The social importance of virginity has long been a subject of some confusion for me. It remains the only term in our everyday language to describe a person who has not yet performed an act; there is no term for someone who has never drunk alcohol, no term for one who has never smoked a cigarette. Sex is so socially important, that the concept of one who has not partaken of it is met with surprise, intrigue and sometimes scorn or pity.
In history, a "virtuous" or chaste woman was considered to be a higher ranking citizen than a ruined woman or someone who had committed the sin of having (and presumably enjoying) sex outside of marriage. But even then, the concept of an "old maid" was met with pity and marginal disgust, as it suggested that the woman was so undesirable, no man wanted to touch her (we now know, of course, that just because you aren't fucking men, doesn't mean you aren't fucking).
These days, the pressure is on both men and women to have sex as soon as possible. Here in the UK, our sex education is woefully lacking and everything we learn about sex comes from our alcohol-ridden peers - then we wonder why he have the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe.
If, like me, you are well into adulthood and still a virgin, you may live in fear that you will be "found out" and will receive implicit criticism for your lack of achievement; perhaps you have not been trying hard enough. Perhaps you are waiting for the right man or woman for you, or else you are struggling to come to terms with latent homosexuality. I find this all very patronising. I am not an undesirable young male and I am not so socially inept that I cannot communicate with people who I find attractive, if I so wish. I have had my fair share of advances from both men and women who were interesting, regular, attractive people who I would have been quite able to bed - and yet, I have not done so. It was not an idea that took up space in my mind when I met them. I am befuddled as to why other people find it so inconceivable that this is the genuine feeling of a healthy, functioning individual.
Much as I understand that, for the majority, sex is an instinct that bears its own rewards, the idea that one should enjoy it is bizarre. It is almost as if I am expected to force myself for the sake of "experience", like bungee jumping or white water rafting. The difference is that, in those two examples, it is only a minority of people that think I should "try it at least once", rather than the whole damn public. I see no reason to do what makes me feel uncomfortable even to contemplate, let alone to attempt. I am told I am missing out on something fantastic, but oddly enough, I am more than happy to take other people's word on that. I am sure that good sex is great for people who like sex and have probably always liked the idea of sex... But am I genuinely expected to believe that those who have encountered lacklustre, meaningless teenage or drunken fumbling are in some way more fortunate than me?
I hear all about other people's escapades and I am bombarded from all sides with questions and comments about sex from those who appear to be interested in me. I find it vaguely off-putting, as one finds any person obsessed with a subject that doesn't interest them off-putting. Actually, I will happily discuss sex. I am fascinated with it sociologically, psychologically and indeed physiologically for its complexity and variation, though I do not wish to partake of it. I consider its perceived importance a fascinating inter-cultural phenomenon. What other physically enjoyable activity forms the basis of so many subcultures? We have support groups for gay people and tons of forums dedicated to discussing sexual technique, preferences and kinky asides. Such groups do not exist for, say, sleeping and exist to a lesser extent for eating - subgroups such as vegetarianism are largely ethical as opposed to relating to identity and do not carry the same social stigma.
I have heard from other asexuals humorous comparisons illustrating the arbitrary and faintly ridiculous nature of our views on sex. A popular comedic writer and internet personality known as Ben "Yahtzee" Croshaw wrote on the subject in his personal blog. He avoided referring to himself as "asexual" for fear of sounding pretentious (such is the current perception), but proceeded to describe how he thought of sex like "spam". Here is what he says:
"It's like I've eaten spam a few times from a few popular brands and in a few serving suggestions, and found I'm not really keen on spam, 'cos it's salty and slimy and looks like something you might find in the alien queen's litter box. But I've found myself in a world that's completely obsessed with spam. People spend their entire lives in pursuit of spam. Every single advert on TV sells their product by placing it alongside spam. Movies have to work in at least one spam scene to reach the broadest audience. People break up and get divorced because they don't exchange enough spam. Soldiers are given time out to go have some spam. Low-risk prisoners are given spam visiting rights. People die for spam. Entire economies have been based around spam. Selling spam is the world's oldest profession. The lack of spam has been linked to mental disorders. The only thing getting teenagers through difficult puberty is the thought of one day getting to have spam of their very own."
For me, this accurately describes how I feel about the world we live in. To develop Yatzee's mention of media depictions of "spam", I find it excrutiating to watch any films or programs that deal with the issue of virginity. They will invariably depict the virgin as some unfortunate sap who has somehow missed a vital window of life and needs to be saved. The Forty Year Old Virgin for me is a classic example of 21st century perception on the subject and is neither original nor witty enough to be considered satire. It is a dull, predictable and wearing depiction of a man who was oh-so-very hopeless; somehow managing to reach middle age without having lost his cherry (a vastly more impressive achievement than the alternative). To my mind, a happy ending to that film would have been if his immature and tedious friends stopped overreacting, backed off and let the man live his life. Instead, what happens? Of course, he succeeds in the great act of getting laid. I'm so glad he didn't, say, write a best-selling novel or start his own business from scratch instead. Oh, of course... That wouldn't be funny.
Not to say that one cannot be successful and sexual - I am an advocate for sexual freedom and I believe it should be no more stigmatised than any other act of leisure or socialisation. But sexual freedom encompasses the ability to embrace a lack of sexuality and I see no reason to assume that such a thing indicates anything more or less than exactly what it is - a lack of sexuality. I think it high time we started on the path of trying to refute the notion that everyone in life craves nothing more than oneness and monogamous physical intimacy with another; I like to think that the success of your life is not defined by how often you can get your end away. As it is, most countries give precedence to people in pairs - the financial sector and the legal system favour marriage over singleness. Social practice follows in the footsteps of the law, so you will find that, wherever twos are given more perks than ones by their economy and legal system, there will be social stigma against those who do not have any inclination to become a two, even for one night.
And why all the sympathy? Ought I really to feel sorry for myself because I do not particularly lust after women on the street? Should I feel sorry that I can go about my ordinary life, not really caring whether or not my next fuck is around the corner? These encounters are so short lived and more often than not, they will not be remembered. They are more functional than emotional - you are quenching a thirst. If you do not have the thirst in the first place, you do not have the inconvenience of attempting to satisfy it. Those men and women who complain because they have not had sex in three weeks... I have sympathy for them. I would never like to find myself in a position of such dependency.
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