Blogoversary: Two Years of Finding My Virginity

Two years and one day ago, I styled my hair a new way.

Today I twist my hair up like that several times a week.

Two years and one day ago, I wore a new black dress with purple flowers.

Today that dress is too big for me, but it hangs in my closet for curvier days ahead.

Two years ago, I had my shared apartment to myself because Lauren was out of town.

Today Lauren and I have our own apartments down the street from each other.

Two years ago, I drank 3-4 cans of Diet Coke with Lime a day.

Today I drink 3-4 cans of Diet Coke, sometimes with Lime, a week.

One year and one day ago, I said good-bye to my family in the South and moved to the Midwest.

Today I’ve lived in the same city, without interruption, for the longest amount of time since graduating high school.*

One year ago, I wrote the scariest post I’d ever written.

Today I take the first step to losing my anonymity.**

Taking selfies without showing my face is HARD, y'all!

My reasons for anonymity are legit. I think wanting to discuss sensitive topics like sex and sexuality with complete honesty is difficult without anonymity. I mostly read lifestyle blogs, and y’all don’t talk about sex. Like, ever. Which is totally fine and your prerogative and I respect that decision completely, because sex is personal. But I can’t talk about virginity without talking about sex, and I don’t know if I could have maintained this blog for the last two years if my parents, former professors, colleagues, etc. had been reading it.

But anonymity is tiring. I think twice before I tweet about what I’m doing. Does this refer to my location? I crop all my photos. How much of my face can I reveal before it identifies me too much? I have to keep track of pseudonyms for every single person in my life. I was hanging out with Hardy and Lauren, and damn it, where’s my list of best friends? What do I call… James, that’s it. I call him James.

And I write and write and write. I tweet and tweet and tweet. I comment everywhere. I buy ads on other blogs. I’m myself. I’m authentic. I paid for a blog design. I do all that stuff I’m supposed to do to build blog traffic, and it’s not enough. 

Look at my new button on Casey's blog!

<center> <a href="http://www.findingmyvirginity.com/"><br><img src="http://i1167.photobucket.com/albums/q633/belle_vierge/fcebc759-3ed1-4f8f-92c4-0a099a67497e.jpg" border="0"/><br></a></center>

Because the people who know me IRL aren’t allowed to post my blog to facebook, or link it to any mutual friends. Because I can’t ask my friends and family to like my facebook page.

Because the network I have who comment all over my personal facebook wall, who send me links to articles on sexual assault and modesty culture and France and women’s history, who email me to thank me for the work I do, who ask me if I blog, who share all over the place the tiny handful of public writing I do…

They have no idea Belle Vierge exists. Or if they’ve stumbled across her (this happened once), they don’t realize Belle is me.

But as much as I want to shed my cloak of anonymity and shout to the rooftops that I’m happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time, I’m not there yet.

I don’t really think my parents should find out I’m bisexual via a blog post, nor do I think it’s right or fair to attach H’s name to his assholery. And those of you who do know me IRL, and those of you who I met here who have discovered my real name, I think y’all will agree that my first name is unique. Unique enough that fear of discovery by future potential employers is a legitimate concern.

Seriously, if you google my first and last name, you find results for three people. That’s it. I share my name with a lawyer and with a photographer. Also my firstnamelastname.com domain name has already been taken, alas.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the last few weeks thinking about this post. Planning what I would write. And I should note, for the record, that I’m writing this the actual evening of July 30, 2013, still torn on what to reveal of myself while still allowing the freedom to be myself.

I realized I’m not so worried about people finding my blog and realizing it’s me as I am people knowing who I am, looking me up online, and discovering my blog. The first involves searching for certain qualities and associating them with me. The latter is only knowing me or my name and suddenly discovering some rather strong opinions and personal information.

So here are some things 

I never directly mentioned before.

Paris, je t'aime

Paris me manque.

Two years ago today, I left Paris.

Writing that out breaks my heart. I miss Paris so much.

I began my love affair with Paris at a young age. I have no idea what initially piqued my interest, but for as long as I can remember, I have wanted to visit Paris.

Le Tour Eiffel

My junior year of college, I finally fulfilled my dream and studied abroad in France. For three months, I lived in Versailles with a French family and took theatre, conversation, grammar, and culture classes with eleven fellow students from my school. Each Wednesday afternoon, we had a cultural field trip, like to the Musée d’Orsay or to Auvers-sur-Oise (where Van Gogh died). On the weekends, we had optional trips, but they were even cooler. One weekend we toured Giverny (Monet’s home and gardens), and another weekend we spent visiting Le Petit Trianon. I found out that recent French grads could teach English in France, and I vowed to return when I finished school.

The grave of Vincent Van Gogh.

Why I'm A Feminist (Part Two): My Sexual Assaults Were Not My Fault

I was 12 the first time.

I was in the kitchen with two boys from school, both in my grade, although neither in my class.

Don't ask me who they were, or why they were there, because it doesn't matter.

I was getting a drink when I heard them walk in. I turned around and said hello. One of them leaned over and poked my breast, my beautiful, budding, barely B-cup breast.

He poked it, said “Boobies!” and burst out laughing. The other boy started laughing too.

I was mortified.

Humiliated.

Ashamed.

I have no recollection of what happened next. I don't know if I yelled, or darted out the room, or cried.

But I remember exactly how it felt for my breast to be poked against my will, for my young body to be violated. I remember exactly how the two boys looked as they laughed at me.

I remember exactly how I felt.

I felt ashamed of my poor pubescent body. I felt ashamed of how easily two boys had humiliated me, turning my own body against me. I felt ashamed for not preventing it from happening.

This is the first time I've ever told anyone what happened.

This is why I'm a feminist.

  "Shake It Out," Glee

Virgin Myths: Virgins are Boring

Cherry graphic via

I don't drink,
Or swear.
I don't rat my hair.
I get ill from one cigarette.

Myth: Virgins abstain from having sex, so they must abstain from all other “risky” behaviors as well.

Y'all have seen Grease, right? I love this movie, despite its flaws. (Virgin/whore dichotomy much?) I think one of my favorite songs from the movie is “Sandra Dee,” when Rizzo makes fun of Sandy for being a goody-two-shoes. For one, we get a glimpse at Rizzo's amazing legs. But two, even though the song mocks Sandy's virginity, I've always liked the explicit description of saving sex for marriage. Off the top of my head, I can't think of a single other song that does that. Even Billy Joel's “Only the Good Die Young,” (another personal favorite) just alludes to waiting to have sex.

Confessing Your Virginity

Step One. Read my blog.

Step Two. Follow me on twitter.

Step Three. Link my posts on facebook, your blog etc.

Step Four. Retweet me.

Eventually your friends and/or significant other might get the hint... If they don't, then you'll need...

Step Five. If that doesn't work, and/or you're trying to tell the guy/girl with whom you've been making out for the last hour, then you might want to continue reading.

Until I graduated uni, telling people I was a virgin and waiting for marriage was a non-issue. I'm from a small, conservative town in the South. I went to a small, conservative school in the South. I was raised in a conservative Christian denomination and became involved with an even more conservative on-campus Christian group during undergrad. Everyone either assumed (rightfully) that I was a virgin and/or that sex was reserved for a serious relationship only. I never had to “come out” as a virgin.

Leaving school changed all of that. I've lived in a variety of cities, from the small but bourgeois to the grand and cosmopolitan, all across the globe. (Well, all across the States and France). My friends have ranged in age from 18 to mid-30s, and even my close friends fall within a range of 21 to 32. They span four continents (North America, Europe, Asia, and Australia), and I've lost count of how many countries and American states. The majority of them all have one thing in common, though.

Most of them are nonvirgins.

So I've now had a lot of practice in telling people that I'm waiting until marriage to have sex. Here's a sample of my experiences.

Strategy: Say no, but don't say why. Great for making out in public.

I was out with my friends one night at Duplex, a club along the Champs Elysées. This guy started dancing with me, and after a few songs, we started making out. It was extremely loud in the club, so there was very little talking involved. He told me his name, like, three times, but for the life of me I couldn't understand over the music. He also offered to buy me a drink, but I was already drunk enough, so I declined. Anyway. We moved from the dance floor to up against the wall to sitting at a table, with me in his lap. I allowed his hands fairly liberal freedom to roam, but I moved them each time he tried to slide them down my jeans. After about an hour, he asked me “Tu veux faire l'amour? (Do you want to make love?),” and I very simply replied, “Non, merci, (No, thank you).” We made out for another five minutes or so, at which point I excused myself to find my friends. I didn't look back.

Strategy: Explain that you only make out unless you're in a serious relationship. Great for making out after a date or any other private encounter.

I went out with this great guy last week. We had an awesome first date, with very engaging conversation, and just enough flirting to keep things interesting. I kissed him good-night, and we parted ways. Well. After some flirtatious texting, I invited him back to my apartment. In that text, I also added, “Also, not to be blunt & kill the flirting, but I'm not going to sleep with you. So... yeah. Just FYI.” He was really cool about it. He came over, we started making out, things heated up, and I finally had to stop. I was like, “I don't want to stop, but if we don't stop making out now, I won't be able to stop myself, and I'll regret it later. I might kiss on the first date, but anything beyond making out is reserved for serious relationships only.” Again, he was totally cool about it.

Strategy: When everyone's sharing their best sex stories, share your wildest and/or hottest make out story. OR tell your funniest story about someone who tried to sleep with you.

This happens to me a lot. Everyone's sharing sex stories, like getting blackout drunk and waking up with a stranger, or having sex in a random location (hospital bed, parents' bedroom, bathroom at a club—I've heard it all), or enjoying the most mind-blowing sex ever. When my turn comes around, I smile and look sideways, away from the group, giving off a slightly bashful, slightly guilty expression. I then proceed to tell them about one of my wildest nights in Paris.

“Well, this one time in Paris... I was out with my two best friends, and we got really drunk. After pregaming, and then splitting a couple of bottles of wine at a bar, we went to this club. Katy Perry came on the radio, I mentioned I'd never made out with a girl before, and Jane* was like, 'That's changing tonight!' So then Jane, Ali*, and I all took tequila shots... erm, they might have been body shots... Jane and I made out, then Ali and I made out, then they both made out. At some point we did another round of body shots, and we all made out again. Then Ali and I both made out with the same guy too. There's more, but God, it was just, really crazy. I usually don't talk about the rest of the night.”

The rest of the night was us just making a stupid decision and getting in a car with guys we didn't know. Everything worked out fine, but it was really stupid and dangerous. However, with the trailing off, people can assume what they want, but you're not technically lying. Also, if you have any girl-on-girl stories, everyone loves those. In my experience, it's almost always on par with the sex stories.

Strategy: Clam up. When pressed to say more, just say “I prefer to keep my private life private.”

I've never actually done this because I'm pretty open about everyone I've kissed. But this might work for you.

Strategy: Fall back on religion. Regardless of whether or not your virginity is inspired by religious reasons, if you need to give an explanation that most people understand, religion works.

I was making out with this guy at a party in France. He tried to lead me upstairs, and I darted off from him. (Note: I was extremely drunk). When we were making out again later in the evening, I said to him, “Je suis vierge. Je suis un ange. J'attends le mariage. C'est un cadeau pour mon mari. Je suis très religieuse.” (I'm a virgin. I'm an angel. I'm waiting for marriage. It's a gift for my husband. I'm very religious). I couldn't figure out how to explain all my reasons (for another post, another day) in French, so I fell back on religion. That, at least, he understood.

Strategy: Be honest. Be yourself. If your friends are really your friends, they won't care.

At the end of the day, this is what I do. In fact, it was a conversation with my new group of friends this summer that inspired this blog. We were all sharing our sex stats, and finally, it was my turn. My roommate already knew, but the rest of our friends didn't. When it got to my turn, I opened by saying, “I usually don't talk about this right away. I prefer to let people know more about who I am before I say anything because otherwise they get the wrong idea. The truth is... I'm one of the last virgins standing, by choice, not by circumstance. Etc. Etc.” Obviously, my friends were awesome about it, and even said that it was cool, that they respected my choice. I wouldn't be friends with them if they were so close-minded and thought otherwise. 

*Not their real names.