Today we're highlighting Sean in Australia whose sexual encouters have felt 'irritating, dissapointing and pointless.' If you want to tell your story, go to our submission form. You can find all our V-Card Diaries here. A little about myself:
23, FTM, Australia
How I define virginity:
For me it is extended genital contact with another person's genitals. I guess that's the closest I can come, though I don't really believe in it.
Here's my story:
I was 21 and a virgin. I'd been on a few dates but none of them involved sexual contact; I'd never had a partner and my first kiss was forced on me by one of those dates. I was, and remain, scared of sex, of its intimacy, the trust I was required to have in a partner, and paralysed by fear of hurting someone else by being too forward or forceful myself, well aware of my own reservations and feelings of betrayal after dates attempted to 'make a move' on me. My diagnosed depression was defined by anhedonia making my orgasms disappointing non-events and my sex drive almost non-existent. I felt constantly attacked by the world and its sexuality, and my status as a sexual object made me want to die.
When I was 21 I decided I was sick of being a virgin, sick of having people use that word against me and exclude me from the group as all but one of my other friends were sexually active with partners by then. I read about a celebrity I idolised who was very similar in personality to me, and who decided he wanted to stop being a virgin, went out to a club, and went home with the first person who would take him home. Hence he lost his virginity. As I didn't want to have sex with one of my friends - and so be vulnerable to them talking about me and my sexual behaviour and inadequacies - I decided this was what I'd do. One night with a stranger and it would be over.
I took advantage of a holiday overseas to scour clubs. Shy and terrified of making a move I struck out time after time; and it cut deep that now that I was actually trying, I was rejected repeatedly. Eventually I ran into a guy who approached me. He was my age, kind, exactly my type, intelligent and interesting, and we spent hours just talking and getting drunk in his kitchen before we went to bed.
It was actually really good, though my whole body was numb from alcohol, and I was overwhelmed by how beautiful he looked at the time. When I told him he rebutted with a clichéd, porny, objectifying line and I instantly dropped into self-disgust, fear, anger, everything you don't want in the situation. He didn't know how to give me an orgasm even manually. I was so fed up with him I ended up getting off of him and just sucking him off. My first blowjob wasn't that bad either, just a sore jaw and a taste like olive brine. He said thank you when I finished, and the day after I had bruises all up my thighs. We never caught up again.
I didn't have sex again for another year. That, too, was irritating, disappointing and pointless. I don't know why I pursue it, why I feel like I should. But it was something I just wanted to learn, you know? To be able to do and use, another way to be valued. I still think about him a lot. Now I'd go with anyone, and I still don't feel anything from it. It's all self-fulfilling prophecies - and pointless, pointless, pointless.