I was tired, so tired of being a virgin, tired of my two previous relationships ending being cheating on because I wouldn’t put-out, tired of being branded as weird for going to university as a virgin, as my ex-boyfriend put it “don’t you want to get some practice in” before uni (or as American’s say: college). So I chugged a bottle of Smirnoff and called my uber; I was ready to stop living like this. 

Now, let me backtrack, things didn’t get so complicated overnight so let me introduce myself: hi, I am Tia and I am 19 and a virgin. 

It takes the human mind around 90 seconds after meeting someone to decide if they want to continue getting to know them and if you are reading this at a typical rate you’ve currently been analyzing me for about 30 seconds, so before your mind fills with the preconceived notions you may have about me being a virgin -- as it often is construed as a personality trait -- let me re-introduce myself. 

Hi, I am Tia, Barnard College Class of ‘23, majoring in visual arts with a minor in political science, I grew up in London as an only child before going to boarding school for high school and then America for university. I am writing this back home in London at my parent’s flat. 

 What is the meaning of losing your virginity? Technically speaking, it is defined as “engaging in sexual intercourse for the first time.” For girls, it is when, as some say, she “deflowers” herself, giving up her purity. Emotionally speaking, however, what is virginity? Being born into a mixed family and being told what “virginity” means to both sides, I can comfortably state that my definition of virginity is not about losing one’s purity. 

For me, maybe I am a bit old fashioned in this way, but I didn’t realize until recently that I am not one who’s emotional bandwidth allows oneself to can sleep with anyone -- I am not inclined to have sex after a party or even after a few dates, due to the potential emotional ties I would have formed with that person. I am a Pisces, which over time I have realized and been told that we can be more sensitive. This is something I've learned to make peace with. 

I used to try and fight this fact, both back at my boarding school in London and this past year starting college in the states. My two serious relationships in high school proved the most challenging. The first relationship was my second year of high school, he was a year older than me and captain of the rugby team. The relationship lasted for a year, but looking back I realize that it was a bad one as he hid me from people; we meant in dark alleyways and the nicks and crannies of our boarding school. Our relationship terminated as he cheated on me siting my refusal to put-out as the key reason. My second relationship was during my last year in high school, and eerily the same, as it ended in him cheating me and reminding me why: because I wouldn’t put-out. 

For so long I thought it was my fault. It was my fault that all these bad things are happening to me. It was my fault that another girl was giving them one thing that they wanted, which I didn’t. It kind of just went like that for a while, until my last summer in London before college.

That summer the phrase “no one goes to college a virgin” echoed in my mind and from the mouths of friends like no other. My ex-boyfriend was sure to tell me “no one goes to college a virgin,” “no one goes to college a virgin,” over and over. There was no escaping the pressure he made public towards me to have sex with him. One day in the park, he went at it again “it's weird if you go to uni a virgin, don’t you want to get the practice in.” Regardless of how toxic he was, I wanted that summer to stop being miserable, so I said I would do it. So that night, I chugged a bottle of Smirnoff and called my uber; I was ready to stop living like this. 

Now, I know, that by reading the title, you will immediately assume that nothing happened as I was 18 at the time and it’s safe to assume I’ve always remained celibate. Although that is my story until now, what I find deeply important to share my experience during the first time I tried to have sex.

I got out of my uber and entered his house. It was time to stop being a virgin, or so I thought. I dreaded what was about to happen, but was tired of living in a constant state of being “weird.” We went to his bedroom and proceeded engaging in initial sexual acts but when it came time for sex, it did not work. I know what you are thinking, “what do you mean?”, “how is that possible.” Believe me, I was thinking the same thing while being yelled at from across the room by my boyfriend, who told me that it was me who had the issue and I should get out and never see him again. He kicked me out and I just started crying. After that he didn’t speak to me; my friend picked up my belongings from his; and that was my last time seeing him. The screams and his voice replayed in my mind clear as day, as stain I could never clean. 

 Needless to say, my heart was in pieces and my mind was consumed with fear and wonder as to why the sex did not work. I held that fear for so long. Several months went by, the same thoughts in my head, just less frequent. I was too scared to ask anyone or to speak to anyone about it because I was scared they would turn around and tell me that I had a problem. 

I was so consumed by it all that I sought the guidance of my gynecologist because as my ex-boyfriend had said -- I thought yeah, maybe something is wrong with me. My doctor then assured me that nothing was wrong and there is broadly no such thing as “you can’t have sex or it doesn’t work” -- I know, silly re-assuring myself of that now, but at the time the words had messed with my head, and I needed to hear that. My gynecologist proceeds to assure me that it was healthy for me to wait until I was comfortable, as that is what I wanted.

Once I went to college, this aspect of my life became much harder than it was during my last summer in London. Most of my friends had lost their virginity and many were in sexual relationships, but I was not. I couldn’t avoid my traumatic relationship with sex anymore because I felt as if it was closing in on me. The difference was, at boarding school it was harder to do things, because you couldn't go to each other's rooms, some of my friends were also virgins, and the ones who did have sex did so privately, and it wasn’t in my face. 

But in college everything flipped. The first six months of uni I had flashbacks from that night --- why me, why wasn’t it working, it really bothered me. I was haunted by the couple having sex in the room right next to be. My best friend is a real model with suitors galore. Even my best friend from London -- called me one night exclaiming about her first time -- meaning we were no longer in the same boat, and no longer “in this together.” So I cried. I cried because it was always a competition with her, and this was another thing she could add to her belt. These were the walls caving in: now I felt like literally everybody is having sex, literally everyone, while I was not. Being at uni I was in such close proximity to sex that I couldn’t ignore it anymore.

It is strange to say that every college fling that did not work for me. I would put myself down and make myself believe that this is all because I am a virgin and I do not want to lose my virginity until I am ready. The instances with my ex’s continued Columbia -- like when I took a guy to formal and I didn’t put-out that same night, he told me he didn’t want anything to do with me two days later -- it seemed to be such a constant in my life that it became a regular thing for me. In my head, due to all of these experiences, I continued to think that I was the issue.

Long story short, I made myself miserable day in and day out thinking I was the problem, and losing my virginity would be the solution. I thought, if I wasn’t a virgin it would make things easier. How would my life be different if I had had sex? Even though I am comfortable and I am not ashamed of my virginity, I can’t help but think would it be easier if the time I tried to have sex it worked, or if I didn’t take the road seemingly less traveled. Maybe then I would still be with my ex-boyfriend, maybe then the relationship with that guy at Columbia would have worked out, maybe then I wouldn't have to explain over and over my decision not to have sex until I find a guy who I feel respects and values me, and whom I feel comfortable enough to have sex with. 

All these questions stuck with me. I thought for so long that something was wrong with me, but how wrong I was. You see, despite the reassurance that I received from friends and even my doctor that I did not have a problem, I could not wrap my head around it; until I realized I was trying to change who I was. I don’t want to lose my virginity to the type of guy who will just cheat rather than leave a relationship he was not happy with. I don’t want to have sex with someone who feels entitled to be off of our first date. And that's me, it's just who I am. Despite the people who always tell me it's good to date around and say to play the field, that's not the way I am. Rather I like it or not, I subconsciously crave that commitment. I can say all these things now and I have no regrets in choosing to remain a virgin, but my past experiences have still left me with a fear of having sex -- wounds heal but scars remain type of thing. 

I continued to carry these experiences with me as if they were a sort of personality trait: hi, I am Tia and I am 19 and a virgin. Until one person sat me down and explained to me why it did not work. It took me a while to grasp, but it finally makes sense. 

The sex didn’t work because I was forcing myself into doing something I was not ready for, something I did not want to do with someone I did not love, trust, or even find myself attracted to. I should not have to lose my virginity simply because “everyone else” has at 19. Now I know that I am my own person and it will happen when the time is right. The message was clear to me now. Now I realize that the fact that I haven't done it is not the issue. No, I am not saving myself for marriage but I haven't been in a relationship where I feel respected and comfortable. It took one person to tell me waiting is more than okay, it is sexy. Over the years and through my pain I have learned, it is okay to be a virgin at 19 and if you are happy with your choice of waiting, nothing else matters.