The 25 Year-Old Virgin

I had three basic goals on my list upon arriving in Hong Kong. These were to build my career, make new friends, and pop my cherry.

It’s complicated. Most people can’t tell I am a virgin. By no means am I undesirable: young and energetic, smart and witty, a former runway model in my glory days. I do like boys; I have had several serious boyfriends and a fair share of hookups to boot. Furthermore, I hold no religious beliefs that preclude pre-marital sex.

It’s also not like I don’t engage in other sexually-oriented activities. Think of the things two people can do in bed which don’t involve penetration. I have done and pretty much perfected all of those things. Trust me.

So, what’s the problem, you might ask?

See, up until high school, I subscribed to abstinence and all that good stuff taught in sex ed. My first boyfriend at age 16 gave me my first kiss; we dated for two months and fought for another year while attempting long distance, so sex never even came up. The next boy I dated came out of the closet and dumped me a few days before senior prom; I was merely disappointed that I had lost an enthusiastic shopping partner.

But somewhere along the way, amidst time spent in a liberal arts institution, raging hormones, or just general shift in values, I decided that I couldn’t wait till marriage. I would just do it once I was ready. Freshman through junior year of college I dated the most patient and sweetest boy with whom I had no interest in jamming; I realize in retrospect that I liked him purely for his companionship and help with physics problem sets. By the time I got out of that relationship, I was ready to rumble. Not wanting to be labeled a slut, I did everything under the sun BUT the actual act. This seemed to appease the boys I bedded on average three or four hookup sessions until they got impatient. No matter though as supply was abundant, so I’d simply move to the next one until he realized I wasn’t going to put out.

Fast forward to HK, where pickings are slim but I was determined to do the deed with this small Asian boy I had been dating for a year. I figured: the first time is probably going to hurt, might as well start small and work my way up, right? That seemed like perfect logic until multiple nights transpired, spent awkwardly fumbling, unsuccessfully trying to stick a square peg in a round hole. That relationship eventually dissolved, and I became determined more than ever to swipe my card.

But I would vacillate in my predicament. A part of me today believes that since I’ve waited so long, why not wait just a bit longer until I find the right one? Most women can’t climax in regular intercourse anyway while I have the directions for “O”-town down pat already! Another part of me wants to go out there and fully explore the mores of sexual intimacy, and in order for that to happen I have to give it up. Maybe the reason my previous relationships dissolved was due to lack of intercourse? At the same time, I viewed maintaining my chastity as an insurance policy: since break-ups were inevitably going to hurt, why not salvage a piece of dignity that I could grab onto and shove in his face later? “At least I didn’t give him my virginity”, I would reassure myself, as if I automatically won the battle.

Then came the older, clearly more experienced man. Let’s call him PAG for Plain Asian Guy. I met PAG through friends over dessert, a departure from the usual nightclub encounter. He was attractive and accomplished but had nothing of worth to write home about, so the risk of emotional attachment ran low. A perfect guy to be my first, I figured. PAG courted me with dinners and sweet text messages, and the first night we spent together, I decided I would reveal my little secret. His reaction was not unlike others before him: “you’re kidding” and “yeah right…me too” were some of the responses I’d perfected the eye-roll to. But PAG wasn’t messing around. A sloppy night in LKF a week later resulted in third-base in the cab ride back to his place. Soon he had taken the necessary precautions as a responsible man would and it started happening, but stopped almost immediately.

“Been a while, eh?” as he struggled to enter, with a sly look on his face. To which I grinned sheepishly and replied, “yes, like I said, 25 years”!

PAG stopped dead in his tracks and released his embrace. “You mean that wasn’t all an act?” he whispered incredulously, and despite the darkness I could tell his eyes were wide. Rolling over to the other side of the bed we lay like candlesticks in a drawer. He removed his hands from his face after a few minutes of intense pondering, and declared that he didn’t want to be my first, that it was too much responsibility that he didn’t dare take. I protested in wasted petulance, annoyed that I wouldn’t get it over with while still drunk with courage. Still, I fell asleep satisfied.

The next morning we tried again but I was too sober and noticed the pain right away. Still no dice.

As far as progress goes, I have been promoted at my job. I have made friends and continue to meet new people with ease. PAG has since retreated to the hoodrats at undisclosed members’ clubs where he reigns supreme, while I have begun to mix up the establishments that I frequent. In the meantime, I continue to find pleasure in creative alternatives, while keeping my eyes peeled for that emotionally capable man who is ready to handle the paradox that I have become.
 

• ‹ previous
• 28 of 36
• next ›