Anticipation
Just 221 days from now, my commitment to virginity will be over.
I have my own apartment and do not live in my parents' basement. I own zero collectible figurines but do have a growing collection of handcrafts gathered from a fair amount of world travel. I do not attend Star Wars conventions but will frequent Sox bars when I'm outside New England. I prefer designer jeans and Chuck Taylors to short-sleeved shirts and pocket protectors. While I can introduce myself in several languages, I cannot spell my name in binary code.
I am a virgin. Wholly wholesome and always abstinent, my life is sans sex. I'm 25 years old, a healthy male in the prime of life, and yet I'm completely OK with this lifelong state of sexual inactivity. No, really.
When you mention the word "virgin" in everyday conversation, more often than not, the image that pops up is a repressed super-nerd bumbling his way to decades of sexual frustration (both in Second Life and the real kind). But that's not me. I won't be kissing and telling here, but I have had a fair share of opportunities to join the ranks of the sexually active - I did go to college, after all - but I turned them all down. My chastity is not the product of unresolved Freudian fears or an undying fascination with Battlestar Galactica; rather it is the result of conscious decision, coupled with years of hard labor.
I don't remember precisely when I chose to remain abstinent. Faith is important to my family and me. My parents passed on dire warnings about premarital sex's potential impact on both my immortal soul and family jewels during our six-week sex-ed course. Seriously, it was a real class; I had homework and workbooks and everything. And it was terrifying. Hmm . . . maybe I do have some unresolved issues there.
Ten years after my decision to remain a virgin until marriage, I've somehow managed to stick to my guns. There have been moments under the covers and in the back seats of cars where my resolve definitely wilted faster than a green lawn in a hot July. I'd prepare myself for the instant when I would lose my virginity - my whole body tense and ready for a new world to be opened. And yet, every time, something held me back. It was akin to a piece of my stomach dropping down an elevator shaft, a sinking feeling that stopped me cold. And I'd say No.
That sensation, which I came to have a love-hate relationship with, was my conscience reminding me that I'd made a promise. I was supposed to do the right thing and honor my word. I was going to wait, the voice told me, even if it killed me. Oh, I hated that feeling in the moment; it definitely killed my mojo. But I always appreciated it the next morning.
"I'm still a virgin," I'd think with gritted teeth. "I'm OK with it."
Two years ago, I met a girl at a concert. No big deal. She was there with people I knew. We laughed, we flirted, we exchanged numbers. But then, last spring, I asked Sonja to marry me.
Sonja and I have never made love. In fact, Sonja came into things just as sexually (in)experienced as me, making her the first virgin I've dated since high school. We're a rare breed these days.
You'd think our relationship would be lacking. No sex, no love, right? In our case, however, it's had the opposite effect. We both entered with individual decisions to abstain. As a couple, we've had the chance to support each other in the quest to remain virgins until marriage. Instead of becoming a wall between us, this bit of team play (nonsexual, of course) has brought us closer. We spend less time in the bedroom and more time together, learning about each other, sharing hopes and dreams, and generally being a pair of mushy kids in love. Our lack of intimacy has led to, well, more intimacy than I could have hoped for.
Now, the countdown to the Big Day has started. The pact I made with myself is coming to an end. On June 5, 2009, I will no longer be a virgin.
Mike Nagel is a freelance writer living in Newmarket, New Hampshire. He's previously worked for Good Morning America and Dateline. Send comments to coupling@globe.com.
STORY IDEAS Send yours to coupling@globe.com. Please note: We do not respond to ideas we will not pursue. 