The only flag I’m frightened of is a pirate flag. Red flags, nah, they ain’t bothering me. But a pirate flag? Now, I know what you’re thinking, reader. But don’t you live in North Yorkshire? Why yes, yes I do. How do you know that? Are you following me? Were you in that slow-moving car with blacked-out windows? Hmm. This is a good point. When I talk about ‘pirates’ I mean the proper kind. Not the terrorist kind, although I guess they were both terrorists. Why would you have a ‘proper’ pirate in North Yorkshire? Well, we are close to the sea but the days of proper pirates are over. Hence why I’m frightened. If I see a pirate flag nowadays I’m running a mile…
And that’s stupid, of course. Run a mile? Pirates, famously, have boats. You can’t run a mile on water. This is true. But I also can’t swim. So I plan to sink to the bottom of the ocean and run along the bottom. Of course, I don’t know how deep the North Sea is. But I imagine… not very? Hang on, Dogger Bank is 2,379 feet deep. Is that a lot?
Titter. Dogger.
I shouldn’t encourage pirates. The proper kind. With timber ships and masts. And men with peg legs and gay tendencies. And the parrots! Oh, I love parrots. My aunty doesn’t. I befriended a group of parrots once. Mum wanted me to. My refusal upset her. But I gave in. In the end. That pleased mum. I want a parrot. But I don’t want to be a pirate. Either kind. The fun kind or the not-so-fun kind. With shooters. I prefer cannons. That’s a fun way to die. Cannonball to the head. If there is a fun way to die.
What I don’t appreciate are ‘red flags’. No offence to China. But that flag kinda sucks. Not because of any inherent symbolism. I don’t want to cheese off our future overlords. But because of what it represents. Which I guess IS symbolism. Hmm. Forget this paragraph…
A virgin is someone who hasn’t had sex yet. In today’s vernacular, of course. And that’s a red flag. Which is strange, because a red flag is something that’s meant to frighten you. And I’m only frightened of the pirate flag. I find a red flag rather attractive. Now, is it my favourite flag? Oh, no. That’s the flag of the Northern Mariana Islands. But you wouldn’t be familiar with that. Whereas I’m hoping you are familiar with the colour ‘red’.
What we should fear are the sex-doers. That’s the problem. If you haven’t had sex, you’re an ugly, pathetic nothing who everyone should hate. When, in truth, I’m the Northern Mariana Islands flag. Rather lovely. But you don’t see that. You see fear, like a pirate flag. And my lack of sex isn’t anything like the pirates. Or even the concept of red. That’s what you should fear. But nope, you fear me, the virgin.
And I wonder why. I am no pirate, babe. I am no red flag, nuh-uh. Sniff. I don’t want to be a pirate anymore. I don’t want to endure virgin shaming anymore. I am the flag of the Marianas. I am the mwarmwar. Do you know what I mean? No, of course you don’t, why would you? Are you familiar with the flag of the Marianas? No? So shut up. Jeez.
I say being a virgin is nothing to feel ashamed of. So let’s reclaim our virginities. Which, sure, makes no sense as no one ever claimed them in the first place, but let’s ignore that for a mo…
The Great Virgin-Gin Dilem-Lem
Like pirates, virginity has been around for quite a while. But it once meant something a bit different. In the olden days, a virgin was someone independent. It wasn’t until much later that jocks changed its meaning. Ancient jocks. The kind of buff guys who threw javelins in the nude. God help you if you were also nude, measuring the distance of the shot-put. Good luck explaining that one to the missus.
“DEAR GOD, HONEY! HOW DID THAT GET UP THERE!”
Many societies believed that it was important to remain a virgin until marriage. It ensured the woman upheld the family honour. Passed from father to husband like a commodity. Let’s say whipped cream. But many women weren’t happy being ‘whipped cream’. Many women wanted to shake their own can of whipped cream and squirt… you know, let’s drop this analogy. I’m writing this at work, after all. Which you know.
BECAUSE YOU’RE FOLLOWING ME, AREN’T YOU! AREN’T YOU!
Virginity was all about ‘protecting’ the woman. From penis. Boo, penis! HISS! It will corrupt you! And your genitals! Virginity as a virtue stayed intact until the invention of birth control. Then women no longer feared others muzzling their whipped cream.
From that point forward, like a foam party, virginity was out the window. And whipped cream was everywhere. And I don’t get it. Who goes to a nightclub to endure a foaming? God, remember when you went to a nightclub to take ecstasy, listen to shit techno music and go home with a bunch of girls? What happened to us?
WOO! LET’S GO OUT AND GET COVERED IN FOAM!
Bah, pathetic. I’ll tell you what you should be afraid of. Pirates. They knew how to party. No foam, there. Although I guess that’s because it would be a slip hazard for those pirates on two peg legs…
Being a virgin today is as acceptable as winning the lottery and giving it to the poor. Oh sure, SOME of it, but ALL your winnings? Some of us have dreams, you know. I want to live in a lighthouse. Lighthouses are expensive. And so is the cost of moving it to land. I’m not living out at sea. I can’t swim, remember.
Although do not question my ability to run along the seafloor…
I Haven’t Kissed a Girl and I’m… Okay, I Guess?
It’s well-known I am a virgin. And it’s well-known virginity is a red flag. Even though, most of the time, we virgins are this way because we’re ugly. And we’ve never had the opportunity to do the do. I am 34 in a few weeks. And I was thinking about how I’ve still never had sex. And how much shame I feel for that. What is wrong with me, exactly?
For many people, having sex is a rite of passage. But I have not partaken in many rites of passage because I’ve been using the word ‘partaken’ since I was 13. Heck, I’m the guy who, in school, for a ‘create your own radio station’ project, produced a classical radio station. So I was not popular among the girls.
For kid me, there was no ‘doctors and nurses’ game. No childhood kisses. No grand proper kiss. No sex. Nuthin’. And I don’t know why it didn’t happen. I was a nice kid. It just… it didn’t happen. And, at almost 34, you know what? It never will.
And I could live with that if it didn’t bother me so much what other people think. Because for too many people, it’s a red flag. And I’m not a pirate, dagnabbit! But sexuality is a spectrum. And at one lonely, desolate end, is me. I am Denton railway station. Britain’s least used station with only 34 passengers last year. And most of those people are curious onlookers after something. Usually how to reconnect their internet…
I can’t help who I am. Or what I look like. Yet being a virgin is something to mock. To pour scorn upon. To laugh at. ‘Virgin’ is a dirty word. A problem with an easy fix. Yeah, sure. If you’re hot. But some of us are colder than a bear’s testicles after a winter of hibernation.
Believe me, I’ve checked.
In Britain, 95 per cent of all adults have had sex by 25. Only 2.2 per cent of men, and 1.1 per cent of women, are virgins after 30. There are days when you wonder why you’re in the five per cent club. Or, in my case, the 2.2 per cent club, but it’s not as catchy. You tell yourself, ‘It doesn’t happen for some people’. But then you read comments and you hear people use ‘virgin’ as a spear to attack people. And it’s… you lose all your confidence.
You feel like you’re nothing.
It is a swing. One minute you’re up, the next you’re down. Like Humpty Dumpty. Who, for some reason, is an egg. But I’m not an egg. In the same way that I’m not a pirate. I am shy. And I lack confidence. As each year passes, I lose more and more of my hair. I get tubbier. And my face is in such a state now I could pass for a zombie on The Walking Dead without makeup…
So how should I feel? Shame? Pride? Indifferent?
Have Sex, Dammit!
You might hate people like me. Complaining about something you find so easy to get. You’re almost certainly part of the crowd who wouldn’t date a virgin my age. And for so long, I’ve hated people like that. For God’s sake, give me a chance! That’s all I ask. It doesn’t feel fair. But it’s the way it is. All because society has created this construct that sex is everything. And those without are nothing.
But do I even WANT to have sex or is it societal pressure?
The truth is, I’m not too fussed. If it happens, wahoo, if it doesn’t, big whoop. I’m not having a one night stand. The idea of one sickens me. I want it to be with someone I love. I hope there is someone out there who is patient. And understanding. Who will teach me things and give me that opportunity. But if she isn’t then I can’t be mad about that because she doesn’t exist. It’s like being angry the TARDIS doesn’t exist. If this fictional woman is the TARDIS, of course. Which probably doesn’t exist. But if it does exist, then wonderful. Not that I’m implying I want to sleep with a time machine.
And if I did, I’d start with the DeLorean, then the time machine from The Time Machine, and then the TARDIS. I contemplated the phone booth but it’s see-through. Nobody wants to see that…
I guess my virginity bothers me only because I worry about what others think of me. I guess what I would say to those who use ‘virgin’ as a word to attack others, and who wouldn’t date a virgin my age, is this:
Why? What is wrong with me exactly? Why are you so scared of helping someone? Why are we a ‘waste’ of your precious time? Is that how cold and calculating you are? How inhuman are you? It’s not fine if someone doesn’t want to take on the responsibility of being a virgin’s first time. That’s not okay! Because no virgin expects anything from anyone.
All we want is a chance. There’s no ‘responsibility’ here. You don’t HAVE to do anything. You just need to be there for me. Sexual compatibility isn’t instant. It takes time. So what if I don’t know what I’m doing? There’s more to a relationship than sex. And you’re going to throw that away because of something so inconsequential as a shag? Wow. Talk about shallow, right?
Everyone deserves a shot in life. If you want the perfect man who will rock your world every night, then sure, it ain’t me. At least not at first. But let’s put it another way. Imagine the partner you’re with. Think about everything you love about them. Except sex. Everything else. You love them, don’t you? All the little things they do. Now ask yourself this:
Would you date a virgin older than, let’s say, 25? No. Of course you wouldn’t. Most people wouldn’t. But what if your current partner was a virgin when you met them? And they didn’t tell you? Not at first. Look at what you would have missed out on. That person is still the same person. Sex is irrelevant. It doesn’t change who you are before you had it.
Sex is meaningless. Do you want to be the kind of person who misses out on a great relationship? All because of something that would take you two minutes to teach a man, then go ahead. But don’t you think you have the right to judge me for it, attack me for it, or use it as a weapon to hurt people.
So what if I’m a virgin? Not dating me for that is like not dating someone for having a moustache. And you wouldn’t do that, would you?
Unless it was a Hitler moustache, then yeah, fine…
The Beautiful Virgin for All His Worth
The only flags we should fear are flags we know will harm us. The pirate flag, for example. But a red flag is just that. A colour and nothing more.
Most virgins are good people who have never had the opportunity. It’s not my fault I’m shy. Or ugly. It’s not my fault no girl has ever told me she likes me. It’s not my fault I can’t step foot in the places you find a partner, such as a nightclub, without having a panic attack. And it’s not my fault all the girls I’ve ever fancied weren’t interested. Believe me, I asked them. Jeez, when the first girl I ever liked found out, do you know what she said to me?
“I heard you like me. Well, don’t.”
THAT REALLY HAPPENED! I WAS ELEVEN!
I get why you think sex is important. I get the attraction of dating a man who is epic in the sheets. Who will give you more than you could imagine. But it feels so superficial to me. It feels like you are not giving me a chance. Yeah, I admit it. Our first kiss will suck. I’ll end up head-butting you. Our first oral encounter will be a sloppy disaster. Our first intercourse will end up with a sprained ankle. But with a little time and effort, all will be well.
I am the soufflé. I’m not cooked yet, or even in the oven. I’m a pile of ingredients resting on the kitchen table. Do you want to pick me up, assemble me and put me in the oven? I might not be the best soufflé you’ve ever had. But you won’t know unless you take a bite.
Social stigmas mean nothing.
It’s easy to say, “Screw what society thinks”, but there are days when being a virgin gets me down. And it’s society. Society has done this to me. I know in my heart it doesn’t bother me but the second I hear the word ‘virgin’ weaponised, I’m crushed. Yet you can never win by doing things that are ‘right’ in the eyes of others. If you live to make other people happy, you won’t be.
Sex is far from the be-all-and-end-all of happiness and even life itself. Building it up in our minds only makes coping with being a virgin all the more difficult. It’s best to be happy with the life you have and if sex happens, it happens. If not, who cares?
I’m not a bad person. I’m just unlucky. So next time you think of judging someone for being a virgin, remember this. The only flag you should fear is the pirate flag. Because not everyone can run a mile on water…
“It’s not true that I had nothing on. I had the radio on.”
– Marilyn Monroe (icon).
Peace Out :|:
Post DCLXVII: What’s your honest opinion of older virgins, reader?
The Indelible Life of Me 
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