I lost my virginity like most people do; embarrassingly, and to someone who I subsequently made a conscious effort to avoid.
What wasn’t like most people’s experiences though, was that I was ready to have sex at the time. I knew I wasn’t going to wait til some idiot put a ring on my finger to do it and I knew that I was ready for it (even though what I really wanted would take another year to figure out). Now, I’m a bit of a rarity for my generation in that I believe in monogamy. *gasp and shock* I figured out a long time ago that I’m not one of the girls who like to sleep around or two-time guys for shits and giggles or because my daddy didn’t love me enough so I have to find attention in men who stare more at my body than my face.
No. Cheating was never a big thing for me. I figure if I hate you or am so unsatisfied being with you that I have to find someone else to please me on the side, I might as well break up with you.
Cheating or two-timing or juggling partners just seemed like too much of an effort for something that just didn’t fit in my long-term plans: finding someone who wants to be with just me. After all, if I’m seeing other people and you’re seeing other people, then how are we going to, you know, really see each other. Now I realize that this is a lot to ask for men of my age; penises in their 20s just want to hide in vaginas. But that’s the point of a dream and an ideal right: something that just barely fits into reality because you want it to.
Anyway, point is, I’m a serial monogamist. Which, I repeat, is a bit rare, considering that I noticed far too many of my girlfriends are a bit, well, slorish (slut + whore + -ish). Now, this isn’t really a “bad” thing per se. To each his own, whatever makes you happy, you’re only young once, [insert your catchphrase here].
Perhaps the one exception is my friend Gilly, who happens to be a virgin. Actually, she’s my only female friend above the age of consent who is a virgin. It’s a large joke between all of us who know her and it’s something that she’s embraced, if not advertised. Now, it’s not that she’s busted. On the contrary, she’s rather beautiful with wide eyes, a figure to kill for, and an ass like WOAH. But she just hasn’t been in any relationship with a guy that’s yielded anything more promising than him throwing up at parties.
At this point, most of us are going with the theory that she’s asexual. My personal belief is that she’s like the Nameks from Dragon Ball Z: She’ll one day magically reproduce by splitting into a miniature clone of herself.
But, all this has made me wonder lately if I’m the one that’s the freak for only going after one guy at a time. Evolution speaks that it’s better to have multiple partners, you know, mix up our hotpot of genes to see what kind of superhumans we can birth in the next generation that’ll increase humanity’s chances of succeeding. Or something like that. So, biologically speaking, it’s technically better to be a whore, no?
…Yeah, sure I guess.
The only thing is, I’m not into this for biology. I’m into this for (please hold your puke) the love.
Gawd. I think I threw up a little in my mouth right now.
See, I grew up in the Disney generation: the time where it was not only okay, but encouraged to be 16 and madly in love and running away from home with the guy you literally just met and made out with, because OMG it’s what the talking furniture pieces told you to do! :D
…blow me.
With time, reality sets in and assures you that, no, magic carpets and octopus-witches do not exist, but on some subconscious level, I’ve been trying to find a way to fit in that happily ever after in my life anyway. Despite my own bad experiences, I’ve genuinely believed that it exists even if I haven’t been able to experience it myself. And one of the fundamental things that I’ve always believed in is that there is one person for you out there.
So sure, you could cast a really big-ass net and sift through the fishy catch of the day and hope one of them is good enough to bring home to the family. Or you could wait. Patiently. With an eye on the horizon every day and placing every hope and dream and thought into every shadow that walks towards your tower, and knowing that not every one of them will come towards you, and knowing that there will be times when no one comes at all.
I guess maybe Disney didn’t teach me complete crap. I mean, when you get down to the very core of those 2D fairy tales, they’re all the same aren’t they: telling a girl it’s ok to brave dark forests and scary, judgmental people and family, as long as it’s for love.
That counts as some form of bravery right?
