Why am i still a virgin?
Her lips grazed mine, igniting a fire I could barely contain. Desire coursed through me—raw, unfiltered. She kissed her way down my body, leaving marks like footprints in the sand, a map of her fleeting journey. Her fingers toyed with my jeans, and for a moment, the world stopped. She unzipped them slowly, deliberately, her touch electric. And then… she stopped.
One last kiss, and she settled back on the sofa, leaving me stranded in a sea of unmet expectations. My chance to sin, as I saw it then, slipped through my fingers like smoke.
Rejection has a way of settling in the pit of your stomach, curling up and growing roots. It whispers that you aren’t enough. That night, I wondered: was I too small? Not straight enough? Too awkward? It’s hard to explain how that feeling clung to me, but it did. It lingered long after the moment passed, reshaping my sense of self in ways I didn’t fully understand. One girl’s hesitation became a seed of doubt I’d nurture for far too long.
They say rejection is an obstacle that can be turned into an advantage. “Pick up the pieces and run,” they tell us. But sometimes, the pieces feel sharp, and running only drives them deeper. Over time, I came to accept this gnawing sense of inadequacy, even though I knew better. Maybe she wanted something more… ordinary. Or maybe it was never about me at all.
Fast forward a few months, and I found myself in another moment of intimacy, this time with a beautiful woman who seemed genuinely pleased to be with me. We weren’t doing much—just making out, exploring each other in the way that preludes something more. By then, I had educated myself on the stages of arousal, read articles, and watched videos. I thought I was ready. But as the saying goes: in theory, there’s no difference between theory and practice. In practice, there is.
We were beside the church altar, of all places, under the gaze of a painted Christ and some lambs. The irony wasn’t lost on me. The horror those lambs must have felt. I tried to ease her into the experience, to be present and confident. But when the moment came—the dreaded moment—I froze. I didn’t trust myself to try cunnilingus, despite the tutorials I’d seen, so I defaulted to penetration. Yet I couldn’t follow through. The look on her face is something I’ll never forget. Even now, months later, it haunts me. Weak. That’s how I felt.
And so, the answer to why I’m still a virgin is simple: I’ve chosen to remain one. My fear of rejection and inadequacy has held me back, trapping me in a cycle of hesitation. It’s a hypocrisy I’ve struggled to reconcile. I preach action, yet I’ve refused to seize the pleasures the Creator has granted us. This isn’t to say we should indulge recklessly, but rather that fear should not rule us. I’ve let the ghost of rejection dictate my choices for too long.
Writing this has been cathartic. It’s not about seeing women as objects of pleasure—far from it. It’s about reclaiming my agency and choosing to embrace intimacy as a shared experience. Next time, I hope to write about triumph, not trepidation. Until then, I’ll keep learning, growing, and finding the courage to live without fear.
And who knows? Maybe the next time rejection knocks, I’ll invite it in for tea and biscuits. We’ll have a chat about all the times it’s embarrassed me, and then I’ll politely show it the door. Life’s too short to let rejection steal all the good cookies.