When I decided to visit one of my best friends from college in her new city of Austin, Texas, I was 26, single, and crashing with my parents in suburban New Jersey. It had been more than a year since I’d so much as shared a bed with a guy, even for one night. I was experiencing more than a sexual dry-spell; it was a full-fledged draught. I hoped the long weekend away would include, at the very least, an innocent make out session. For my own sanity, I needed to break the streak.
I’d long struggled with the concept of desiring sex. Having been through 12 years of Catholic school, (16 if you count college), I’d grew up with crucifixes in the classroom and religion courses, which taught me pre-marital sex was a sin. But by the time I was a high school sophomore, as cliché as it sounds, everyone was doing it. My pack of girlfriends and I were in serious relationships, our boyfriends wanted to have sex, and we were just as curious. I tried to imagine a half dozen well-mannered girls being turned away at the pearly gates for having slept with our first loves. It just didn’t make sense to me. So I lost my virginity just shy of my 16th birthday to my first love. Keep reading »