Virginity
Today I was starving and thinking about lunch, and a strange feeling came over me. I started thinking about how I wish I had my virginity back. It was so long ago that I lost it, and I don't really remember what my life was like then. I don't know if it was different, but I don't know if it was the same, either. It seems that sex becomes such a part of who you are; it's both weakness and strength, tenderness and hardness, fear and hope, understanding and misunderstanding.
Someone said a man won't use double entendre and sexual innuendo around an unnattractive woman. Perhaps. But what about those who have no real sexuality in the first place?
Virginity is such a strange thing. I really wish I had it back. I had no idea how valuable it was. I think it's only now that I'm realizing how much of a prize it really was. It's really the only thing you're born with that people want to take from you. And once it's gone, there's no going back.
It's something that keeps you innocent and pure.
It keeps you naive and gullible too.
But I kind of wish I were more like that. I don't like being bitchy and skeptical when it comes to sex. I want to believe that it's beautiful. In a way I do believe. But it's also dangerous and ugly. I want to go back to the time when I didn't feel like I had to battle with men. When I didn't have to protect myself. When I felt like we were all pretty much the same. Back to a time when men and women got along, and so did women and women. But, as most people, the value of virginity was unknown to me, and all I wanted to do was get rid of it and be like everybody else.
Be hip and cool.
How deluded I was.
I would never be cool, no matter what price I paid for it.
And now I'm moping around campus, lamenting the loss of something I could truly appreciate now that I'm older. Wishing I had this one commodity, this one thing that everyone wants, but can only take from other people. But I gave up, gave in, gave out.
And now I'm just like everybody else.
But not quite.
About a month and a half ago, I went on a bra boycott, and haven't worn one since then. I've noticed an interesting thing since then. Men no longer stare at my chest. Women do. It's like they're staring and wondering where the plump, round breasts are. I look freakish to them. Or slutty. Or something. It's weird to have women staring at your chest as you pass them on the sidewalk. No, I don't have full, round lumps under my shirt naturally. They end up sitting there like tangerines; not quite round, not pushed to the upper-middle part of my breastbone, and not smooth like a cue ball. I'm actually happier, because it's much more comfortable, and one less thing to worry about every day. But it feels like I'm out of the club, like women won't fully accept me if I don't subscribe to the same mode of constraint they do.
I notice more when it's cold outside.
Someone said a man won't use double entendre and sexual innuendo around an unnattractive woman. Perhaps. But what about those who have no real sexuality in the first place?
Virginity is such a strange thing. I really wish I had it back. I had no idea how valuable it was. I think it's only now that I'm realizing how much of a prize it really was. It's really the only thing you're born with that people want to take from you. And once it's gone, there's no going back.
It's something that keeps you innocent and pure.
It keeps you naive and gullible too.
But I kind of wish I were more like that. I don't like being bitchy and skeptical when it comes to sex. I want to believe that it's beautiful. In a way I do believe. But it's also dangerous and ugly. I want to go back to the time when I didn't feel like I had to battle with men. When I didn't have to protect myself. When I felt like we were all pretty much the same. Back to a time when men and women got along, and so did women and women. But, as most people, the value of virginity was unknown to me, and all I wanted to do was get rid of it and be like everybody else.
Be hip and cool.
How deluded I was.
I would never be cool, no matter what price I paid for it.
And now I'm moping around campus, lamenting the loss of something I could truly appreciate now that I'm older. Wishing I had this one commodity, this one thing that everyone wants, but can only take from other people. But I gave up, gave in, gave out.
And now I'm just like everybody else.
But not quite.
About a month and a half ago, I went on a bra boycott, and haven't worn one since then. I've noticed an interesting thing since then. Men no longer stare at my chest. Women do. It's like they're staring and wondering where the plump, round breasts are. I look freakish to them. Or slutty. Or something. It's weird to have women staring at your chest as you pass them on the sidewalk. No, I don't have full, round lumps under my shirt naturally. They end up sitting there like tangerines; not quite round, not pushed to the upper-middle part of my breastbone, and not smooth like a cue ball. I'm actually happier, because it's much more comfortable, and one less thing to worry about every day. But it feels like I'm out of the club, like women won't fully accept me if I don't subscribe to the same mode of constraint they do.
I notice more when it's cold outside.
posted by Ocean | 1:18 AM
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