Showing posts with label virginity. Show all posts
Showing posts with label virginity. Show all posts
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Sunday, January 26, 2014
7:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
I really really wish what I was about to say was made up. Really, I do because I like Mormons. I was unsure what it would be like to live in the Mormon mecca, aka Salt Lake City, but since moving here I'm very pleasantly surprised and happy to report that it's not as weird as you may think.
Mind you, not as is not to say not at all. There's these funny little things like having to buy real beer (more than 3.2% alcohol) at a state liquor store, everyone is married with children even if they're significantly younger than me, and there's a rather schizophrenic personality to the citizens: you're either Mo-Mo and happy-go-lucky or you ain't and you're damn fucking proud of it.
I digress. Mormon soaking.
So here it is: because Mormons are against pre-marital sex, many of the "good" Mormons make it to their twenties as virgins. Heaven help them, they're hell bent on staying a virigin. But...we all know sex feels really really good. Add to it that it's forbidden and now you have a group of hormonally-saturated, unfulfilled virginal, twenty-something-year-olds going off to college, namely Brigham Young University.
See where this is going? How do you have sex without having sex?
You have "soaking," that is, you put your dick in her vagina but you don't move. Not even a single pump, rub, wiggle or jiggle. Nothing. You just lay there, soaking.
Like I said, I wish I was making this up.
I can't in good faith say I've ever experienced this phenomenon first hand because I'm A) not a BYU graduate and B) not fucking retarded. But, I have it from good sources (a few "Jack Mormons," also known as Mormons who were born and raised but no longer practicing, as well as an ex-communicated one).
There you have it folks. The solution to every religious believer's ultimate dilemna: how do you have sex without having sex. Mormon soaking.
Mind you, not as is not to say not at all. There's these funny little things like having to buy real beer (more than 3.2% alcohol) at a state liquor store, everyone is married with children even if they're significantly younger than me, and there's a rather schizophrenic personality to the citizens: you're either Mo-Mo and happy-go-lucky or you ain't and you're damn fucking proud of it.
I digress. Mormon soaking.
So here it is: because Mormons are against pre-marital sex, many of the "good" Mormons make it to their twenties as virgins. Heaven help them, they're hell bent on staying a virigin. But...we all know sex feels really really good. Add to it that it's forbidden and now you have a group of hormonally-saturated, unfulfilled virginal, twenty-something-year-olds going off to college, namely Brigham Young University.
See where this is going? How do you have sex without having sex?
You have "soaking," that is, you put your dick in her vagina but you don't move. Not even a single pump, rub, wiggle or jiggle. Nothing. You just lay there, soaking.
Like I said, I wish I was making this up.
I can't in good faith say I've ever experienced this phenomenon first hand because I'm A) not a BYU graduate and B) not fucking retarded. But, I have it from good sources (a few "Jack Mormons," also known as Mormons who were born and raised but no longer practicing, as well as an ex-communicated one).
There you have it folks. The solution to every religious believer's ultimate dilemna: how do you have sex without having sex. Mormon soaking.
Tuesday, January 21, 2014
11:00 AM by UnknownNo comments
I’ve been thinking a lot about exes lately.
And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.
Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?
One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.
We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”
“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”
Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.
“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”
“For her teacher,” he said.
“Yikes,” I said.
“Who is a lady,” he said.
“Oh, fuck.”
At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.
He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”
This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.
“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”
I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.
“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.
What little things we can do to comfort a friend.
Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.
I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.
But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.
And don’t tell me you haven’t. I’m not interested in that. Really, can’t we please, for just a moment, admit, all together, that it’s weird, so very weird, to have exes in the universe? I don’t want to pretend that I’ve moved on—which I have, in a sense. I’m not stopped, I’m not waiting, or weeping. I’m just thinking.
Isn’t it strange that there are people in the world that you used to lay next to every night (if you’re a cohabitating type of serial monogamist, at least), who now have these lives that don’t involve you? They have wives and girlfriends and fiancés and children, and you have new loves, and you live somewhere else, and why does that have to mean you can’t still call his mother? Why does that have to mean that you’re a stalker if you want to see a photo of his new family?
One reason I’ve been thinking is because I’ve been hearing a lot from an ex who was an item so long ago I hesitate to think of him as more than a very old friend. I was visiting home not long ago, and he randomly called. He didn’t even know I was in town, but he instantly started pushing to see me. I agreed to dinner at his intense insistence—he hinted at some sort of trauma. He promised he’d be pathetic, and offered to buy.
We got in the car, and I said, “So. What was all that? What’s up with you?”
“Right,” he said. “So, my wife left me.”
Of course she did. Although there was one point in my life that I’d considered him my backup plan, my safety, in case my life didn’t go the way it expected, I gave up that plan about four years ago when he told me he was having a baby. Since then, I’d been firmly in the camp that supported his relationship, and I’d even been charmed by his wife – and while we’re being honest, I’ll just put it out there. I’m prettier than his wife.
“Oh, buddy,” I said. “That sucks.”
“For her teacher,” he said.
“Yikes,” I said.
“Who is a lady,” he said.
“Oh, fuck.”
At dinner, he told me the whole sordid story. It’s pretty fucking tragic.
He knew our server, it was why he’d picked this particular restaurant. When the server walked away, my friend confessed, “he doesn’t know yet.”
This break had been sudden, and the whole thing had only gone down about three weeks prior. My friend described to me how he understood depression for the first time in his life.
“I wake up in the morning, and I can’t think of a reason to get out of bed. And even when I can, I just can’t think of how in the world I’m going to make myself do it.”
I hugged him, and got a little drunk with him, and said what little, weak things you can say to comfort a friend whose family has just been torn apart. Mostly I listened to him. And when our server asked what the wife and kid were up to, he got the bad news. When our bill arrived, I think it was $5.
“I’ve been getting a lot of free meals lately,” he confessed.
What little things we can do to comfort a friend.
Later, after I’d left town again, he texted me, saying he wished he’d been able to spend more time with me when I was in town.
“I have a lot of friends here, but none like you,” he said.
I’m not sure what he meant by that. In a literal sense, he doesn’t have any other friends who took his virginity. In another sense, he probably doesn’t have any other friends who have considered making a life with him. I’ve thought about what our kids would look like. I’ve considered whether I would take his last name.
But he probably didn’t mean any of those things.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
5:00 PM by UnknownNo comments
Hi, there.
No, we're not dead. Well, I'm not.
In fact, I'm a bit rage-y lately. That boy that turned me into the Southern Girlfriend? Let's just say things didn't work out and it was 100%, utterly, and completely of his doing. Oh, and remember the one I wrote an open letter to (who I've been calling Fuck You Guy)? He came back in the picture and is throwing my li'l heart for a loop. Anyway, there's a touch of background to why I'm about to share a story that sums up in a really mean thought. And yes, only a thought, because try as I might, I'm a good girl at heart.
Ahem.
A few years ago, I had recently broken up with my first real, long-term boyfriend. I had done the grieving (there wasn't a lot) and had gone on a few dates. I'd even spent some time out of town, but then returned to the big(ger) city. Upon my return, I met a guy at a party who was totally not my type, but I was so drunk I started holding his hand. Things just happen sometimes, right? Anyway, he was a gentleman and drove me home, making zero moves. I promptly forgot about him.
A few weeks later, I get a text from him. Turns out that a friend of a friend had given him my number, and he thought I was cute. I was flattered, and agreed to go out with him, even though I wasn't sure whether I wanted anything to happen. This one time turned into a few times, and I got to know him more. Turns out that he's what we non-churchgoers of the bible belt call a Super Christian. Along with weekly church services, little to no drinking or swearing, and general goodness, most Super Christians also believe in abstaining from sex until marriage. That's right - I was dating a guy who was a 34 year old virgin.
I didn't believe it at first. I mean, really? So I dropped some hint-y questions. He never said, "Yes, I'm a virgin," but he also never said that he wasn't, either. One night, things got hotter and heavier than usual, and he asked if I wanted to go to the bedroom. I was curious, so I went for it. The heavy petting continued, and he started to awkwardly undress me. All the while, my mind was racing - "Has he done this before? It's pretty awkward. What would Jesus do?" All I could muster was to ask, "I thought you were a good boy. Are you sure you want to do this?" And he jumped up, ran to his dresser, and grabbed a brand spanking new box of condoms. In response, he said, "Would a good boy have these?" In my mind, I thought, "Why, yes, yes a good boy would have a box of condoms that he bought roughly 6 hours ago," but my mouth played along and said, "No, I suppose not."
Anyway, things kept going, and if you've ever stolen someone's innocence, you can guess how bad it was. He placed himself very much in charge and was not open to any suggestions. My comfort and pleasure were not important, and there was only one goal in his little mind. It became more and more apparent that he was, indeed, a good boy. Once his mission was accomplished, I got dressed and left. We kept in touch, but just barely.
Here's the part that I love, though. To everyone else he's ever met, he's still a virgin. To his fiancée, he's a virgin that will be giving himself to her on their wedding night. To his friends, he's as pure as the driven snow. I have friends who are married to his best friends, so I know the truth of this to a very comfortable degree.
Knowing that he's harboring this sinful secret, I really, really, really want to tell someone. The ultimate fun would be showing up at his wedding and speaking up instead of holding my peace. But really, in the society of this little corner of the word, I'd ruin his life and end his marriage before it started. Instead, then, I'll bite my tongue and keep my dirty secret. My uncomfortable, zero fun, sinful little secret.
HAPPY DATING!
No, we're not dead. Well, I'm not.
In fact, I'm a bit rage-y lately. That boy that turned me into the Southern Girlfriend? Let's just say things didn't work out and it was 100%, utterly, and completely of his doing. Oh, and remember the one I wrote an open letter to (who I've been calling Fuck You Guy)? He came back in the picture and is throwing my li'l heart for a loop. Anyway, there's a touch of background to why I'm about to share a story that sums up in a really mean thought. And yes, only a thought, because try as I might, I'm a good girl at heart.
Ahem.
A few years ago, I had recently broken up with my first real, long-term boyfriend. I had done the grieving (there wasn't a lot) and had gone on a few dates. I'd even spent some time out of town, but then returned to the big(ger) city. Upon my return, I met a guy at a party who was totally not my type, but I was so drunk I started holding his hand. Things just happen sometimes, right? Anyway, he was a gentleman and drove me home, making zero moves. I promptly forgot about him.
A few weeks later, I get a text from him. Turns out that a friend of a friend had given him my number, and he thought I was cute. I was flattered, and agreed to go out with him, even though I wasn't sure whether I wanted anything to happen. This one time turned into a few times, and I got to know him more. Turns out that he's what we non-churchgoers of the bible belt call a Super Christian. Along with weekly church services, little to no drinking or swearing, and general goodness, most Super Christians also believe in abstaining from sex until marriage. That's right - I was dating a guy who was a 34 year old virgin.
I didn't believe it at first. I mean, really? So I dropped some hint-y questions. He never said, "Yes, I'm a virgin," but he also never said that he wasn't, either. One night, things got hotter and heavier than usual, and he asked if I wanted to go to the bedroom. I was curious, so I went for it. The heavy petting continued, and he started to awkwardly undress me. All the while, my mind was racing - "Has he done this before? It's pretty awkward. What would Jesus do?" All I could muster was to ask, "I thought you were a good boy. Are you sure you want to do this?" And he jumped up, ran to his dresser, and grabbed a brand spanking new box of condoms. In response, he said, "Would a good boy have these?" In my mind, I thought, "Why, yes, yes a good boy would have a box of condoms that he bought roughly 6 hours ago," but my mouth played along and said, "No, I suppose not."
Anyway, things kept going, and if you've ever stolen someone's innocence, you can guess how bad it was. He placed himself very much in charge and was not open to any suggestions. My comfort and pleasure were not important, and there was only one goal in his little mind. It became more and more apparent that he was, indeed, a good boy. Once his mission was accomplished, I got dressed and left. We kept in touch, but just barely.
Here's the part that I love, though. To everyone else he's ever met, he's still a virgin. To his fiancée, he's a virgin that will be giving himself to her on their wedding night. To his friends, he's as pure as the driven snow. I have friends who are married to his best friends, so I know the truth of this to a very comfortable degree.
Knowing that he's harboring this sinful secret, I really, really, really want to tell someone. The ultimate fun would be showing up at his wedding and speaking up instead of holding my peace. But really, in the society of this little corner of the word, I'd ruin his life and end his marriage before it started. Instead, then, I'll bite my tongue and keep my dirty secret. My uncomfortable, zero fun, sinful little secret.
HAPPY DATING!
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