Virginity Sucks

I met a man named Richard. He was a noted Christian minister, evangelist, author, teacher, prayer warrior—you know the type. He and his Mrs. had been married for about 23 years, no children, when he abruptly left her and married someone else. The someone else was in her mid-twenties and Richard was more than twice her age.

Stories like this are a nickel a dozen, you say? He had an itch, the cad, you say.? A woman stands by him more than two decades and this is how she is rewarded. The pig!

Keep reading.

When Richard took a powder from his first wife, there was no divorce. There was an annulment. Mrs Richard #1 was unable to argue with his assertion before the court that in 23 years of marriage, the union had never been consummated. Richard entered into matrimony in good faith, not realizing that she. had been taught from earliest childhood that sex is horrible, abhorrent, filthy, sinful, and to be avoided at all costs. Her parents, evidently, were so determined that their little princess be a virgin on her wedding night, that they overdid, and she was still a virgin 23 years afterward. And to this day, as far as I know.

What gets me is that this unfortunate man was faithful and patient for this huge span of time, and did without (or so he says). I suspect arguments took place regularly behind closed doors on the issue, but to the outside world, the couple was the epitome of Christian harmony. But she never upped the goodies. At last,he couldn’t stand it anymore.

The new Mrs. Richard was happy to give him children.

What else gets me is the tremendous power that parents have to f--- up their children’s lives. It happens all the time, that our individual pathologies are rooted in our upbringing. But Lord, have mercy! This was child abuse.

My own mother tried her best to convince me that having sex is tantamount to eating pig slop. It is dirty and humiliating, but must be tolerated if one is to have children. I guess I was supposed to be grateful for her sacrifice in bringing me into the world. I, however, am less stupid and more self-aware than some—plus I watch TV—and managed to overcome this conditioning with remarkably efficacious determination. I like sex a lot. A lot. A lot. It would be difficult, in fact, to overstate how much I like it. Or to stop talking about it at times.

My mother, in her defense, was her mother’s daughter. Gram was raised to believe that one does not discuss the topic in polite company—or in any company. When my mom was 14, she went to the bathroom at school and discovered blood, a lot of it, in her underwear. She nearly went to pieces with panic and fear until one of the looser, less ladylike, more jaded girls came in the bathroom and told her what’s up. My mom was angry with her mom, who felt terrible about he failure to warn her daughter, but to her, talking about menstruation was a sin.

My mom made sure I knew everything ahead of time.