First Person: Sarah "Sexual experiences don't have to fall into the categories of 'right' or 'wrong' or 'mistake.' They are simply expressions of myself."

This week's First Person interview comes from 25-year-old Sarah, who talks about where her sexuality is rooted and why she doesn't want others to define it for her. Please send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.



Tell us about yourself:

I am 25 years old and studying creative writing in New York City.  I grew up in Texas, and until a few months ago, I was a virgin.



How do you define virginity?

I know the definition I grew up with: that a virgin is someone who has not had penis-in-vagina sex. Now, I find that definition unsatisfactory for lots of reasons. It is not just that this definition applies only to heterosexuals, but I'm not sure that it works for heterosexuals either. When we talk about virginity loss we are not simply talking about a physical change, but something far more complex, an intangible, filled with deeply symbolic meanings. The categories of "virgin" and "non-virgin" fail to take into account the richness of sexual experience. It invests so much in one single moment (the moment in which a penis first enters a vagina) as this moment of profound change in our lives–when we pass magically from girls into women.

We are taught that this moment will somehow determine the rest of our sexual lives and it's a decision we take cautiously, because (as women especially) we are told that when and how we lose our virginity has a lot to say about the people we are.



Why did you wait and why did you stop waiting?

As a girl, I grew up hearing that for women sex is profoundly emotional. We must be careful, we must protect ourselves, and we must be very, very certain that the decisions we make about sex are the right ones. Why? Because the emotions that accompany sex for women might be too difficult or overwhelming if not shared with the right person at the right time.

When I did finally have sex it was with a guy, a friend of a friend, who I knew for about twelve hours.  They were a significant twelve hours in my life, and they were not devoid of emotion; in fact, they were full of emotion–excitement, aliveness, and loneliness too–but I did not fall in love as I knew I would not, nor did I fall apart (as had for years been subconsciously told I could).

Recently, after hearing I had had sex, the a male friend said of the guy: "I am not sure this guy was deserving of that." An older friend said to me, "Well, you are still emotionally a virgin." My younger sister, outraged at my one-night-stand said: "Sarah, if a guy is worth it, he shouldn't care about your past."

These comments, though meant well, have a somewhat disturbing message underpinning them: that my sexuality is somehow not my own.  That I threw away my virginity too easily.  That somehow the sex I had was meaningless because it was not shared with a partner.  That I had sex for my future partners or just to get it over with.  When in fact, I had sex because I wanted to.

I found a deeper truth I had known for a long time but was finally giving power to: Each sexual encounter is an expression of my sexuality, but my sexuality has to do with so much more than who I have sex with, or how much sex I have, or if I have ever had sex before. It has to do with my own relationship to my body.  My sexuality is deeply rooted in me.

I can trust in my own desires, my own emotions and move with them. Experiences don't have to fall on the categories of "right" or "wrong" or "mistake".  They are simply expressions of myself–among  many I will make over the course of my life–some of which will feel more authentic than others but all of which matter and are important and true.



Any thoughts on virginity in our society?



Perhaps the most lasting message girls get is that sex is powerful, scary, and has the potential to hurt you if you are not ready for it.  I think back to my brother and the messages he he received. Decide when you are ready and be safe. Boys hear, in essence, that they are able to make their own choices; that they should trust in their own intelligence and are aware enough of their desires to make responsible decisions about sex.  What a girl hears is very different: That her emotions and desires are not to be trusted but that she should be protected from them.  That she is fragile and could make a bad decision that will leave her harmed.

It perpetuates this notion that our sexuality is defined by external factors. I think of sexuality differently; as something internal whose movement outward takes many forms of expression and sex itself is only one of those.  In this I find great freedom and confidence and joy.

First Person: AllieWhen I Decided Not To Be A Virgin

This week's First Person originally ran on the blog Happy Bodies. Thanks to Hanne Blank for letting us know about it, and a very special thanks to its author Allie for letting us cross-post it here! Send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.



Having sex had nothing to do with it, because to this day I have not engaged in any kind of partner sex. My Catholic upbringing regularly impressed notions of chastity, purity, sexual repression, and guilt guilt guilt. I have been socialized with the idea that if you get to 22 and you haven’t had sex yet, there’s something wrong. I was sure being overweight had something to do with it. I was sure my personality had something to do with it. As I got older, I was sure my lack of experience had something to do with it. There’s got to be something wrong with me, or my body, or my way of life.



But here’s the thing: there isn’t.



The revelation of my not-virginity came to me in pieces. The first was while I was skyping with Becky. We were talking about me being a virgin, despite the fact that I know more about sex than a lot of people. Despite the fact that I am better than most people at talking about sex. Despite the fact that I am extremely familiar with my body, my desires, my needs. The second half of this revelation was a day later while re-reading Yes means Yes!, particularly in an essay by Hanne Blank about “process-oriented virgins”. I have subscribed to a transitional approach to virginity for a while, but in my brain claiming “not virgin” still required experience with some kind of partnered sex. Why is “virgin” a label people people can claim despite conventional evidence to the contrary? Why isn’t “not-virgin”? And of course, it is.



I still carry with me a lot of the implications virginity has on my life. Sometimes I am sort of terrified by the idea of flirting because it might lead to some kind of relationship (friendship or romantic) and I would feel weirdly obligated to reveal my virginity and they would scoff and leave me alone. Now I can start regularly thinking “I am not a virgin”, acclimating to the idea, and letting those words sink into my daily actions.



I am not here to stabilize notions of virginity or female sexuality. I am here to claim my body as my own and claim my experience as valid. I have never engaged in partner sex, and I might never choose to do so. I have decided, here and now, not to be burdened by the label of virgin.



And a note from Allie: This is one of my submissions to the ongoing series “When did you know?”, an examination of the intersection of labels and identity. Information on how to submit your piece to the series can be found on the Join Us page. To see all posts in this series, click here.

First Person: Mark"Even thinking about telling a girl how I feel sends me into a full-blown panic attack. Any advice?"

This week's First Person interview comes from 22-year-old Mark, who emailed us for some advice. So we decided, with his OK, to share it with the American Virgin community. If you have any thoughts or advice for Mark, please leave him a comment. Thanks! Send us an email if you'd like to tell your story.

I am a 22-year male virgin. Not only am I a virgin, but I have never been kissed or asked a girl on a date. Not that there haven't been girls that I've liked, quite the opposite; but even thinking about telling a girl about how I feel sends me into a full-blown panic attack. I often feel that drugs and booze are the only way that I can express myself, but those sometimes turn against me; I simply don't know what to think.

It might worth adding a few things: I didn't come from a religious or repressive household; on the contrary, I have always been able to discuss sex and relationship issues openly with my family. I'm not a hopeless romantic either, and although I certainly would like to find a special someone, I'm not naively hung-up on saving it as something major; at this point, I'd rather just get it over with so if and when I do find someone I'm not completely awkward and inept.

Lastly, I have no problems talking to girls on a friendly level, and I cherish having female friends who lend balance to the testosterone circus (and though they are female, they will always be my 'dudes'). It's only when I find myself developing more-than-friend feelings that I panic; I'm currently looking into therapy for that.

I discovered [this blog] couple of months ago, and it has since been a source of comfort for me. It's helpful to know that I'm not alone, or a bumbling freak of nature like I'd be thought of by many. Most of my college classes are populated by males who feel that burning male need to talk endlessly of their 'conquests'; as you might imagine, being surrounded by that in my position can be rather embarrassing, not to mention annoying.

Do you have any advice for me?