Welcome to Dear Life: An Unconventional Advice Column.
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Well okay, maybe a little. Aren’t we all? xo, Jen Pastiloff, Crazy Beauty Hunter.
I am a 34 year old virgin.
I have no conservative religious beliefs and I’m not steadfastly “saving myself” for marriage. I just haven’t had sex….ever.
I have spent my life lying to the world, and myself, pretending to be something I’m not….or, more accurately, pretending to have done something I haven’t. People just assume that I’ve had sex and so I haven’t bothered to correct them. I feel like a fraud and a liar and so disconnected from one of life’s most basic human experiences. Stronger still are the feelings of shame and embarrassment and feeling like I’ve not only missed the boat, but am nowhere even near the water to have any hope of getting on board.
“BUT I’M NOT NAÏVE OR A PRUDE!!” I want to scream out in my defense, both to those who assume wrongly and to those who might suspect. But my scream has long been silenced by the fear of judgment, of criticism, of rejection. Why do I need to scream anyway?
I have “fooled around” with a couple of guys in my life. The first one, at age 19, was my university lecturer. He was probably triple my age but I let him touch me because I was in such desperate need of attention and care amongst the chaos of my life at the time. I hated his hands on my body and his lips on mine. Initially I said nothing and went along with whatever he wanted. When he tried to fuck me, I had to tell him that I’d never been this close before. He was going to figure it out pretty soon anyway, right? But, he just rolled over, his back to me and never touched me again. That was the end of that.
For the next 12 years I said nothing to no-one. No guy was even on my radar, let alone close enough for intimacy. I was confused, depressed and held myself hostage to my own walls, the ones I’d carefully built up to buffer myself against further rejection. I thought maybe I was a lesbian, cos I hated that man’s touch, yet I was not sexually attracted to women. So, I decided I must be asexual and concluded that love (and sex) just wasn’t for me. I didn’t need it. Instead, I threw myself into my nursing career and my travels and buried any questioning feelings with food.
Then, while travelling aimlessly around Africa searching for my soul, I unexpectedly fell head over heels for a bad-ass Kenyan guy with a good heart. He was not my type at all. But, how did I even know if I had a “type”? Regardless, our hearts connected and things went further. I loved how he touched me and how his lips felt on mine. Then, almost at the point of no return I dropped the V-bomb on him also. He had a similar reaction to the lecturer, though perhaps not so harsh. But, while it still hurt like hell, I became even more attracted to him, mostly because he had rejected me less. Then I had to return home to Australia, to reality.
In the three years since Kenyan-Guy and only a handful of awkward, ill-fitting dates, I haven’t had to think much about sex. But, now I think I’ve met a guy. I am attracted to his energetic spirit, his humour, his eyes. I don’t know if anything will even happen. But regardless, my virginity fears are oozing to the surface. I want a real, honest and loving relationship involving growth and connection on all levels, including intimacy and sex. But, in order for this to happen, I need to have a rather challenging conversation with the guy, whether it’s with this guy or someone else. Where do I even start? How do I explain myself? Will any guy even want me once they find out? I am so scared of being rejected again that I’m teetering on the edge of resigning myself to voluntary singledom forever. That scares me as well, because I can’t shake that deep desire for just a chance at real love. But, how do I begin to move forward and tolerate being a virgin in a non-virgin world?
Never Been Laid
Dear Never Been Laid,
Like you, I was a virgin in a non-virgin world for a long time, although under different circumstances: I had chosen to save myself for marriage, married my high school sweetheart, and proceeded from our wedding night on, to have a painful, uncommunicative, unsatisfying sexual relationship (that eventually led to divorce).
I was 22 when I lost my virginity, and the experience was devastating. I had all of these expectations about sex and relationships, many of them pushed on me by my religion, but also from the culture surrounding me. All of them at war with each other. There were so many voices shouting at me about what was right or wrong or how things should be that I couldn’t listen to the most important voice that should have been guiding my sexual relationships: my own. My thoughts. My feelings. My body. I had never learned to trust myself when it came to my sexuality —I had only learned to feel shame and embarrassment.
It sounds to me like your first physical experience with your professor was not just unfulfilling, but painful, and his reaction colored how you saw yourself and your virginity. I was struck by these admissions in your letter: “…I let him touch me because I was in such desperate need of attention and care amongst the chaos of my life at the time. I hated his hands on my body and his lips on mine.” Our lives are often chaotic, even outside of sexual relationships. We often turn to other people for solace or to food or alcohol or drugs or internet porn or any number of behaviors as self-medication when what we really need is self-care or self-awareness.
You are 34 years old. You’re a nurse. You’ve traveled the world. And you’re a virgin. These are things about you that can be learned in this letter. But these are just details. Basic facts. They don’t have to be the things that define you unless you want them to—or unless you let them. For years, you’ve been letting how other people have responded to you seep in and become the things you believe about yourself. You felt judged, rejected, depressed and confused. Twelve years is a long time to withdraw from desire.
You figured out that you weren’t asexual. That you were sexually attracted to men. These are important realizations. You put yourself out there a second time, with the Kenyan man, and you grew a little. You had a different experience with a similar outcome. But the way you describe both men is that they were not your type from the start. Have you taken time to consider what kind of partner might be right for you? What you need in order to feel safe and deeply connected? What are the dealbreakers? Or at a deeper level: why did you choose them when you knew they weren’t right?
And to take it even further, have you explored your own sexuality? Not just who you like, but what you like. What turns you on, what makes you feel good, what makes you feel sexy? How often would you like to have sex in a relationship? What turns you off completely? Just because you’re a virgin, that doesn’t mean you aren’t a sexual being. Sure, some people are more sexual or physical than other people. It’s all okay. You find out what you like, and you find someone who’s compatible with those things—or is willing to adapt because they care about you and want to take risks with you.
Sex is so much about communication—and while I think there are people who can divorce emotions from the act, I don’t think you are one of those people (I’m not either). Yes, that means having a challenging conversation. But in a healthy relationship, these are the kinds of conversations that grow you rather than tear you apart.
The two men who rejected you were the problem here. Not your virginity. They weren’t right for you. They didn’t know how to appropriately respond to your vulnerability. Nobody says, “Well, you’ve never been married before so I’m not really interested in marrying you until you have a few divorces under your belt.” That’s just crazy talk. Apparently some people treat sex this way. But not everyone. Not the right one.
Enthusiasm is a great quality in a partner, on every level. You should be with someone who’s excited about you. Every part of you. But first: you should be sure you’re excited about yourself. This may mean therapy, a change of career, ridding your life of toxic people, or simply finding new ways to celebrate yourself on a daily basis. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all figured out. But until you feel confident in your own sexuality, simply having sex isn’t going to solve anything. Sure, you can say you’re no longer a virgin. But why is that anyone’s business but yours and your partner’s?
Listen, there is something far worse than no sex: uncomfortable, emotionless, nearly sexless sex. Sex just to be able to say you had sex.
You’ve come this far. Sex in a loving, communicative relationship is worth waiting for. You’re worth a potentially uncomfortable conversation. You’re worth everything. Treat yourself that way and find someone who treats you that way too.
Then: don’t just get laid. Have sex. Make love. Be active. Be present. Enjoy yourself. Have fun. Make mistakes. Try again. And again. And again.
All the love and light you can stand,
Please note: Advice given in Dear Life is not meant to take the place of therapy or any other professional advice. The opinions or views offered by columnists are not intended to treat or diagnose; nor are they meant to replace the treatment and care that you may be receiving from a licensed physician or mental health professional. Columnists acting on behalf of Dear Life are not responsible for the outcome or results of following their advice in any given situation.
Amanda Miska is Editor-in-Chief of Split Lip Magazine. She received her MFA in Creative Writing from American University. Her fiction and non-fiction have been published in Whiskey Paper, CHEAP POP, jmww, The Collapsar, Storychord, Five Quarterly, Lockjaw Magazine, Pea River Journal, Hippocampus Magazine, Cartridge Lit, Atticus Review, the Prairie Schooner blog, and elsewhere. She lives and writes in the Northern Virginia—for now.
This letter made me recall something that happened so long ago I’d forgotten — I desperately needed to ‘get away from it all’ once so I went on a Caribbean cruise. Alone, with some books. I was placed at a single’s dining table for all meals — they didn’t know I was married with children. It didn’t take me long to figure out it was expected that I would want to hook up with one (some?) of the singles during the cruise. The first guy to hit on me was a doctor. I did want to get to know him, but only in hopes he might give me some sleeping pills. 🙂 Actually, he was so nice I wanted to spare him rejection. I don’t know why I said what I did, but I guess it has to do with feeling/being different when you’re out of the country — I told him a big lie: I said, “I can’t, I’m a virgin.” He didn’t seem shocked – and I was in my 30s – but he said “I can take care of that and we will both enjoy it.” I declined, quickly, and went back to my cabin to read. I kind of wished now that I’d been single and a virgin.
Very best to you, Ms. V, in whatever paths you choose among the options of Amanda’s good advice. I would say that your situation is enviable to many whose early lives were painfully altered as a result of immaturity, inexperience, negative circumstance, or poor judgment, vis a vis sex. You have before you, in effect, a tabula rasa!
Dear Ms V.
You just happen to live in a society that uses sex for many meaningless, destructive purposes. perhaps you want to feel a special love to share the physical aspect of it….isn’t THAT shocking? NOT…in other cultures or eras you would be revered. There might be something to think about, though. Perhaps your first experience with your professor left you with a wariness of sex. It is worth considering that his reaction might have colored your view of sex with a dash of trauma. I’m sure you are not alone in your situation;there are probably many 30-year old-virgins hiding in closets! How is that for irony?! Be yourself and actively think/look for what you want…not what the supposed norm is.. Love and Luck to you.
I had sex with a woman for the first time when I was 18 – it was with my best friend and (at the time, anyway) the love of my life. I had sex with a man for the first time a few years later, after that relationship ended, and this time we were both drunk at a party and never expected to see each other again. I’ve had a lot of different experiences since then, and here is what I know about sex:
1. It’s amazing, and fun, and scary, and honestly surprisingly mundane. I strongly second the advice to explore your sexuality on your own: sex with another person is special for sure, but not necessarily more special and intimate than having a deep, honest conversation with them. In both cases you make yourself vulnerable to this other person and trust them not to hurt you with what you’ve shared. But just like being confident in your own thoughts and feelings can help when you open up to someone in conversation, understanding your own desires and being confident in what you like, what you want and what makes you feel good are all things that can help when you have sex. By the same token though, you don’t have to have it all figured out – ever! When you’re with the right person, communicating what you like and what you’re not sure of won’t feel like a burden, because they’ll be right there with you, making you feel safe and supported just like you want them to feel. This is true of every time you have sex, not just the first time. Long story short? Sex is pretty much like every other aspect of a relationship.
2. It’s really not that important. OK, you’ve never had sex. I’ve never been to Kenya! It’s fine to feel sad about not yet having done something you want to try, but you’ve still had lots of really exciting experiences and adventures in your life and done plenty of things other people haven’t and would be envious of. I believe you will have the chance to do this, and to do it exactly the way you want to, but even if you never had sex, your life would not be diminished for it. And hey, this is one adventure you still have left to look forward to!
3. Most people – and 100% of the people you really want to be with – won’t care about your history. You’ve had some really bad luck on this count, and I’m sorry. But I don’t want you to think “the right person” who will be patient and caring through your first time is some elusive species you’ll have to search high and low to find. There are hundreds, even thousands of “right people” out there right now. This guy you’re crushing on is probably one of them. (If he’s not, he doesn’t deserve you anyway.) One piece of advice I would give you, especially if you are still worried about this, is that if/when you talk to him (or anyone) about it, don’t frame it as a negative. I know it might be hard given it’s something you’re sensitive about, but keep repeating to yourself: this is not a flaw, it’s not a sign that you’re defective, and it’s nothing anyone should find a turn off. It’s just a fact about you. When you are ready, say to him, “I love your eyes and your energetic spirit, and I think I’d like our relationship to get more physical. I’ve never had sex before, but I want to, with you.” Or say whatever you are comfortable with that frames losing your virginity as an exciting adventure you want to share with him. Talk about any reservations you each have and be honest if you’re nervous or unsure, but if this is something you want to do, make that the key point in the conversation.
4. Ultimately, sex is how you define it. You said you’ve messed around with guys before, right? I touched on this earlier but let me reiterate, my first time involved two cis women. No PIV sex was involved. I can’t even remember if either of us fingered the other. Definitely neither of us came (we were both way too nervous). Even so, it felt like sex to me and I consider it my first time far more than the encounter where a drunk dude I didn’t know stuck his dick in me (not that that wasn’t fun!). My point is, I don’t know exactly what you’ve done, but by my definition of sex it’s entirely possible you’ve already had it. Of course, your definition is the one that matters to you, but it’s something to think about.
5. You don’t owe anyone any information about yourself*. Here is the thing: you probably think that your absence of prior experience will be painfully obvious to anyone who sleeps with you, but I promise you that’s not true. They might think you’re a little shy or inexperienced, but they definitely won’t assume it’s your first time based on anything you do. Now, I actually think you will feel happier, safer and have more fun if you do tell your partner, BUT I also want you to know that you absolutely do not have to share this information with them if you don’t want to. I think maybe keeping that in mind will take the pressure off you, a bit? You don’t have to rush into this. It’s never too late to lose your virginity because it’s never too late to have sex.
6. The second time will be better. The third time will be better again.
*unless that information is relevant to their own safety, eg, if you know you have an sti that they could catch
I was a virgin in my 20s and I felt very ashamed. I kind of made out with a few guys – few and far between – and each time I brought it up, the shame was in my voice. They responded in kind. BAD idea.
Finally, at 27, I was in a clinch again, this time with someone who was more into me than the reverse, and I had the bright idea of changing the “talk” completely. I took his hand, led him into the brightly lit kitchen, and told him, face to face. (No muttering in the dark.)
He got to his knees, grasped my hands, and said, “IF we make love, I will consider it an honor that you waited until you could be with me.”
That was the perfect thing to say!
That guy gave me a really good First Time, for which I am grateful. (Pity I wasn’t in love with him and the second, third, etc. times were nothing special. But you can’t have everything!)
I wish you the best of luck. This is not a society that understands high standards and knowing what you want.
Your response was so perfect. Just perfect.
Letter writer: You are not alone. I am a 30-year-old virgin and have been struggling with my own shame and embarrassment about it. This post (and its excellent response) was exactly what I needed to read. Thank you.
My partner was a virgin in his 30s when we met. He had never even dated before, but he was optimistic and hopeful and honest and he turned out to be an excellent boyfriend and in all honesty probably the best lover I’ve ever had. Don’t give up! I am so glad my boyfriend didn’t.
A couple of tips from my (his) experience:
1. Sex isn’t like mastrubation, porn or romance novels, and it can be a bit disappointing the first time if you’ve been building it up in your mind for all these years. Take some to appreciate it for what it is, but recognize that it might not get good until you’ve practiced a bit.
2. People like really different things sexually, so experience with one person doesn’t necessarily make you better at having sex with someone else. What will make you a good lover is a) really desiring someone b) paying attention to what they like c) being willing to learn.
3. I have found literally no downside to dating a virgin. And there have been a few upsides, like the fun of being able to experience things with someone who is experiencing them for the first time. So don’t feel like your inexperience is going to be in any way bad for your partner, I certainly haven’t found that to be the case at all.
4. As far as how to tell him, my boyfriend fairly unselfconsciously told me from the very beginning. So for example, on our first date he said things like “I’m not used to going on dates so I’m not sure what the etiquette for this is, would you like me to walk you home?” And then when he wanted to kiss me he said “I’d like to kiss you but I’ve never kissed anyone and I don’t know how to know if it’s what you want. May I kiss you?” I found this all utterly seductive and utterly charming. And the fact that he wasn’t ashamed of his inexperience made me not nervous about it at all.
Finally – professors who sleep with their much-younger students are terrible people and it doesn’t surprise me at all to hear that this one was terrible in bed. SO not your fault.
Perhaps you are demisexual. Some of these types think they are asexual until-bam-a connection is formed with someone and they begin to experience things that don’t line up with asexuality, but only with said person. Think of it as “I’m-insert person’s name here-sexual.” Demisexuals do not abstain from sexual contact with others they just don’t experience sexual feeling for another person until there is familiarity/a bond formed.
I’m a 47 year old chronically unemployed virgin. Why am I a virgin? Well I don’t think I can give an answer that explains 100% why I am but I think I can give an answer that is pretty close to 100%. Basically I’m very recluse and I put no effort into dating or anything like that. So that must mean I have no interest in dating, sex, etc.. Right? WRONG!!! WRONG BIG TIME. Well this seems like a contradiction. If I put no effort into finding a partner to have sex with and/or date isn’t that by definition mean I have no interest? No, Let me explain.
See I’m not stupid. Even though I would like to date and have sex I realize I would be total turnoff to women simply because I’m both a 47 year virgin and chronically unemployed. Those two things combined I’m sure would make me essentially kryptonite to women not to mention that my first priority should be to take care of my employment situation(been unemployed for almost 4 months but I’ve had much much longer unemployment periods in the past)
I also know I could not hide those two things(long term unemployment and even virginity) to women. They would eventually find those two things out and that goes for virginity too(if it ever got to the kissing stage I’m sure they would figure out then). So why would I invest something where I would get my hopes up only to have them reject me because I’m a 47 year old chronically unemployed virgin? I wouldn’t.
Even if I would take a chance hoping they wouldn’t find out, if it ever did get to sex what is the probability that my sex performance would be bad? The conventional wisdom is that a virgin will always perform poorly because its their first time. So if this is a given and I eventually do get to the point of having sex with a woman then she will just think I was a terrible lover. Therefore I guess that means that if I ever do get romantically involved with a woman that I should tell her I’m a virgin to avoid the possibility that she will conclude that I was bad in bed because I’m just a terrible lover as opposed to just being inexperienced if it ever does get to the point of having sex. Again this assumes that virgins are always poor lovers(How true is this really BTW?) Well if I do that the mere admission that I’m still a virgin at 47 will undoubtedly cause her to lose an interest in me.
So admit virgin -> lose interest in me
Don’t admit virgin and we actually do have sex => most likely think I’m a terrible lover(again if the conventional wisdom that virgins always perform badly in their first sexual encounter)
Gee great options there.
Oh ya if I ever did decide to tell her I’m a virgin and she knows someone I know then she isn’t going to keep that information to herself.. It would be too juicy of a gossip story(a 47 year old virgin) not to tell someone about this 47 year old chronically unemployed virgin.
If, for example, I met a woman through someone I work with(well in that case I guess that would mean I’m not longer unemployed but that still wouldn’t erase all those years of being unemployed) and I revealed to that woman I was a virgin then she is most likely going to tell that coworker I’m a virgin and then before you know it the entire company knows I’m a 47 year old virgin. I can’t imagine how awkward and embarrassing that would be. If that ever happened I probably would be forced to quit.
But that was just a hypothetical situation if I was employed but the same principle could apply anywhere you go out in public enough times to meet people which is why, in part, I don’t go out
and meet people and why the activities I do(like hiking or working out) I always do alone. I don’t want anyone to know the personal details of my life for fear how they will judge me if they found out I’m a chronically unemployed 47 year old virgin. I don’t want to be judged and I don’t want .people gossip to gossip about me.
So its a catch 22. You need to meet people and let people get to know you if you want to ever do the dating/sex thing but at the same time that opens you up to be judged and humiliated. I hate being judged and humiliated. I will do almost anything to avoid being judged and humiliated.
About being chronically unemployed. I’m in particular sensitive to how women might look at my unemployment problems which is that I actually have fallen in love once to a woman who was almost my girlfriend when I was in my late 20’s. I was unemployed and taking a class at a community college to upgrade my skills when I met this woman who turned out to be 7 years older than me(I found this out using intelius since she didn’t want to tell me her exact age which should have been a red flag right there). Well she was 35 and her clock was ticking and so suffice to say she didn’t want to waist time with someone who was unemployed. Which is fine in retrospect because I wouldn’t want to deal with anyone who would judge me by my career status. Plus she turned out to be a racist bigot anyway(made some really bigoted comments about Jews and Hispanics) so it was for the better anyway. Well anyway, that experience taught me very well not to even think about dating if you’re unemployed.
So in addition to the above I’ve always been introverted and shy although not nearly as much if I’m talking to someone one on one. Its group situations, like in parties, in which I avoid(not that people ask me to go to parties of course). I’ve always observed a different social dynamic in group situations that has always turned me off. Often times there seems to be some kind of competitive attitude in group situations that I don’t like. Add to that, that I almost always like it quiet(I’m an introvert) so I don’t like a loud environments like one might find at a party. I also don’t go to bars for the same reason as well as the fact that I don’t drink(No. I’m not religious BTW)
What else can I think of that might explain my virginity? I might have somewhat high standards. I also might have a porn addiction to an extent that might make my need to go out and seek a real sexual encounter less of a need.
So those are the reasons I think I’m still a virgin at age 47 with the most important reasons listed first and the least important reasons mentioned last(I think. Again I’m not 100% sure about all of this).
Regardless of the reasons the fact I’m a virgin at age 47 is obviously something that really depresses me. When I was in my teens and 20’s I was constantly(hell still do to a large extent but without the thought that maybe one day it could come true) thinking of sex. I always dreamed of making hot passionate sex with some beautiful gorgeous hot woman (or even multiple women in a threesome. LOL!!) I loved even though I recognized it as simply a fantasy. Even though I knew it was a fantasy, I at least thought I had somewhat of a chance of having a girlfriend who I loved and was sexually attracted to. Now its clear that the likelihood of that happening is very remote so most likely I will die a virgin which is really depressing. Yes I guess I could try and find a hooker but that would be illegal(unless you live in Nevada) but I wouldn’t want to resort to a hooker anyway. Part of what the allure of having sex(at least for me) is having sex with someone who also desires you. A prostitute wouldn’t have sex with you because they desire you therefore there would be no point in having sex with a pro.
So I guess the main difficulty now is coming to grips psychological how I’m going to deal with what appears to be permanent celibacy and no possibility of romance, That is if I can come to grips with that. I’m not sure I can and if I can’t how I’m going to deal with that. I don’t know the answer to this.
So that is the long and short of it(maybe a bit longer)
I’m now 51. I thought hard about committing suicide when I turned 50. I’ve now resigned myself that I will die a virgin. I never wanted this to happen. The one thing I always though was that having sex with a beautiful woman just had to be the most beautiful amazing thing in the world. Its never going to happen. Not even a kiss. I can describe how down I am have been since my late 20’s. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this.
I’m a 41 year-old, virgin man.
My reason for remaining untouched, is that I’ve had to deal with Avoidant Personality Disorder
all my life. Ever since I was 14, I’ve hated the way I look, and I’ve never been able to comprehend the possibility that someone else could find me attractive in any way whatsoever. And of course, with that mindset, you’re not going to be approached, are you? And I’ve certainly never approached anyone.
If I did, it would be a case of: “Yeah, I know what I look like. I can’t help it; I was born this way. If you’re not interested, I’ll understand. Here’s my phone number. Call me if you like, but I’m not expecting you to. Sorry for wasting your time”.
And I don’t want to subject a woman to that kind of pathetic experience. Nor do I want to experience it for myself. So I just stay at home all the time.
It’s killing me slowly. The frustration that comes with being denied intimacy of any kind for decade after decade, well, it makes life seem pretty pointless.
To be honest, it’s not so much about feeling curious about sex anymore, as it is about believing that another person could care about me. I’m not sure I could accept that, even if someone actually did.
But in theory, it would be wonderful to be in a mutually caring relationship. Not just for love’s sake, but to finally feel part of the adult world. As it is, I’m stuck at age 16 forever…
I think the longer you wait the harder it gets.
I too am a virgin, I am 34, and male. Women seam to ignore me, and when I try to get to know them they get scared and run away. For me I want to find the woman I want, get to know her very well and fall in love with her, preferably marrying her and then having sex. The trouble is women don’t want you to know them well before sex. It’s like they don’t know what they will buy before they do.
The only thing I can say it don’t think you’re alone, there are many of us and we all suffer in our own little ways. Sometimes I get optimistic, but this normally dies out after disappointment.
I love this response. It was lovely. So much better than most people, who would be like, “You’re a 34 year-old virgin? That’s really sad. You’re missing out on one of the fundamental experiences of being a human.”
And I know that because as a 34 year-old virgin myself, I have had to hear that ignorant crap from other people. Never mind that it’s none of their business. Never mind that they don’t know my story or my situation or why I’m a virgin. They think that they have a right to comment, just because they personally can’t understand how someone can be a virgin at this age.
I’ve had a lot of problems, including a crippling anxiety disorder that made it impossible for me to leave the house for a whole 5 years. And I was focused on getting my life together and functioning on a basic level, so I honestly just didn’t have the time to look for a relationship. And for me, I have to be in love to have sex. There was no way I was going to do a one-night stand or even friends with benefits.
But I’m not asexual. I’m demisexual. I need to have strong feelings for a guy before I’m even remotely attracted to him. And the thing is that now I think I’ve found the guy that I want to take that step with. And he knows that I’m a virgin, has from the very beginning, and he never judged me for it. I told him about how people act like there’s something wrong with me for it, and he has always responded by telling me that there’s nothing wrong with me. He’s actually much younger, in his early twenties, but he’s much more mature than a lot of people I’ve met my age who make cracks about me still being a virgin.
So I’m not some prude or asexual. Not that there’s anything wrong with being either of those things, so I don’t want to be derogatory towards anyone who does fit those labels. But I’m not. I’m a very sexual person who just needs to be in love to have sex. And now that I have met the guy that I think I can fall in love with, I find myself thinking about sex all the time. And I really hope it ends up happening with him.
I hope that in the three years since you have written this letter, you have found your person, or that you will find him soon.