Upon coming to university, one of the things that surprised me most of all was the number of my fellow students who were virgins. Even more surprising was the number of these who proudly owned up to that fact. I’m not sure how it was for anyone else, but at my school, even talking about virginity was a social taboo. At that time, there was a kind of shame attached to not having had sex. 

It was a shame difficult to escape, because, in our society, sex really is everywhere and the media makes damn sure we remember that. Not only does it promote sex itself, but it sensationalises virginity, making it seem rare, but not in the precious sense – instead, virginity is a rare disease which must be cured immediately. Have we ever seen a serious discussion of what virginity actually means to the individual on a television show? Having lived under the oppression of this supposed cultural norm, I began my life at Cambridge with no clear ideas about what virginity actually meant to me or what it would mean to lose it.

At Cambridge, I found that I could freely discuss the meaning of sex and the simultaneously anticipated and dreaded ‘first time’. Some whom I spoke to viewed the preservation of their virginity as a religious choice, while others spoke about it as a matter of finding the right partner. But what was my reasoning and did I even need one at all? Throughout sixth form, I listened to the elaborate lies about sexual activity concocted by my school friends. Was this what compelled me to justify my virginity? 

This DIY soul-searching between supervisions was given a further shot of adrenaline when the very real possibility of having sex actually cropped up. It was, most unhelpfully, accompanied by the neurosis that tends to make an appearance at every major milestone in my life. In the end, I couldn’t go through with it, the moment passed and I remained a virgin. If my life had been a TV show, I probably would have had sex just to rid myself of my virgin status.

Yet, now it feels different, perhaps as a result of having the opportunity to have sex and choosing not to. Somehow, I now feel more at peace with being a virgin and finding a reason for being one no longer seems so pressing. Being a virgin just happens to be part of who I am at this particular time in my life and, right now, I’m happier than I’ve ever been, so why would I want to change that? My time will come, but I’m going to continue living my life in the interim. Losing my virginity will inevitably split my life into a ‘before’ and ‘after’ and, in this moment, I’m perfectly happy living in the ‘before’.