How I'm "Finding My Virginity"

Confession: My blog is no longer “Confessions of a Virgin.” Not because Beau and I have had coitus—we’re still unwedded, and thus unbedded, in at least once sense of the word. Nor did I change my blog title because I want my writing to be less confessional and more typical.

I am constantly evolving as a person—as a Christian, as a feminist, as a bibliophile, as a girlfriend, as a writer. My blog thus evolves with me. I started by writing mostly about virginity. I expanded a bit to include stories of online dating. I added feminist issues. I started writing book reviews. The central focus of my blog is still virginity, but writing about all these other topics provides context to my own virginity.

From when I was a debutante. Photographer information available upon request.

Virginity is a social construct. I’m aware of that. As a social construct, virginity is tied into sexual purity which is an arbitrary measure of goodness which conservative societies regularly use to control women while enforcing heternormative beliefs. But healthy conversations about virginity can be had, and even a Christian/other religious approach to virginity can be healthy, depending on how we discuss it.

To an extent, the Christian ideals from my childhood and adolescence shape some of my ideas on my own virginity. When my mom gave me “the talk,” she included the Christian perspective of saving sex for marriage. The Christian organization I attended all four years of undergrad—and served in the leadership group my sophomore and junior years—gave sermon series on dating, relationships, sex, and marriage every three years (so autumn of my freshman and senior years). Considering how conservative most of the members were, and the parent Protestant denomination, the sermons themselves were fairly relatable and borderline-egalitarian.

But I also took “Feminist Biblical Interpretation” my senior year, and my senior seminar for my history major was “History on the Margins,” which looked at marginalized peoples during Early Modern Europe. Both of these classes provided a wealth of historical and cultural context to the ideals of virginity until marriage.

Add that to my personal examination of how I feel about sex, all of it. I have literally been questioning my personal beliefs—how I would treat sex in my own life, not how I feel about other people’s choices—for about ten years now. For a very long time my evolving thoughts were theoretical, because I had yet to meet a man with whom I even desired to have sex. Obviously the theoretical became the practical when I met Beau.

I’ve been blogging for a year and a half now, during which I’ve enjoyed a variety of non-coital activities with Beau. That said, I started this blog the day after our first date, after spending months thinking about sharing my “virginal” experiences in some sort of anonymous fashion. Some of my decisions on what I can and cannot do in bed before marriage have changed during the course of our relationship. This doesn’t make me a hypocrite—this makes me human.

I’ve seen the phrase “choices aren’t made in a vacuum” oft-repeated in online feminist discussions. I’m not afraid or ashamed to admit that my desire to wait until marriage to experience coitus with my husband is largely influenced by my religious upbringing. I can make this decision for myself without believing that premarital sexual activity is a sin.

I’m also aware that by calling myself a virgin, I’m partly accepting virginity as a real thing, beyond a social construct. And by drawing the line at coitus,* which can technically only happen between a man and a woman, I’m perpetuating heteronormative beliefs, even though I’m a bisexual woman.

I acknowledge this has been a long-ish and convoluted blog post. It mirrors my journey of discovering what sex and virginity mean in my own life. My journey has been (and continues to be) how I find my virginity.

Hence my new blog title.

This is me, Belle Vierge, 

the demi-vierge,  

Finding My Virginity.

*Beau pointed out that we’ve also drawn the line at anal sex, but it’s not a line we ever intend to cross. TOTALLY fine for other couples if both parties are enthusiastic about the idea, but I have Crohn’s Disease. That part of my body will forever be associated with all Crohnie activities.

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The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: I'm a Size 2

The Good: Saturday I start training for my new part-time job as the “Front Desk Specialist” at the JC Penney salon near where I work my full-time job. The extra money from working 15 hours a week will be nice, but I’m mostly excited about the health care benefits. I’m still on my parents’ insurance, but I know I cost them a lot of money. Plus, since I no longer live in the South, I’m out-of-network. Getting my own health insurance will be life-changing.

Of course, dress will be a little different than my current job, where I show up in jeans and a hoodie most days. For my new job, dress code is business casual, in a black, white, and gray color scheme. This would have been a problem for me during my pre-French days, but my current winter wardrobe is pretty dark after absorbing Parisian fashion. I have several cute tops that will all be suitable.

The Bad: However, the only appropriate bottoms I own are two identical black pencil skirts. A pair of nice black slacks was definitely in order. Thus tonight my best friend and former roommate/co-intern, Lauren, and I hit up The Loft, a store we both adore. We had both received an email this week announcing 60% off sale items and 30% off new arrivals. Perfect!

Their petites section had two different styles of slacks. I tried them both on, and Lauren & I agreed one was better than the other. I purchased them along with three black/white/gray tops that were all on sale. I dropped $100 on the whole purchase, which isn’t too bad considering I bought only quality work clothes, but isn't great when you're trying to save money.

The Ugly: I’m a size 2. For the first time since I was 16.

I’m a size 2 because I still haven’t gained back the weightI lost in November. I’m a size 2 because I was sick. I’m a size 2 because I might still be sick.

I know it’s hard to believe, especially for my readers struggling with weight loss, but being unable to gain weight is terrifying. It is worse than trying to lose weight. I should know. Past treatment for Crohn’s has caused me to gain weight, and I hated the struggle of working out & eating well just to maintain an “average” body. But it was never as bad as trying to gain weight.

I can’t even feel vain about being skinny. I lost my ass! It was never a big booty, but it was always nice and proportional to the rest of my curves. It’s almost flat now. My boobs are less full too, although, let’s be honest, they are still the envy of women everywhere and the fantasy of many men.

Please, dear God, let me gain 5 lbs. Please, dear God, let me be healthy again. I can’t be sick again.

I just can’t.

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Emulating the Virgin Mary

I’ve always loved Advent. Church at Christmastime has always been my favorite. I love the Bible passages predicting the Messiah. I love the Advent wreath. I love singing Christmas Carols, especially “Silent Night.” Most of all, I love the Christmas story.

“[Joseph] went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. ⁶ While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. ⁷ And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.” Luke 2: 5-7, NSRV

As many pastors have pointed out over the years, Jesus was born in a barn. Surrounded by animals. To an unwed teenage girl. With only dirty shepherds to celebrate his birth.

Mary didn’t have her mother to hold her hand, or an epidural, or sanitary conditions, or even a midwife. Mary had nothing but her fiancé Joseph and her faith in God.

God chose the insignificant Virgin Mary to give birth to the Son of God, under the humblest of conditions. To this day, the Church recognizes humility as an admirable trait to embody.

 

Confession: I am not humble. Not in the slightest. I am proud, and independent, and sometimes even vain. Not only am I immodest, but I am unabashedly so.

I struggle to be emotionally vulnerable. I hate crying, especially in front of anyone else. I hate admitting to myself I need help, and I feel like a failure when I ask for it. I have to be in a lot of pain before I confess, “I’m not feeling well,” and I bottle up my fears about my Crohn’s getting worse rather than share them with anyone.

The last eight weeks or so have been really hard for me. First I had to find a new apartment. I lost out on the first one I wanted, but luckily I was able to snag my second choice. A full 40% of my monthly income went towards my security deposit. Then my car died one morning on the way to work. Two towings and two inspections later, my credit card suffered $400 that I couldn’t afford, with the worst prognosis: my car needed a new engine. Everyone had advice for me as I decided between buying a junker, a nice used car, a basic new car, or just leasing a car. Which was fine and dandy until my boyfriend and I took a hard look at my finances and realized that even with the tightest of budgets, I could barely afford car insurance, let alone a car payment. Meanwhile, I completely lost my appetite, and anything other than carbs or hot tea made me nauseous. My new jeans, purchased in September, already a smidgen loose, became loose enough that I needed a belt to hold them up. I was losing weight against my will, and I was—I am—terrified that I won’t be able to gain it back. I also co-hosted a Christmas party and endeavored to make nice-ish Christmas presents for the boyfriend, his family, and my family. While moving into my new apartment. It’s been a very, very stressful time.

Listening to the sermon Sunday morning, and again Christmas Eve, I couldn’t help but cry. For the first time in my life, I felt like I understood Mary. I am at my lowest right now. I have been humbled. I cannot be angry at anyone for causing me to be so desperate—my struggles cannot be blamed on anyone except for chance or circumstance. Right now, my only choice is to rely on the love and generosity of others, as Mary once relied on Joseph and God.

Accepting humility does not come easily for me. I want to do it all, on my own, without any outside assistance. But I am slowly realizing that not only can I not do everything by myself, but it is okay to accept help from others. I am not less of a woman, less of a person, for needing a helping hand.

My boss has been very understanding and helpful during this whole time. My boyfriend fixed a wrecked car for me and gave it to me for Christmas. My best friend cooks with me so we can spend quality time together without eating out. My parents gave me a check for Christmas, which led to me promptly bursting into tears.

This is the first Christmas I’ve really understood why God needs us to be humbled to come to Him. Everything has been so good for me, even when hospitalized or when stressed out at school, that I just never got it.

But now I do.

I can appreciate the talents God has given me while still realizing that talent alone does not make my life happy and prosperous.

I hope when I finish this ordeal, because I do see a light at the end of the tunnel, that I will be a more patient, sympathetic, loving Christian because of it all.

And to think.

I’m modeling my attitude off that of an unwed knocked up teenager.

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Thankful for Love and Orgasms

Well, it took about an hour of checking facebook, twitter, my email, and my bank accounts, but my heart rate has slowed back down to normal, and I no longer have waves of pleasure moving through my body.

(If you hadn’t already guessed, this blog post will be a little more… explicit, than usual).

Thanksgiving has always been a special holiday. A time for family, for food, for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (in which I danced my senior year of high school, thankyouverymuch), and for reflecting on what really matters.

After last year, however, Thanksgiving is no longer just one of many holidays during which I eat yummy food with loved ones, but it has elevated to a sort of anniversary for the boyfriend and me.

I spent both this and last Thanksgiving with the boyfriend and his family. Last year, in bed, after only the second of many sexi times to cum,* the boyfriend told me he loved me for the very first time.

I can’t believe it’s been a whole year since then. We’ve gone from seeing each other every three weeks if we were lucky, and every three months if we were not, to spending every weekend (and occasional weekdays) together. I’ve gone from googling “how to give a blow job” to making the boyfriend moan within seconds. My once-quiet, rather pleasant orgasms are now accompanied by gasps and moans as my entire body spasms in pleasure. I’ve stopped secretly daydreaming about our wedding—we now openly discuss the details.

So much has changed, yet the most important aspect of our relationship remains the same.

We are still completely, head over heels, in love with each other.

This week has been a difficult one for me. My car broke down on the way to work Monday. On Tuesday, I found out the repair would cost approximately $4,430, aka well more than my car is worth. I spent most of Wednesday sobbing uncontrollably.

But I’ve learned a few things this week.

• I don’t have to do everything on my own.
• I can depend on others and still be independent.
• Accepting help is not a sign of weakness.
• Neither is crying.
• My boyfriend still loves me even after ignoring his calls, being passive-aggressive, and looking like a hot-teary-mess.

I also had to remind myself that, in the grand scheme of things, not having my own car is a minor problem. This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the major things.

• My twin brother no longer has a brain tumor.
• My Crohn’s is still in remission, and I’m only taking pentasa.
• My little brother is having an amazing experience in Australia, where he’s started dating his first real girlfriend—from Mexico.
• I have a job. That I can mostly do from home.
• I have a good boss and good co-workers.
• I am surrounded by friends and family who love me, including my amazing twitter/blog friends.
• And did I mention that I have a boyfriend who loves me, who respects me, who understands me, who spoils me, who finds me sexy, who turns me on, who makes me laugh, who wants to marry me?

Not having a car is just a minor roadblock along an otherwise pretty amazing journey. This Thanksgiving, more than anything, I’m just thankful to have the boyfriend by my side.

*I can't resist a good pun.

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