It's one of those topics that's avoided and skirted around and skimmed over and glossed over and . . . well, you get my drift. Maybe--maybe some brave youth pastor will preach a convicting and challenging series on Sexual Purity and Making Boundaries and that terrifying concept of Saving Yourself for Marriage, but what is a pastor to say to an average group of college kids, most of whom have been sexually active since ninth grade? "Um, kids, I know you're all Doing It, but you need to STOP. Now. Before God sends lightning out of heaven to smite you where you stand."
Whatever. I don't mean to approach the subject from God's point of view, or a pastor's point of view, or even from the general public's point of view. It's MY point of view that matters right now.
I've found myself in the middle of the "Virginity Wars" ever since my freshman year of college when one of my friends confided in me her dilemma as to whether or not she should sleep with her "totally hot extremely awesome incredibly sweet" boyfriend. I'm pleased to say that I talked her out of it, especially as that relationship only lasted a matter of weeks, anyway. A year later, I was reunited with my old roommate from boarding school (who had since become, to put it frankly, a slut) and my sex education began.
And one by one, I watched my closest friends fall off the proverbial wagon. Or rather, they were swept off, into the arms of tall, handsome guys. Well, not all--some girls literally jumped off themselves, not for "Prince Charming," but instead for indifferent, brooding bad boys--the kind who don't remember your name in the morning.
The question of losing one's virginity in college has, for some reason, always been a "when" rather than an "if." It's almost taken for granted that you'll end college having lost the V-card. And, for a long time, it was a matter of "when" in my mind as well. I felt as if I needed to "catch up" with my friends--the ones who had somehow reached a higher plane of womanhood than I ever could without committing that one final act. The pressure didn't help either. I got the "What's wrong with you?" speech more than once, and the "Oh, my god. STILL?" exclamation more times than I'd care to recount. I don't know how our society has become this way, but honestly, it's downright embarrassing to be one virgin among many who are not.
But something happened last week that literally changed my perspective. A very close friend, who until that point had been in the same position as me, had sex for the first time. It wasn't special. It wasn't even good. It was a one-night stand with the very spawn of Satan himself, a guy well known around town for being a player. And as she told me about it, she said the same thing I've heard countless other friends say: "It's not that big of a deal. It's just sex."
Maybe to them. But as I listened, I was struck by a sudden revelation. It still IS a big deal to me! I don't want to give something like that away to a random one-night stand, or even to the cute guy I may date for a couple of weeks. Is it so wrong to want to be in love when I have sex for the first time? Is it so wrong to want the first time to be special, just like the romantic films and books we girls adore? Maybe in today's society, sure. But in the fairy tales, the prince never hangs around strip clubs before rescuing the princess. And the fair maiden never puts out for every random bloke who buys her dinner before she ever meets Prince Charming. Call me old-fashioned if you will, but that's just the way I see it.
So next time I'm tempted to moan and groan about being the odd one out in my friend group, maybe I'll remember that a V-card should be a badge of honor, not a mark of shame. Maybe next time I'm ridiculed I'll remember to lift my chin a little higher and be proud of my stand.
And whenever the guy I'm waiting for comes along, I'll have something to give him most other girls wouldn't. I don't care what they all say, it'll sure as hell be special.
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