It’s not fun to preserve yourself. It is a struggle. In this day in age when a free app, a few minutes, and some gasoline can get you some. A lot of some. Even if he doesn’t think you’re pretty and dives to turn the lights off, it would scratch the itch.

But not satisfyingly. The itch that such an encounter would placate could be scratched solo. It is the eternal itch, the one inside the inside of my soul, that’s the one that’s killing me.

I am twenty two. I have wanted sex for almost half of my life. I have not done it. Partially because of my upbringing, mostly these days because of my idealism and good moral fibre. The kind that seems to be lacking in my generation. And others, I’m sure, but more obviously now. I’m holding out for my man, and praying to God that he exists and we find each other before I go insane(r). MY BODY IS READY, but not at all really.

I have a problem with people who don’t not do sex willy nilly. They are screwing (figuratively) shiz up. They are taking something that should be the pinnacle of true and life-long-lasting love, and squandering it on the last barista that gave them a free drink. It’s stupid and they are stupid and it should not be allowed. And they shouldn’t be allowed to be happy about it. Casual sex IS NOT OKAY. Why don’t people get that?

So, as I am reading an undeniably non-virginal girl’s writing, about all the boys/men she’s “loved” and all the “history” she’s had, and all the “poetic ramblings” she produces from her past, I feel sorry for her through the jealousy. Because, although I automatically want the shiz she’s been fortunate to have because I am biologically inclined to want to do sex, I immediately reneg on that snap decision. If I had it, I would feel cheap. I think she probably does. Hence, pity. But she also lies to herself and puts a red feather in her cap and calls it “cultured” and “real” and that just makes me want to slap her across the face. I won’t though. Airfare.

And I am left to deal with this lingering sense of superiority that all of tumblr and new “progressive” teenagers would prude-shame me for having. LE SORRY, I am not slut-shaming, because their own psyches can and will and should do that for them. I am not trying to be mean-spirited or I would talk about her to real humans behind her back and call her many more impolite names. But I don’t, I put it on here where no one can hear me. I am slightly trying to minimize the negativity.

Anyway, I am a virgin and I do not want to be. But I have the patience to wait on forever love, twoo wuv, not the feeling the world says is it. Because it’s not. Love is not a feeling, it is an amorphous blob of thing that cannot be adequately described in human tongue. The feeling is merely a single symptom of a much greater beast.


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