The thought that made me realize I'd decided to write about my situation and share it with the world on “Dodson & Ross”, was unexpected after months of inner refusal, resistance, and doubt. In short, fear.
“If there is not going to be a partnersex life for me, I might as well write about its absence and have at least one joy.”
It isn't that I feel the need to unburden myself by writing about it, although I'm open to the possibility of some form of catharsis. I have been living with my virginity for decades. Most women had their first-time vaginal penetration sex with a man in their teens. From that time onward, the big “it” gradually transformed into a taboo when I reached the age of 30 and beyond.
The word taboo is from an etymology point of view compelling because my inexperience became indeed sacred. Then it became my secret preceded by shame, the latter of which I relinquished by accepting my beginner’s sex status quo. Eventually. However, my embarrassment continues to exist for the outside world.
The impression young men have of me does not match the bedroom reality and their obvious expectations in that area. When I allude to my inexperience when we're on the verge of setting a playdate, I notice and sense their controlled surprise, and almost instantly, they decide against it. That is understandable, I conclude, rightly or wrongly. “Who wants to be with a beginner?”
When I expose my predicament, it's a big risk because it makes me vulnerable; I don't want it to be known because I don't want to look like a fool who's inexperienced. But moreover, I'm afraid this will limit my future chances as if these few individual men know each other.
So why do I come forward with my secret and my intention to write about it?
It is a lonely place to be in. I envision everyone else having shared sex, at least for some time in her or his life, everyone except me. I do not particularly miss having it, because I don't miss what I don't know. I solely miss the memory of something I never had however strange that sounds: a derailment into the realms of ideal relationships and sexual encounters, or even a loss of hope of fulfillment. It would be a nice thing though to have had a sex life with a variety of strong, sentient men to look back on.
Occasionally, I become aware that there are gaps in my knowledge and understanding of the various things that for others, who do have a sexual past are, or seem to be, quite natural. For me, these things can consist of being the most mundane of sorts too. It's as if I'm suddenly placed in a foreign playing field of energetic reality where they do things differently. It's a challenging but fun path of trial and error. And of course, I always think I am the only one in this position.
I want to write about the uniqueness I experience as a partnersex virgin on such occasions, which leave me sometimes bewildered, misunderstood and rejected, but equally pleasantly surprised, not in the least by my experimental self. And about what I observe in general in the woman-man equation.
I still consider myself a virgin, even after I had an introduction into vaginal penetration sex with a man only few years ago. The appreciated qualities of my first sex partner form some of the thresholds to engage in sex again.
Shared-sex may not happen again and the thought how I'm going to cope with, or rather am coping with celibacy while my beautiful form matures, occupies my mind from time to time. This contains another challenge for me.
All this causes inner conflicts of which I am in the process of coming to terms with. But is it not all “lament”, far from it!
I want to convey that there are women like me out there. I want to extend the subjects of my blogs to Medium Adult Virginity: my observations, failures, and successes.