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I’m a 22-year-old college senior, and I have never kissed anyone. It’s not for lack of attraction or for any kind of religious reasons. It just never happened.
Procrastinating my search for employment yet still desiring a source of income, I filled out a Google Forms survey the other day to determine my eligibility to participate in a paid research study. The questionnaire asked whether I had ever fainted before.
I’m still a virgin,” someone told me. “We haven’t had penis-in-vagina sex yet.”
For me, the process of coming to terms with my sexuality was long and unpleasant. I was isolated during eighth and ninth grade, so when I finally came out as a high school sophomore it felt like I had figured it all out. That was it. No more identity struggle.
I have been dating my girlfriend, Sydney, since Valentine’s Day in the eighth grade. Yesterday marks our seven-year anniversary. (There were two relatively short breakups mixed in there, but we don’t have to talk about those.) You’d think that asking a girl out on Valentine’s Day is corny, and you would probably be right, but eighth-grade me thought it was quite clever and that it would be an easy way to remember any anniversaries.
The friend zone. The proverbial Sunken Place in which people hate to be caught. For some, it could be the worst possible thing that could ever happen.