wedding industry:

Therese: I think they’re remarkably similar in that they all work within the fantasy of female sexual purity as something to be fetishized. They have different props—the Big White Wedding Dress, porn’s white panties, and the purity ring—but all use a sort of ritualized process whereby a symbolically virginal female is offered up to a male for deflowering. I say symbolic because the porn actress is definitely not a virgin, we’re pretty certain that most modern brides aren’t either, and given our shaky definition of the V-word, we might not even consider some purity pledgers to be totally chaste. But it’s the fetishization of all three that really fascinates me. For whose benefit is it this being played out?

From Australian journalist Rachel Hills' Musings of an Inappropriate Woman about mainstream media coverage of virginity and female sexuality:

Therese: There’s still a lot of alarmist hand-wringing about so-called ‘hookup culture,’ the evils of young women having casual sex, and the death of relationships. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with it. I think most of us find ourselves in all sorts of sexual situations in our lives, some good, some bad. Instead of talking about how many partners someone has had, it’s more important to talk about consent, doing things because you want to, not because you’ve been coerced, or you think all your friends are doing it so you have to as well. I’ve read that about 1/3 of college students identify as virgins, which is a far cry from the media portrayal of college as one big scary female-soul-crushing orgy.

And from Kyna Morgan's blog about women filmmakers Her Film who asked about the origins of the film from a personal perspective:

Therese: I was planning my own wedding at the time of the shooting, and was getting a little freaked out by all the chastity-based wedding rituals and coded wedding accessories. What would it mean for me to embrace the white dress, don a veil, and be ‘given away’? What would that say about my own sexual autonomy and identity? It echoes the narration of I Was a Teenage Feminist where I refer to myself as “a woman who feels incredible pressure to conform to an ideal that I don’t even buy into. Is it possible to be who I want to be without judgment, or apology or compromise?”

And this post written by Melanie Klein at Feminist Fatale on why the film is important amidst our culture's contradictory messages about sex:

Melanie: These manufactured, one-dimensional images of heterosexual sexuality constantly shoved down my throat (no pun intended). Running parallel to the cultural obsession with sex (and nude or near-nude ladies that grace countless magazine covers, billboards and populate advertisements), is the obsession with female virginity (so much so that many women opt to have their virginity restored via plastic surgery).
Clearly, with all this sex out there, the important issues regarding sex and sexuality are glossed over and given little media coverage. What remains in the public eye remains a vapid, one-dimensional image of sexuality and a perpetual reinforcement of the good girl/ bad girl (madonna/whore dichotomy)

[With thanks to superintern/editor Sara for her help!]

First Person: AllieWhen I Decided Not To Be A Virgin

This week's First Person originally ran on the blog Happy Bodies. Thanks to Hanne Blank for letting us know about it, and a very special thanks to its author Allie for letting us cross-post it here! Send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.

Having sex had nothing to do with it, because to this day I have not engaged in any kind of partner sex. My Catholic upbringing regularly impressed notions of chastity, purity, sexual repression, and guilt guilt guilt. I have been socialized with the idea that if you get to 22 and you haven’t had sex yet, there’s something wrong. I was sure being overweight had something to do with it. I was sure my personality had something to do with it. As I got older, I was sure my lack of experience had something to do with it. There’s got to be something wrong with me, or my body, or my way of life.

But here’s the thing: there isn’t.

The revelation of my not-virginity came to me in pieces. The first was while I was skyping with Becky. We were talking about me being a virgin, despite the fact that I know more about sex than a lot of people. Despite the fact that I am better than most people at talking about sex. Despite the fact that I am extremely familiar with my body, my desires, my needs. The second half of this revelation was a day later while re-reading Yes means Yes!, particularly in an essay by Hanne Blank about “process-oriented virgins”. I have subscribed to a transitional approach to virginity for a while, but in my brain claiming “not virgin” still required experience with some kind of partnered sex. Why is “virgin” a label people people can claim despite conventional evidence to the contrary? Why isn’t “not-virgin”? And of course, it is.

I still carry with me a lot of the implications virginity has on my life. Sometimes I am sort of terrified by the idea of flirting because it might lead to some kind of relationship (friendship or romantic) and I would feel weirdly obligated to reveal my virginity and they would scoff and leave me alone. Now I can start regularly thinking “I am not a virgin”, acclimating to the idea, and letting those words sink into my daily actions.

I am not here to stabilize notions of virginity or female sexuality. I am here to claim my body as my own and claim my experience as valid. I have never engaged in partner sex, and I might never choose to do so. I have decided, here and now, not to be burdened by the label of virgin.

And a note from Allie: This is one of my submissions to the ongoing series “When did you know?”, an examination of the intersection of labels and identity. Information on how to submit your piece to the series can be found on the Join Us page. To see all posts in this series, click here.

Cross-Post: A response to “30-Year-Old Virgins on Oprah Winfrey”

Note: We're so glad to be running this cross-post from the awesome blog "The Accidental Virgin" in response to a recent Oprah show. I'd recommend checking out the video and comments on Oprah's show page. Many people wrote about their own lives as older virgins, thankful for the show's focus on experiencing pleasure and feeling good about yourself. But there seemed to be just as many comments quoting scripture and sending shaming messages about the lifelong damage caused by pre-marital sex. The debate continues...

As I mentioned in the last post, Friday’s episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show centered on two women in their 30s who haven’t had sex. After watching it tonight I thought it was okay. The show acknowledged that people remain virgins for various reasons — many of whom are fine with it — but the two guests on the show were not.

For Shayla, after watching her father sleep around only months after her mother died, she realized she didn’t want to be used and “thrown away” like the women he’d bring home. She didn’t like that after 20 years of a wonderful marriage that her mother was replaceable within months after her death.

“So your dad, who was your best buddy, this great dad, the ideal father, if he can betray your mom, and they had the perfect relationship, what can I count on?”

“Me,” Shayla responds. “That’s it.”

Carmen’s insecurity about her weight, on the other hand, seems to stand in her way. At almost 300 pounds she says she would rather be alone than to have someone look at her the way she currently is. In the show, when questioned what would be the worst thing that could happen, she responds it’d be getting to the point where she’s about to have sex and being rejected by her partner.

“I’ll have to be naked and… it would just turn him off. Like he would scream, ‘Oh my God, that’s disgusting.’ Then just kind of leave.”

Interestingly, my first thought after hearing both of these women speak about their fears was that I have the same trepidations. I can connect with Shayla’s admission above and, even though I’m not overweight (although no where near a size zero), Carmen’s statement as well. Their circumstances may differ but among their fears they both seem to share the fear of being vulnerable. One that I probably voiced in my blog a few times and can relate too. I remember the therapist on the show commented it was all about the fears; body image, being abandoned, having your heart broken, self esteem — universal fears that all women have. But that in this instance it was on the extreme.

So…this topic is getting (more) national exposure. Which is good. However, after having watched the show, I think that since this particular episode concentrated on two women who were seeking help with their particular situation, it tend to convey virginity as chiefly a psychological issue. I don’t know… rather than chalk it up to emotional baggage and “issues”, for me it felt more like these were just the cards these women were dealt in life.

Oprah commented that it goes beyond sex (or lack thereof). That it runs into a lack of intimacy and a lack of connection. Not having experienced these I for one can testify that it is something that can very well lead a person to feel isolated and unloved.

In the end, both women in the show were propelled into taking risks that threw them outside of their comfort zone (one was even urged to masturbate and talk about the experience…which I thought was amusing, given her ‘good girl’ views about the act itself). Eventually, they were comfortable enough to go on dates and the episode ended on a positive note; that “if you want to take the reigns in your life, you can create the love in your life that you want.”

Easier said than done. But still encouraging to say the least.

First Person: Mark"Even thinking about telling a girl how I feel sends me into a full-blown panic attack. Any advice?"

This week's First Person interview comes from 22-year-old Mark, who emailed us for some advice. So we decided, with his OK, to share it with the American Virgin community. If you have any thoughts or advice for Mark, please leave him a comment. Thanks! Send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.

I am a 22-year male virgin. Not only am I a virgin, but I have never been kissed or asked a girl on a date. Not that there haven't been girls that I've liked, quite the opposite; but even thinking about telling a girl about how I feel sends me into a full-blown panic attack. I often feel that drugs and booze are the only way that I can express myself, but those sometimes turn against me; I simply don't know what to think.

It might worth adding a few things: I didn't come from a religious or repressive household; on the contrary, I have always been able to discuss sex and relationship issues openly with my family. I'm not a hopeless romantic either, and although I certainly would like to find a special someone, I'm not naively hung-up on saving it as something major; at this point, I'd rather just get it over with so if and when I do find someone I'm not completely awkward and inept.

Lastly, I have no problems talking to girls on a friendly level, and I cherish having female friends who lend balance to the testosterone circus (and though they are female, they will always be my 'dudes'). It's only when I find myself developing more-than-friend feelings that I panic; I'm currently looking into therapy for that.

I discovered [this blog] couple of months ago, and it has since been a source of comfort for me. It's helpful to know that I'm not alone, or a bumbling freak of nature like I'd be thought of by many. Most of my college classes are populated by males who feel that burning male need to talk endlessly of their 'conquests'; as you might imagine, being surrounded by that in my position can be rather embarrassing, not to mention annoying.

Do you have any advice for me?

Some advice for first-timers, with man-parts and without

First from Em & Lo, a 34-year-old woman asks about making her first intercourse less painful:

There were times with one ex when I thought I was ready, but it would start to hurt, I’d get scared and then wouldn’t go through with it. I was wondering if I should see gynecologist and have my hymen broken ahead of time to save me from some discomfort. Everything I’ve read has said first intercourse sex is never “magical.” Could this help?
Suggestions from a gynecologist are here.

Then, from Jezebel, some first-time advice for ladies and their special ladies:

A while back, Social Minefield tackled the issue of losing your virginity. But as many readers pointed out, not all deflowerings involve a dick — herewith, some tips for your first time with a lady.
Tips from Autostraddle and others are here.

If only there was a Lame Movie Help Line

Seen this ad for this upcoming film?
Bored as I am of the horndog-guy-trying-to-lose-virginity-before-college storyline?
Tired of being told that only freaks are still virgins when they enter college, that every 'normal' guy needs to bang a hot chick before graduation, lest the shame of his sexual lameness destroy the rest of his life?
Feeling strangled by Hollywood's unchanging definition of masculinity?
Wish this storyline wasn't churned out a dozen times a year and that people like Will Farrell, who produced this film, could find something more creative to do with his gifts? Like make Elf II?
Then don't call this number.

As a public service, here's a rundown of what happens when you call the 'Virgin Help Line' at 888-743-4335 (which is part of an ad campaign for the new movie The Virgnity Hit). A teenage-sounding guy named Zack comes on, welcomes you to the hotline and presents some options:

Press 1 if you're a virgin.
Press 2 if you’re friends of a virgin and want to help
Press 3 if you don’t know if you’re virgin or not.
Press 4 if you want your virginity back
Press 5 if you want to stay a virgin.
Press 6 if you want to hear Matt say a pickup line that makes girls swoon
Press 7 if you like to party.

Press 3 and you get clichés about guys who like wizards and play chess. Press 5 and you get some shit over your life choices. Press 6 to get a line about stealing a car and going to Mexico. And somewhere in there are assurances that any girl can lose their virginity so long as she's willing to lower her standards to the level of the guys' (nonexistent). So don't call them. Someone is for sure keeping track of the hits, and we don't want to give them any more encouragement.