Comfortable With Conformity

Tonight I'm going with S's to his family's Christmas party. We both share a dislike for any family gathering, and this one is no exception. Of course, it's easier for me to feel at ease surrounded by his Argentine relatives speaking Spanish. For all I know, they're talking about S's gringa girlfriend. My family are loud New York Jews, a nightmare to any boyfriend. Thank god we don't do anything for Hanukkah.

I dance around the sex issue a lot when I talk about my relationship. Many of my friends, both on and off-line, are aware of my sexual problems. Ready? I'm a virgin. Every time I try to explain why, I get annoyed and disgusted with myself all over again. There is no moral reason why I remained a virgin into my mid-twenties. I don't fear pregnancy or disease-- there's no way I'm going to be irresponsible with something as permanent as getting pregnant, and I know for a fact S is disease-free. It's the mechanics of intercourse that have made me fear it, the actual penetration of something foreign into my body, especially such a sensitive opening like my vagina.

I've never been good at doing things I fear. I hate roller coasters because of the big drops. I hate the eye doctor because eye drops scare me. I won't go into haunted houses because I hate being scared. I won't see scary movies because of the same reason. I won't fly. There's no way in hell I'd ever do an "extreme" sport like bungee jumping or sky-diving. I sound boring as hell, don't I?

It's a long story but lack of sex is the root of all my problems: My fixiation on other people's lives. My unrequited crushes. My annoyances with S. Friends have been telling me for years that sex will solve a lot of my problems, and I always thought they were being silly. Now I know I need sex, and not just for pleasure, but for my own sanity.

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