Now, I don’t personally get it, but if you decide you want to hold on to your virginity until marriage, go for it. Knock yourself out. But I really cannot get behind these folks who literally won’t even kiss anyone until marriage. If you’re not going to bone someone before you tie the knot, kissing them at least gives you a tiny sense of their erotic capabilities. That’s why I fear for this couple, shown in the preview for a new series on TLC called “The Virgin Diaries.” If their first kiss (ever!) is a sign of what’s to come — a big ol’ sloppy mess! — I hope they know a good dry cleaner and an even better lawyer. [Buzzfeed]
The Justin Bieber paternity lawsuit scandal was one of those things I didn’t actually care about, but I knew all the sordid details because I work at The Frisky. So I’ve had time to develop somewhat strong opinions on the Biebs and his allegedly roving peen. From the get-go, I felt convinced that the alleged baby mama Mariah Yeater, age 20, who dismissed the lawsuit last week, made the whole thing up. How did I come to this conclusion? First of all, she claimed her ex-boyfriend was the father of the baby just last year and call me crazy, but her former lover seems like the more plausible impregnator in this scenario. Second of all, Mariah claimed that Justin lost his virginity to her in a bathroom at L.A.’s Staples Center after a concert. Yes, he is a 17-year-old boy, a demographic generally devoid of any seduction tactics whatsoever. But even losing his V-card in a toilet stall seemed too … crass? … to be believable. Keep reading »
I’d never slept with a virgin. On our second date, Jim and I escaped from a hot and overcrowded bar and sat on a bench outside. Fueled by a few pints of Guinness and the urge to confess, Jim admitted to being a 30-year-old virgin. He’d never even had a girlfriend. After a long moment of silence, I asked him, trying to sound as non-intimidating as possible, why that was.
Jim didn’t have a concrete reason. He rattled off details about his life. He was Catholic, but didn’t go to church and definitely wasn’t saving himself. He went to an all-boys high school. He lived at home during college and grad school, though he owned an apartment now. He really didn’t know why. The desire was there; the opportunity just hadn’t presented itself. Keep reading »
When a friend introduced me to the author Kate Monro over email, explaining she’d just published a book filled with virginity loss stories, I knew that I would love it, sight unseen. The First Time: True Tales Of Virginity Lost And Found (Including My Own) totally delivered! Monro, who used to work for the band Blur and for Dazed and Confused magazine, began collecting stories on a blog called The Virginity Project. For her first book, Monro collated vignettes from Brits and Americans, from grandpas to high school girls, who all reminisced about their first time with fondness, earnestness and occasional heartbreak. It may have been a long time since any of us has been a virgin, but if the bare humanity on display in The First Time is any indication, we could do well to revisit it.
Kate Monro lives in the UK, so we had to conduct our interview over email — but I’d like to imagine we chatted over cups of Earl Grey and some Tim Tams while staring off into the London fog. Our Q&A, which was edited for length and clarity, begins after the jump. Keep reading »
was on “Good Morning America” this morning, promoting her memoir, Not Afraid Of Life
, and attempted to clarify that while Levi Johnston
“stole” her virginity
, it wasn’t date rape
. She said:
“[Stolen] is what it felt like. I’m not accusing Levi of date rape or rape at all but I am just looking back with my adult eyes that I have now, and just thinking ‘that was a foolish decision.’ I should have never been underage drinking, and I should have never gotten myself into a situation like that.”
Keep reading »
It started when I spotted an ex-boyfriend barreling toward us down the street. My pulse jolted, and I grabbed my current-boyfriend’s elbow and tugged him across the road, darting yellow taxis as we fled.
“Ugh,” I laughed, tossing a surreptitious glance over my shoulder. “I dated him years back.”
“Who?” Jared’s gaze followed mine, though his laugh did not.
“That guy back there. Forget it. He’s no one,” I said, and pressed the incident from my mind as quickly as it arose. After all, this was New York, and the streets were teeming with acquaintances with whom I no longer wanted to engage. Crossing the street was as sure a remedy as I knew to move on. But later that night, after we’d ordered burritos and made stilted small talk, Jared was mired in sourness, and eventually, after much prodding, he admitted the reason for his funk.
“I don’t like the fact that you’ve slept with other guys.” He said, pouting, reminding me of a five-year old stripped of his favorite toy car. Keep reading »