5 Things to Think About Before Having Sex

I hope no one took my post last week seriously. I forgot to use my favorite sarcasm font when writing it.

I obviously have a huge problem with abstinence-only education. I’m totally okay with parents or churches teaching teenagers their values about sex within the confines of marriage, but I don’t think a public school’s responsibility is religious, moral education.

That said, I’ve always supported sex (and abstinence) as a personal choice. Whether you’re thinking about having sex for the first time or the 100^th time, reflect on these five factors.

Birth Control

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If you’re thinking about having sex, especially for the first time, I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re not currently ready to be a parent. Have you educated yourself on the different forms of contraception? Their pros and cons? Here in the United States, the only reasonably inexpensive and fairly reliable form of contraception is condoms. The Pill and other hormonal forms of contraception can be both cost-prohibitive* and age-prohibitive. Have you and your partner discussed your preferred method of birth control? Do you trust your partner to use contraception correctly? This is a legitimate concern to have before having intercourse for the first time, or with a new partner for the first time.

Please Stop Asking Me About My Sex Life

I’ve been a virgin my whole life, for well over 25 years. I’ve been blogging about virginity for about two and a half years now. I like to accessorize with a scarlet V on my chest, and sometimes I accidentally pull my V-card out of my wallet when I’m reaching for my credit card.

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So, like, you’d think I’d be totally suave and sophisticated, or at least straightforward and sensible, when discussing S-E-X with actual people, in real life.*

Nuh-uh.

Not even close.

If I don’t blush and stammer, then I go off on some academic, feminist diatribe. Anything to avoid talking about my own sex life.

Yet, I can’t always avoid the conversation. Even with my family.

Especially with my family.

When my boyfriend and I first started dating, my mom and I had a lovely little chat.

Mom: So where are you and Beau staying during the weekend?

Me: I booked us a hotel downtown, within walking distance of the church.

Mom: Just one room?!

Me: I can’t exactly afford two rooms, Mom, and I’m not going to ask him to pay for the hotel for my sorority sister’s wedding.

Mom: Oh, goodness me. Well, you know, just be sure to only pack nice underwear, in case he goes through your bag or something. I mean, I don’t know why he’d be in your suitcase, but you wouldn’t want him to come across one of those older pairs you have or something.

Me: Um, okay, Mom. So, on a completely unrelated note, if I call in a refill of my birth control at our local pharmacy, could you pick it up and mail it to me?

Mom: *crickets*

Me: Mom, I’m only going to say this once, and then I never want to discuss it again. Beau and I are both saving sex for marriage.

It came up with Beau, his brother, and his brother’s wife when we were debating the “religious freedom” of the coverage of birth control.

Me: I’m lucky that mine only costs $10 a month, but that’s with insurance. Not all formulas are the same, and without insurance, it can be really expensive.

Beau’s Brother: *raises his eyebrows and looks at Beau*

Beau: *undertone* She takes it for medical reasons.

Me: *blushes*

Oh, hey, my aunt brought it up at Christmas last year!

Aunt: *undertone* So are you two doing it?

Me: *undertone* Aunt!!!!!!!!!!!!! No! *blushes*

Everyone Else: *looks at us*

What can I say? I really don’t want to tell my family my boyfriend and I aren’t having sex. But I also don’t want lectures on how we shouldn’t be having sex until we’re married. Which we’re not.

Basically I’m screwed—well, not screwed—either way.

*Exceptions to my awkwardness would be with select besties, who are great for sexy chats.

Sunday Shoutouts: Week Six

Apparently December is my month for blogging! I created my first-ever editorial calendar, not that it's complete and not that I will necessarily be good about following it. Today will be my sixth day of blogging in eight days! Craziness!

Best on Modesty: My stance on modesty culture has been fairly well-documented, but I always appreciate other voices and perspectives. My friend Carolynn shared her post with me on why she chooses to dress modestly.

Best on Purity: My friend Sarah has once again written a brilliant rebuttal to the arguments of purity culture. In "The Magical Marriage Switch," Sarah points out the lack of logic in insisting girls save sex for marriage and then be sexually available to their husbands all the time. 

Best on Birth Control: I love the large Catholics who agree with me. Keep religion out of our healthcare! The growing number of Catholic hospitals in this country is frankly alarming.

If you're on Tumblr or Pinterest, I've recently joined both! I'd love some new followers!

Five Myths About Women Who Love Sex: A Guest Post

Y'all, I become so excited whenever someone offers to write a guest post for me! Melissa Messer contacted me ages ago, but preoccupied me didn't get around to accepting her offer until just last week.

Melissa is a freelance contributor to The Dating Website who is dangerously close to being a college graduate. Her native habitat includes an ample coffee supply, a collection of scarves, and headphones pumping an endless supply of music into her ears.
 

Melissa is writing from the nonvirgin perspective on life, and I'm thrilled she chose to share her viewpoint!

Now, I can’t for a second say that this was an easy post to write. Ladies who openly love sex are still somewhat of an anomaly in today’s world, and God forbid you live in a country where simply having sex outside of marriage is grounds for murder. In more progressive places, life is easier for women, but female promiscuity still tends to bring out nasty streaks in people's personalities. Even while writing this, I am somewhat fearful of the comments I may receive. I’ll admit though, that I’m no longer ashamed of the truth: there are women in this world who love sex. Not because of anything associated with it, not the power or the attention, but just because of the fact that sex can be one of the most amazing things you’ll ever experience. How you choose to go about it should be entirely up to each woman in the world (and man, for that matter!). I’m sick to death of the stigma and hushed tones that our mothers and grandmothers were forced to associate with sex. My own mother, bless her heart, still regards the whole topic as one she “doesn’t want to talk about.”

So, as Belle has been kind enough to allow me to share my opinion on women who love sex with you lovely readers of Confessions of a Virgin, I declare that I’ve had enough. Let’s talk about this out in the open like adults. Let’s dispel some of the myths associated with women who unabashedly love sex.

Slutwalks UK

1. A woman who loves sex is a slut.

Society has trouble exactly defining what a “slut” is, but what I seem to be able to gather from the babble are several definitions. One is that a slut is someone who equates sex with power. Sluts, then, don’t seem to be actually interested in sex. They just want the power that they gain from it. Slut also seems to be a girl who has sex to make up for her insecurities by using sex to either gain or keep the interest of men. Again, these women don’t necessarily love sex—they just want the attention and power that it brings them.

However, I’d go so far as to say that since the world can’t seem to tell me what a “slut” actually is, sluts don’t actually exist except as a term to attempt to demean women. It’s the equivalent of calling someone a “cotton-headed ninnymuggins.” It’s nonsense. Calling someone a slut says way more about the one doing the calling than it does the perceived slut, and I vote we get rid of this silliness once and for all.

Why I'm a Feminist (Part Three): Gender Inequality Makes Me Angry

Assholes like to belittle women’s rights activists, dismissing us as “angry feminists.” Normally I bristle against stereotypes of any kind, but especially ones that try to limit who I am as a person. Just like being a virgin doesn't make me frigid or judgmental, being a feminist doesn't make me a bitch or a man-hater.

But the assholes have one thing right. 

I am angry.

I’m angry that the War on Women isn't just a political catchphrase. Republican legislators across the country, at the federal and state level, have introduced, and often passed, legislation 

• to force women seeking an abortion to undergo unnecessary procedures, or 
• to force women to carry even stillborn children to term after 20 weeks, or 
• to legalize the murder of abortion providers, or 
• to redefine rape, or 
• to force doctors to lie to patients, or 
• to restrict access to birth control while criminalizing all abortion.

I’m angry that Bill Clinton is still the Democrat’s Golden Boy. I don’t care that he cheated on his wife—that is his personal business. But how many women have accused him of sexual harassment, like Paula Jones? Of sexual assault, like Kathleen Willey? Of rape, like Juanita Broaddrick? Accusations date back to BEFORE he was even governor. So all you rape apologists who want to doubt his victims’ credibility can just stop. I thought the Democratic Party supported women’s rights…

I'm angry that my twin brother called me a slut and a whore for years, in front of all our mutual friends, and not a single one of  them stood up for me. I had committed the unforgivable crime of developing breasts, and I had to be shamed for it.

I’m angry at the number of times I had to ask to choose a famous person not on the proposed list for essays, papers, and projects. Why? I wanted to write about famous women.

I’m angry that I earned a reputation in my non-WGS history classes as the feminist. Why? I was the only one who consistently questioned gender bias, who asked about the women. In today’s day and age, what kind of history students ignore the history of half the world’s population?

I’m angry that my home church won’t allow women to serve in ordained positions. Women are allowed to be deacons, but not elders or ministers. My father is an elder, and I know he does his best to represent my mother and me, along with my brothers. I remember how proud I was when I found out he had been nominated. I cried when he told me he almost didn't accept it. He had to pray about it and talk to my mother because he wondered if it was wrong to accept a leadership role denied to my mother.

I’m angry that women are held up to an impossible standard of beauty. Be skinny, but not too skinny. Be curvy, but not too curvy. Be really pale or really tan, but not in-between. Always wear make-up in public, but never look like you’re wearing make-up. Wear the latest styles, but only wear styles that flatter your figure. Wear the latest colors, but only wear colors that flatter your skin tone. 

I'm angry that a sexual double standard still exists. My blood boiled when I first heard the comparison of men and women to keys and locks. 

I'm angry that most movies and TV shows fail the Bechdel Test.

I'm angry that so many of the twitter accounts I follow do stupid trending topics like #MyPerfectHusbandIs and #HowToMakeAWomanHappy, both of which just reek with outdated gender stereotypes.

I'm angry that I can't tell anyone from home that I'm bisexual. I'm angry that my sexuality is dismissed as greedy, or experimental, or denial. I'm angry that I have to lie to my family, to all my friends from high school, to most of my friends from college, to everyone at church. I'm angry that I can't marry a woman in my home state.

So go ahead.

Call me an angry feminist.

You are 100 fucking percent correct.

A Virgin's Visit to Planned Parenthood

Before I left New York, I had one last very important thing to do: make an appointment at Planned Parenthood for a pap smear, a pelvic exam, and, most importantly, a prescription for birth control.

I've mentioned this need for the Pill before, way back in September. But changing pharmacies and states meant I couldn't transfer my prescription, so I had one blissful month on the Pill, with minimal cramps, before I returned to my normal debilitating pain. To get a new prescription required seeing a doctor, but I hate going to the doctor, and I was scared about facing my first gynecological exam. I kept putting it off, hoping my cramps would lessen each month, but they never did. So finally, the week before I moved to Toronto, I called Planned Parenthood and scheduled an appointment.

I have health insurance, but my network only includes doctors in my home state, except in the case of emergencies. Luckily for me, Planned Parenthood charges the uninsured based on our income. Unluckily for me, I still paid about half of what I earn in a week (well, half of what I earned before I received my raise for moving to Toronto).

I wasn't exactly sure what to expect. Protesters waving brochures in my face, calling me a murderess, throwing pig's blood on my car? I've seen video footage and read firsthand accounts of how far extremists have gone outside clinics.

Open for Business

Confession.

I started taking birth control last week. And, of course, my nine-year-old discovered it yesterday when he came with me to my room to grab my new Glee CDs.

Sam*: (picks up my birth control) What's this medicine for?

Me: (trying not to panic visibly) Uhhh, it's something I have to take every day.

Sam: (puts it down without reading the label) Why do you have to take it every day?

Me: (looks wildly around) I take a lot of medicine every day. I take this, this, and this every day too. (points to Pentasa, calcium supplements, and Omega-3 capsules) This when I have a cold, and this when I have a headache. (points to Dayquil, Nyquil, and Tylenol)

Sam: Wow, you take a lot of medicine! How come?

Me: (relaxes) I have Crohn's Disease. I have to take medicine not to be sick.

This is why I shouldn't let my kids in my room. That, and the fact that I insist they keep their rooms clean while I have a pile of laundry in my desk chair, stacks of books on the floor, half-unpacked shopping bags on the floor, and seven pairs of shoes scattered about the room. Hypocritical much?

But, yeah, you're probably thinking that the real hypocrisy is the virgin on birth control. If I'm not planning on having sex, why do I need to be taking even more drugs?