That’s what happened three years ago with Boy One. At the time of The Chat, Boy One and I had been on two official dates, but had liked each other for a lot longer. We were making out on my couch when he went to unbutton my jeans — which was about seven steps beyond what I was ready for, and my body language told him as much. He awkwardly apologized, I awkwardly said it was fine, and we kept kissing, awkwardly. Instead of just sucking it up and telling Boy One why I was being so weird, I decided to be extremely mature and wait until he had left to text him asking if we could talk. He called me and I spent the next half-hour mumbling and stuttering out the truth. I don’t remember his exact reaction, but it was something along the lines of, “It’s not a big deal, why didn’t you just tell me?” At which point I felt relieved, foolish and annoyed with myself for not having had the moxie to say something in person.
Unfortunately, because Boy One fell into the celibacy-then-bail category, it was just a matter of time — three months — before the truth came tumbling out. Our relationship ended in a drunken yelling match that spanned from my withholding physical affection (his words) to his withholding emotional intimacy (my words) to us not communicating, period. Turns out, the sex thing mattered.
Boy Two was the polar opposite of Boy One: optimistic, bubbly and more excitable than a puppy. We lasted about two months before I bailed. Sex was less of an issue this time, mostly because I knew he was my rebound (yes, I’m a terrible person). I simply told him I was waiting until marriage, didn’t see us going in that direction, and that was that.
Boy Three really threw me for a loop. He worked at my church and was completely different from anyone I’d previously dated, a fervently devout and serious Christian with cemented views on pretty much everything. At first, this was attractive: who doesn’t like a man who knows what he wants? Once I figured out what it was he wanted, however — a wife who would bear his children, iron his clothes, laugh at his jokes and agree with him at all times — it was awful.
What really shook me about Boy Three, though, wasn’t his traditional values or strict religious beliefs. The thing that threw me was how much he pressured me sexually. Unlike Boy One, who had at least respected me enough to try to abstain, this guy — this man who repeatedly told me he’d chosen to dedicate his career and life to God — forced me into the most uncomfortable sexual situations and conversations I’ve ever endured, pushing and prodding me further and further outside my comfort zone. And every time I would push back and say no, he would throw a tantrum and shut down, making me feel guilty, angry and entirely lost as to what on earth I’d gotten myself into. I stuck around far too long with Boy Three, but when I finally did leave, it was with renewed determination to hang on to my virginity, even if it meant waiting a lifetime.
Like I said before, I’m not anti-sex. I’m not immune to desire, either: It’s flattering when the man I’m with wants so badly to rip off my clothes and have his way with me that he has to leave the room in order to respect my decision. It drives me crazy when he whispers in my ear and teases me in all the right ways. And, yes, in situations like those I do waver and wonder whether or not it’s worth holding out for the big I Do.
So why do I do it? Why do I stick to my boundaries when it would feel so good to bust through them? Why have I had The Chat so many times it’s become (almost) comfortable? Why do I hang on so tightly to an antiquated lifestyle choice that’s shunned by society and makes people assume I’m a repressed prude?
I do it because after 26 years, I’ve come to realize that of all the experiences and opportunities offered in life, to love someone is the most precious. A long time ago I was taught — and chose to believe — that love and sex are intertwined in such a way that to separate them would be to lessen their value. When it comes to my decision to stay a virgin until marriage — to hold out for that one-time-only chance to fully connect with and know and love another person — I want to make sure it’s the right man.
Until then, bring on the squirmy no-sex chat.