Although I wouldn’t say that I grew up with a conservative family, sex is still a fairly taboo topic in my household, so it was something that I never discussed with my parents. However, by the time I hit eight years old, I was transferred to a horrible Catholic private school that was exclusively for girls. Those were the most depressing and sexually stifling years of my life, and I would never choose to relive those days if I could help it.

I was stuck in that school for ten years – I suffered through both grade school and high school in that institution. Since it was a Catholic girls’ school (and a rather strict one at that), sex education was completely non-existent, and intercourse was never even mentioned until I entered my sixth grade.

My sexual knowledge was so limited that I was actually one of those preteens who thought that you could get pregnant from a toilet seat. I always assumed that was the reason why male and female bathrooms were separated. I also thought that you could get STDs from pool water, and believed that babies are birthed through the anus. It took a while for me to find out that there was actually a third orifice down there: the vagina.

And what about things like puberty and menstruation? Well, these lessons were introduced in the second quarter of my fourth grade, but I wish that they discussed the topic somewhat earlier. For one thing, I was always rather tall for my age, and I seemed to have hit puberty earlier than everyone else.

During the summer vacation between third and fourth grade, I experienced menarche. I simply woke up one day to find blood on my pajamas. Beset with horror, I started screaming, prompting my parents to burst into my room, asking what was wrong. Tears streaming down my face, I showed them the stains. My mother hugged me and said that it was completely normal for a girl, and explained to me what menstruation was. She then attached a pad to my underwear for me, to show me how it worked. While she explained away, I was still sobbing; I really had thought that I was going to die. Thinking back on it, I wish that someone had prepared me for that experience, so I wouldn’t have been so terrified. I was only 9 years old, after all.

Eventually, my school did start teaching us about puberty and menstruation as part of our home economics class. While they did teach us the basics, such as how to launder our underwear in the event of a stain, and when to anticipate our periods by marking them on a calendar, they never quite went into detail. To be honest, they really did not dwell on the topic for too long, and spent the rest of the year teaching us how to sew and fold clothes, along with other mundane household related skills.

What irks me now, however, was the extremely negative mindset they taught us. Our teacher said that menstruation was something dirty and disgusting, and that a true lady would never, ever mention her period to a man. She also taught us to never get caught with a sanitary napkin, because it was considered extremely embarrassing. She emphasized that discretion was extremely important, especially when you are around the opposite sex. Even then, I thought that this was stupid. If it happened to every woman, why should it be such a big secret?

On the other hand, I finally found out what a vagina was after they explained the menstrual cycle to us. I found out that menstrual blood originated from this orifice, and that babies were born from this canal as well. I admit that I was relieved when I heard that little tidbit of information, because the idea of shitting out a baby was just horrible.

However, they never quite told us about sex. While they did talk about reproduction, and how fertilizing an egg cell with a sperm cell eventually leads to pregnancy, they always left out the mechanism of intercourse: how it actually happens.

The first real mention of sex was in the sixth grade. The school had decided to introduce a brand new subject into the curriculum – Health Education. In one of our lectures, the teacher started discussing the reproductive cycle with the class. She had us watch a video discussing things like attraction and pregnancy. During one part of the video, where we glimpsed a couple entering a bedroom, she started covering the screen with her body and began fast forwarding the tape. By the time she had finished, the video was already discussing pregnancy and the development from embryo to fetus.

Apparently, after I dug up the video myself some time later, the part that she fast forwarded was actually a slide show of the erection, insertion, and ejaculation process. The pictures shown on the tape were illustrated cross sections of the sex organs, and were quite harmless. It was not lewd in any way!

Funnily enough, she allowed us to watch the last part of the video. It depicted an actual live birth in glorious, gory detail. The girls in my class started screaming, and one girl had to be brought to the school clinic because she threw up all over herself.

The next meeting, our teacher finally explained to us what sex was, mostly due to the many questions that were raised when she skipped parts of the video. When she told us that the penis gets inserted into the vagina, my jaw literally dropped. “WHAT GOES WHERE??” were the exact words in my head.

She also emphasized that losing your virginity was extremely painful, and that sex should be avoided unless we want to suffer through pregnancy “before we were ready”. She also mentioned sexually transmitted diseases, and started showing us a gruesome slide show of female genitals in various levels of infection. Yes, my teacher loved shock tactics and would rather focus on pain and suffering than to tell us about sex.

I was then resigned to the thought that women will always suffer because of their vagina. Menstrual cramps hurt, sex hurts, and giving birth hurts. It was always about pain and horror. In fact, these thoughts were reinforced by Christian Life classes. They taught us that God punished Eve with the pain of childbirth because she ate the forbidden fruit and fell into sin.

And… that is it. That is how my official sex ed ends. The Health Education teacher never finished the year with us because she was fired (the school never told us why), and the subject was never mentioned in my academic life ever again, even when I entered high school and college. There were simply more important things like algebra, philosophy, and of course knowing how to walk like a proper lady.

It was a dark time, full of ignorance and misconceptions. In fact, the only reason why I’m more enlightened now is because of a little thing called: the internet.

As far as I’m concerned, I’ve always identified as female and straight. I was born a biological female, and I do consider myself a “girly girl” who likes clothes, make-up, and shoes. Sure, I am a little bit on the eccentric side: I dye my hair pink, my taste in music is different from most everyone else, and I wear nothing but black or red clothing. I may seem a little weird, but that doesn’t mean that I’m a lesbian!

Now before you people jump down my throats for stereotyping, I need to explain that I am not saying that lesbians are weird, or strange, or even different. These are not my personal opinions.

However, it seems that where I come from, the stereotyping still persists. People have this preconceived notion that girls who tend to wear unusual fashions, despite being relatively feminine to look at, are lesbians. I think it stems from the fact that I am surrounded by deeply religious folk who still believe that homosexuality is sinful or unnatural. This gives rise to a rather twisted perception that lesbians would look different too, and that you can spot them in a crowd like a sore thumb.

This had led to some very strange misconceptions about me that have negatively affected my life to some extent. Some male friends (and occasionally my crushes) falsely believe that I only like girls, so they immediately box me into that dreaded “friend zone”. There was also this creepy older man who once made a pass at me, but not before asking if I actually had a girlfriend. I have even received a rude remark from the sister of a close friend of mine, who asked him: “Why do you always hang out with lesbians?” She was referring to me as if I was not even there.

It does not seem to be limited to the heterosexual community either. I have been asked out no less than three times by three different girls who all thought I swung that way. Two of them were butch lesbians, and the third one was a cheery girl who liked painting my nails. Needless to say, I found all of this rather jarring.

Although I try not to take being mistaken for a lesbian as an insult, I can’t help but feel irritated. At first, I thought that people made false conclusions about my sexuality due to the fact that many of my female friends just happen to be actual lesbians or bisexuals. At first, I thought that was an understandable mistake. After all, many believe that birds of a feather flock together. But apparently, that wasn’t the case. I’ve received the same reactions from people that I have just met and have absolutely no idea about what kind of people I hang out with.

This plunged me into a state of confusion that took me almost half a year to sort out. At first, I thought that it was my mannerisms. Was I acting boyish? Do I walk with a swagger? Or do I simply talk too loud when I’m out in the halls? In an effort to appear more feminine, I actually started piling my make-up on more thickly and started wearing more skirts. But after a while, I decided that that was simply not the case, especially since a lot of people have told me that I was exceptionally feminine and sweet.

But since the prejudging continued regardless, I asked some of my bisexual friends for help. While most of them told me that I should simply ignore it, a couple of my friends actually told me that I should just turn into a bisexual. They had this go-with-the-flow type of attitude, and thought that I should just try liking girls since everyone seems to think so already.

“It would really suit you, you know.” They told me. I assumed that they referred to my manner of dress, which miffed me, but I didn’t pursue the matter. They just told me that I should try kissing a girl, and maybe I would find that I like it. Amazingly enough, I agreed to give lesbianism a shot and entered my bi-curious stage.

For the most part, I felt pressured to become a lesbian, which I realize must sound extremely strange since most homosexuals actually feel the opposite. In their cases, society pressures them to pretend that they are straight. But it seems that because of my eccentricities and the company that I keep, people inadvertently make me feel as though being a lesbian was something that is expected of me. After all, even my friends seem to think that it is something I should just go along with.

So how did I test that I was lesbian or bisexual? Well, I first started by watching a lot of lesbian porn. I already watch pornography on a regular basis, but I do not usually look at girl-on-girl scenes. To be honest, I even tend to skip over them when I encounter them in a longer movie. Unfortunately, I found that it does not seem to turn me on as much as straight porn, but I did eventually grow very fond of strap-on scenes. I think I make that exception mostly because I have a sex toy fetish of sorts.

Then I started looking at girls.

There was this girl in my class who was a year above me. She was the sweet, blushing type who had a petite frame, and doll-like Chinese features. She was a really kind and beautiful girl who would often stop to talk to me even if she was busy. For a while I fixated on her, convincing myself that I was attracted to her.

I also liked this other girl in my year, who was not as pretty as my senior, but had nice curves and always wore tight fitting sleeveless tops. She was a photographer and a talented artist, and I enjoyed her company a lot, as well.

But when I tried to imagine kissing them or attempted to fantasize about them naked, I ended up making myself cringe. I usually have no trouble fantasizing about my male crushes, but attempting to do the same with my girl crushes just seemed unnatural and somewhat… revolting. I felt guilty, and dirty, and I simply could not get myself to see them in that light.

Eventually, I figured that my supposed attraction to these girls was nothing more than plain admiration. Deep down, I knew that I was not attracted to these girls sexually or romantically. Their magnetic appeal probably just stemmed from the realization that I simply wanted to be like them. They were fun, pretty, and extremely confident, which are all traits that any girl would want. They were my role models, of sorts, and I envied their beauty almost as much as I admired them.

I never got as far actually kissing a girl or going out on a date with one, but I did achieve some sort of peace after I decided that I was without a doubt, a heterosexual female. Imagining myself in a relationship with a girl just felt weird to me, and it is still the handsome stud swaggering down the hall that manages to make my head turn, NOT the hot chick in a mini skirt.

I still get mistaken for a lesbian every once in a while, but now that I got over the confusion and my inner turmoil, I have learned to just ignore it. I know what I am, and I know that I don’t like women. I can’t imagine ever kissing a girl and liking it. You can keep on judging me based solely on my clothes, but it’s just not me.

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This is my response to Jul!a’s article, “An Ounce of Rape Prevention”. I see that it has caused quite a stir since the topic is so sensitive. Some people in the comments section felt that there was some bias going on, and that the advice given in her article was faulty.

I really do not want to antagonize anyone in my article, and I do not want to give advice that has been repeated time and time again in various writings. There are just too many exceptions, and giving prevention tips may help in some situations, but not help in others. Each case is unique, and the sad reality is that we will never be able to prevent the occurrence of rape completely, unless we live in a perfect world where these crimes do not exist.

So I thought the best thing I could do is to look at real life cases of “almost” rape, experienced by close friends and acquaintances. I want to share how they ended up in a dangerous situation, and what they did to be able to survive and prevent a potential rape. I admit that my advice would be faulty as well, but since they are in the context of real situations, we might be able to see how preventing a rape might work in real life.

Now before I start, I have a little disclaimer: I know that since I am not a behavioral psychologist or a detective, I cannot see all the possible outcomes of these situations. I am merely a regular woman, and these are my own interpretations of rape prevention, based on the stories I have heard. I also must note that because these stories are simply word-of-mouth, I cannot verify that they are 100% accurate since I am only hearing the side of the victims here, who are all people that I know personally.

I will also not name any of the people mentioned in this article. I want to protect their privacy, but I hope that sharing their stories will help other people, and perhaps prevent a potential rape.

Situation 1:

My grandmother’s maid typically worked from Monday to Friday and had her own quarters in my granny’s house. She got the weekends off and typically slept over at her boyfriend’s place, then returned on Sunday evenings.

One particular weekend, she had an argument with her boyfriend and was already running late. It was around 9 pm, and she had no money for a cab or a bus. Getting desperate, and with no where to go, she just stood there at the side of the street, wondering how she would get home. After a while, a huge red van stopped in front of her and offered her a ride. Inside was just one scrawny man in the driver’s seat.

Still frustrated with her boyfriend and stressed about getting home, she agreed to enter the stranger’s van. After telling him where she needed to go, she entered the back seat of the van. Feeling wary, she held on to the car lock on her side of the door to prevent it from locking her in. Sure enough, the man locked it the moment she shut the door.

The trip was spent mostly in silence, and the man did not really chat her up. Eventually, he did end up bringing her to my grandmother’s street, but not without whipping out his cock and telling her, “Let me score first”. Quick as lightning, she jumped out of the car, took her house keys, and ran into my grandmother’s house before the man could clamber out of his car. She slammed the door shut behind her, and he did not pursue her any further.

Now, in this case, it was her speed that saved her. She did not fumble with the car door, and she did not allow herself to be locked into the car. She managed to jump out, take out her keys, and unlock my granny’s front door without missing a single beat. Her pursuer was much slower in this regard, probably taken by surprise by her actions.

If you find yourself in this kind of predicament, it is important that you keep a level head and try to find an escape point. Once you find your escape point, try not to panic, so that you don’t lose time. Every second counts in these types of situations: do not trip, and do not stop running until you are sure that you are safe.

Situation 2:

This situation is a little similar to the previous one. It happened to my aunt’s friend, who also used to babysit me when I was younger.

My aunt’s friend used to work the graveyard shift at a call center and had no choice but to stay up late. She usually took a taxi when going home from the office, because she didn’t own a car and lived alone. She usually got off work at around 4 am in the morning, and the call center was located in a very busy part of the city that always had a taxi available no matter what time of the day it was.

One time, she was feeling especially tired from work. She called a cab, got in, but accidentally fell asleep, even though she did not mean to. Now, she knew that falling asleep in a public transportation vehicle was dangerous, but who hasn’t dozed off suddenly without realizing it?

She was roused from her sleep when she noticed that the cab had stopped. She was lying across the backseat, and the taxi driver was already by the side of the car, trying to get on top of her. She screamed and managed to push him off, kicking him hard in the crotch. When he doubled over in pain, she clambered out of the car and ran off into the street. He actually parked the taxi in an empty lot by the side of the road, but she was lucky enough to find that she was still in a familiar neighborhood.

When she had placed enough distance between herself and the taxi driver, she dashed into a convenience store that had a security guard stationed outside. She then called up my aunt to pick her up.

Now this little story follows some very basic rape prevention advice that crops up in a lot of articles: the importance of self-defense. Instead of freezing up, she struggled and managed to kick her assailant in the nuts, which is still a very effective way of temporarily disabling a man.

The moment she freed herself, she ran off to find some place safe, in this case, the guarded convenience store. She did not waste time trying to kick her would-be rapist a second time, or trying to retrieve her belongings. Once she had the opportunity to escape, she took it.

Situation 3:

This happened to one of my close friends. When he was only 11 years old, he and his mother lived in the house of a landlady whose rooms they rented. One part of the house was sectioned off to them, complete with their own kitchen, their own bedrooms, and a bathroom. Other than that, they were all under one roof.

Now the landlady had a son who was 15 at the time. My friend warmed up to him immediately, and they actually got along pretty well. They had already lived in the landlady’s house for about nine months before there were any incidents.

One night, he woke up to find the landlady’s son in his room. The older boy instructed him to keep quiet and then quickly pulled off his pajamas. He then proceeded to touch him. But when the older boy expressed the desire to have anal sex, he immediately pulled away and clearly said that he did not want to. After repeatedly refusing, the landlady’s son decided to just leave his room.

He never spoke to his mother about the incident, but from then on he kept his distance and always locked the door to his room. Fortunately, it never happened again, and to his relief, they eventually moved away to an apartment in the neighboring city.

Now this is a very touchy one, especially since both of the people involved were minors, and it included the very heavy topic of child sexual abuse. But based on his experience, it is apparent that clear communication can actually help prevent a rape. Yes, he was molested, but if he did not speak out to refuse the boy, it might have turned into full blown penetrative rape.

This is especially important for cases in which the potential rapist is someone that you know. You need to be able to look them in the eye and make your intentions clear. Communicate with them, and watch out for signs of danger or aggression. Some perpetrators actually feel that they have been “invited” to have sex, and simple friendliness is all too often mistaken for flirting. Of course, no one actually invites people to rape them, but an earnest “No!” might just be enough to save you.

To wrap this up, I have to repeat that none of the tips given here are foolproof. The cases above are all highly specific to my friend’s experiences, with a fair bit of luck factored into them, as well. Rape is a serious crime, and one of the most dehumanizing acts one person can inflict on another. While I don’t agree that prevention should be burdened by the potential victim alone, the sad reality is that we all have to adapt to be able to protect ourselves.

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Elana sat at the foot of her bed, exhausted from her day at the office. She flopped onto her mattress, wearing only panties and a sleeveless top, her hair still damp. She had taken a shower just a few moments before, and her pillow felt wet and uncomfortable, but she did not care. She just needed to get some damn sleep…

That evening, she woke up with a strange weight on her chest, the room warm and balmy. It almost felt as though there was a damp draft on her skin, as though there was something breathing. But then the feeling quickly disappeared, and she shrugged it off to her own grogginess.

She looked down at her chest to notice that one of the straps of her top had fallen off her shoulder, exposing her left breast. She found this unusual since the shirt’s fit was relatively tight and could not have slipped off so easily. Too sleepy to think about it any further, she just lay back on her bed once more and drifted into slumber.

Not long after falling asleep she felt soft hands upon her, traveling up her body. The hands slid over her belly, moving upwards to cup her small breasts. She felt the fingers circling her nipples, hard and peaky under the fabric of her clothes. Her shirt suddenly slid off, smoothly, effortlessly, as though she had not been wearing anything in the first place.

Both of her breasts now exposed, warm silky lips quickly enveloped one of her nipples, a gentle tongue flicking back and forth against the tip. She sighed softly from the sensation, breathing deeply, wondering if this was a dream. The hands kept sliding over her body, caressing her neck and trailing over her smooth arms. The mouth over her nipple was sucking now, still gentle enough to make her feel the tingle of pleasure around the delicate skin of her breast.

Wanting it more and more, she arched her back ever so slightly, as though to meet the unknown lips that were teasing her. She felt them suck her more intently, a hand grabbing her other breast and squeezing it. She was tingling all over, her pussy pulsating, feeling the dull throb of arousal.

The lips started wandering down her body, leaving little kisses on her skin, coming to rest between her legs. She felt strong hands parting her legs slightly, massaging her inner thighs. The tongue started pressing against her pussy through the cloth, following the groove of her labia. It kept licking her firmly through her underwear, soaking her panties now. She found herself squirming, the soft teasing making her want even more.

The crotch of her panties were then pulled to the side, exposing her wet pussy to the warm night air. She felt the tongue explore the soft knob that is her clit, already slick with anticipation and desire. She felt a velvety finger trace little circles over the opening of her vagina, playing with her inner labia and sliding against her juices.

Elana started moaning as the tongue began picking up the pace, feverishly licking her throbbing clit. The soft fingers stopped circling her opening, and slowly pushed into her. She felt the fingers insert only partially, still teasing her pussy, playing with her wetness.

“Please…” She moaned, unable to even finish her sentence, her clit burning now. She wants a cock in her pussy this instant, wanting it so badly she could burst.

The moment she uttered the word, her panties were suddenly torn off, and her legs pushed far apart. She suddenly felt a large cock plunge into her dripping pussy, feeling it push all the way to the base. It started fucking her, roughly, making her scream with desire. She felt her ass thumping against the mattress, pushing into her repeatedly, penetrating her over and over. She felt her pussy tighten, a knot forming in her lower regions. She was so close to cumming, sweating and screaming as the rock hard cock kept pumping into her.

Finally, she felt herself explode, arching her back as her orgasm radiated through her. Her pussy tightened rhythmically as she climaxed, and she collapsed on the bed, feeling the warm after glow as sleep over took her once more.

The next day, Elana woke up, refreshed, as though ready to take on a new day. She sat up on her bed, smiling at the sun rays shining through her window. The incredible orgasm from the night before still made her body quiver with pleasure. It was simply amazing.

But then she looked down and noticed that her bed was covered with thick black hairs. They were short but velvety, and almost seemed to glow in the sun. Unsettled, she wondered: “What was that creature?”

I have been a virgin all my life. I am 22 years old, fresh out of college, with a pretty face and a well formed cleavage. Sure, I could lose a few pounds, but I do not consider myself unattractive by any means. Well, maybe I do to some extent, but that is besides the point.

I am still a virgin as of the time I am writing this, and chances are, I will stay a virgin for a couple more years after this has been posted. And when I said that I am a virgin, I meant that in a very physical way: I have never had a boyfriend; I have never been kissed; hell, I have never even been on a damn date!

Now, you are probably wondering why I am still alone. I would say that it is a combination of different things – I am a virgin partially by choice, and partially because of plain bad luck. Every guy I have ever asked out has turned me down for a variety of reasons, and I am just too much of an uptight introvert to go seek out men for myself.

I do not think that it is lack of desire that is stopping me. I do masturbate almost every day, and I can make myself orgasm each and every time I get going, with or without my trusty vibrator. When porn becomes too repetitive, and my fantasies run dry, I turn to web-cams and chat rooms, where I can touch myself anonymously to some random stranger’s dick. If I like a particular guy, I keep in touch with him on my messenger so that we can have casual cybersex every once in a while.

But I have never, ever, decided to meet up in person with any of the men I chat with. The reason behind it is plain and simple: fear.

I admit that I am as afraid of losing my virginity as I am anxious of losing it. You see, losing your virginity is relatively simple, especially if you are a girl. I have had my fair share of being approached by guys wanting my number after a rock concert, of perverted old men wolf whistling at me from across the street, and even of butch lesbians offering to buy me a drink at a bar. I am no show stopper by any means, but really, all I have to do is to show up and say “yes, let’s fuck”. But I never do, and again, it is due to my fear of losing my virginity.

But why am I so scared? Am I just some paranoid oddball? Well, to justify what I am feeling, I have several different things that I am afraid of:

The first reason is pretty technical: diseases. I know that condoms will certainly prevent many sexually transmitted infections, but it it is still not 100% safe. I have a morbid fascination with medical pictures, and scouring the internet for photos of the effects of STDs is almost enough to scare me off sex forever. AIDS and HIV is still on the rise where I am from, and I do not even know about the infection rates of other diseases like herpes and chlamydia.

My second fear is also pretty straightforward: I am afraid to be taken advantage of. Yes, I am inexperienced and probably naive. I do not know how a man’s body works, and I think that no matter how much porn I watch or erotica I read, it would never prepare me for the actual experience. What if a man would just use me for a quick fuck and then cast me aside, never to be heard from again?

Now, I know that many virgins tend to get clingy after their first time, and I am probably not going to be any different. I have a friend who once told me that he would never have sex with a virgin because they expect you to become a couple afterward. He told me that I should never mistake sex for falling in love…

I admit that this came as a bit of a shock for me, and it made me feel rather disgusted – not with my friend, but with the concept itself. Is it really so bad for me to wish that sex, especially my first time, would be a beautiful experience with someone that I am deeply in love with? I want to lose my virginity to someone who cares for me and reciprocates my feelings! Yes, I know that such girlish fantasies never seem to turn out as planned, but sex without love just seems painful for me. Pathetic even.

Of course, my chat logs with my online fuck buddies seem to say otherwise, and I am by no means an innocent girl. But all of that is in the realm of fantasy. Essentially, I am still interacting with a computer screen, and there are no strong feelings involved. I actually find my online cavorting comparable to playing an erotic video game. However, I do not want my first time to be a casual encounter. I want it to actually mean something.

Finally, my last reason is a little bit more complex. It is about this little thing that I merely call “the virgin fetish”.

Have you ever noticed how many men seem to find the idea of taking a girl’s virginity exciting? I know that it is more pronounced in some cultures than others, but nevertheless, I know that a lot of people seem to like the idea of being a girl’s first man. I am not quite sure what it is – maybe it has to do with power, maybe it has to do with the masculine ego, but there is something about the idea of a female virgin that is extremely desirable.

The sweet, innocent, virginal image still seems to attract lot of men, and the media also reinforces this. For years, the stereotype of the ingenue has been considered as more acceptable than the coquette. For one thing, books and movies will always depict the good girls triumphing over all sorts of tribulations, while the slutty bad girl characters will always get their just deserts. Just look at horror movies: the last girl standing is definitely not the girl who was having sex with her boyfriend while the serial killer sneaks up behind them…

As for me, I am also affected by all of this virgin worshiping. I get a strange sense of pride being a virgin, and I enjoy it when men express the need to be my first. It seems contradictory, but being a virgin makes me feel sexy, desirable, and oh-so-lust-worthy. It even goes so far as wanting to drop the fact that I am a virgin to every new man I speak to online. I love how they sweat with desire, wanting to take me for themselves…

And that is why I call this a fetish. Being a virgin turns me on, and many of my fantasies revolve around how my first physical sexual encounter would play out. Nevertheless, I am still afraid of losing my virginity, because I find that it somehow makes me beautiful and unreachable. It feeds my own narcissism.

It is a twisted way of thinking, I know. But why would I give up something so “precious” when so many people want it? A man should go after me and be persistent, so that I can deem him worthy of my maidenhood. Then maybe, maybe, I would say yes…

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