There’s not a lot I wouldn’t tell my closest girlfriends but there’s one thing I’ve been lying by omission about for years.
I’m too mortified to let this slip. And too confused about how this situation has transpired. But the thing is: I’m 28 years old, and I’m a virgin.
I don’t understand how it happened. Or, more accurately, how it didn’t happen for me. I’m not religious and holding out for marriage. I’m not dim or bad-smelling or unattractive (at least I think I’m not). And I’m certainly not asexual… as my humiliating crush on Benedict Cumberbatch can attest.
Nope, my chastity is much more accidental than that. I feel like I missed the boat with losing my “V-plates” (ugh isn’t that a horrible teenage term?) years ago, and I’m not sure that particular vehicle comes around a second time.
When everyone else was creeping into the guest room with one another at high school house parties, I was living with my parents, taking uni pretty seriously and coming home at midnight to avoid a hangover, like a shy, slightly nerdy Cinderella.
Sure, there were guys who’d buy me drinks in bars, and I went on “dates” with a handful of guys during uni (if you can call free movie screenings at union house “dates”). But the conversation was stilted; the chemistry flat; the occasional kisses during the slower parts of the movie sloppy.
I could have pushed through the awkwardness and gone home with one of them to a (no doubt slightly musty smelling) single bed in a college room somewhere. In fact, there was one time where a guy’s hand strayed under my top during a screening of Anchorman and I seriously considered doing it just because he looked a bit like Toby Maguire.
But I felt tacky going through with it just to get it over with. Not to mention that the guy was wearing a Green Day t-shirt, which left me decidedly not that interested (can you blame me?).
It’s not that I’ve ever expected my first time to be with The One; I’m not one of life’s die-hard romantics. But I do at least have a minimum requirement that we know each other’s last name, follow up with breakfast the next morning, and that my prospective lover know the difference between Cameron Diaz and David Cameron (which, by the way, Toby Maguire’s horny doppelganger definitely didn’t).
Also, I’m not in the Tony Abbott camp of regarding my virginity as a “gift” but I do believe there’s a certain gravity attached to the occasion of losing it. I don’t want to squander it on some douchebag, only to meet the love of my life a week later and massively regret my decision.