The essays
Oh That Feeling
Walking up to the church I began to feel a tingle of anticipation, the kind of tingle you feel before something monumentus. I’ve had this sensation before: it was there the first day, just before I taught my first class, and again before I stepped on stage for the first time, it crept up on me again when I was finishing the last sentence of my first book. In all these cases the anticipatory feeling was followed by a sense of euphoria after the task had been accomplished. One expects to obtain such euphoria from certain things. I expected to see the world differently after I lost my virginity; yet again I tingled with feeling new and improved when coming out of the other end of the tunnel, as though I would look upon the world with eyes capable of seeing all the beauty that was hidden from me by the eyelids of virginity that had for so long kept me isolated from the wonderment of classical music or the merriment one receives from hearing birds sing in the early morning, or unfelt warmth of the sun’s rays. None of these things happened. The world had not become a greater place to live in and I didn’t feeling like a part of something greater. That is where that tingle is supposed to go, it is supposed to assure you that you have a place in the universe and you understand some small part of belonging to that vast infinite. So here I was, standing in a church, where so many other ex-virgins go looking for that sense of beautiful belonging when sex fails to comply in delivering it, starting to get that tingling feeling of anticipation. The line wasn’t too long but my sense that I might soon be euphoric began to climax as I gave the old lady at the table a tiny slip with my name and current address on it. It was my first time and I was a little awkward not really knowing what to do. Another lady matched me up and handed me the long list from which I was supposed to pick. This all has to be done in private (the picking), because people might ridicule you for having a mind of your own and not their mind. Everyone has their own taste but god forbid you share that taste at this crucial moment. And me? Well this was my first time and why should I tell you. And then it was over, like the all too quick ejaculation of a virgin on prom night, and I was walking out of the voting booth having participated in our democratic system for the first time and feeling… Nothing. I couldn’t understand it. Wasn’t I supposed to feel a part of something bigger here? Shouldn’t I feel pride in having done my civic duty. Shouldn’t I be bursting with patriotism at least until the guy I voted for loses the state? There was none of it, just like after sex, nothing had changed, there was no greener grass on the other side, I am starting to doubt that there is another side. Lessons that come from this? I’m not sure that there are any of those either. Perhaps only that voting for the first time is a lot like sex for the first time; a whole lot of anticipation with that tingly feeling driving you to believe that things will change when it’s over, and a whole lot of disappointment at the end.
What It’s About
This should not be about dairy. It should not be about churning, pasteurizing, or homogenizing. It should not be about buttering things up or making them sweeter so each individual can have their choice and still have the same thing. It should not be about categorizing and separating. It should not be about yogurt, frozen yogurt, or ice cream: cream cheese, whipped cream cheese, or whipped cream: whole milk, low fat milk, or skim milk. It should not have to be about hand jobs, blow jobs, or anal. It should not be about where lines are drawn, where boundaries are set, or where innocence stops. It should not have to be about what sex is. But it is.
In a world where more and more it is popular to be a virgin, but not practical, people, especially young people, especially young women, are defining and redefining what sex is. In one moment sex may be anything having to do with the sexual experience, perhaps even those things involving only one party. The next moment sex is only vaginal intercourse, and everything else is just foreplay. The change seems to begin during the late teen years when hormones begin to curdle and rise to the surface. During this time instinct forces its will like an over-zealous parent and there becomes a great, almost uncontrollable, urge to begin the reproduction process. But society rages back at these young people, telling them that their urges are unacceptable and, perhaps, evil. In the midst of this wrist-biting power struggle, modern culture raises its mighty bow, aims directly for the subcategory of young women and tells them that being able to proclaim innocence is so very important. Like a sharp shooter it launches its suggestion and creeps back into the darkness, biding its time, waiting to strike again. In this battle, young men are left to their own devices, receiving only minor lip-service, becoming a forgotten cause.
This all accumulates in a young lady’s mind, sending a vast array of signals which she must then make enough sense from to comprise them all into one plausible idea. Inevitably their conclusion is that sex is bad, not being a virgin is terrible, but anything that can be done while still being able to call yourself a virgin is not only acceptable, but should be readily sought in order to subdue the incredible urges rising in them. At this point, what may have been a very simple definition of sex becomes a hodge podge of foggy misnomers, leaving plenty of room for flexibility and recategorization.
As the young woman grows, her personal definition of what sex is may change and grow several times with her. And like turning milk into a million other dairy product derivatives that it may become, the categories become more complex, excluding one connotation for another that fits their purpose better. The question then must arise; what is all this recategorization and definition reassignment for? The answer appears to arise from one simple word that society demands if it is going to recognize any young woman as innocent or pure: virgin. Each new exclusion from the term sex, and each addition to words like foreplay allow the young woman to maintain the appearance of a virgin in their own mind. This allows them to proclaim this to the rest of the world as though eating ice cream were not another form of drinking milk (with a bunch of wonderful additives to make it an acceptable snack). And each time the young woman does something else that she can pass off as “not sex” she will. All to maintain the appearance to all those around them that they are virgins.
Unlike what television would like us to believe, young people do not just end up having sex after making out for a few months. The process has more steps. Steps that ease in slowly and allow for the transition of where the line between sex and foreplay ends. It may be that at the beginning of a first relationship where sexual actions will most likely occur, a young woman may feel that most things involving sexual gratification are sex. But as the relationship progresses and things “get serious” there may be a lot more touching and exploring. This will lead to the usual first type of sexual involvement between the two people, the hand jobs. This is where the first redefining comes out. Hand jobs aren’t sex, they are innocent exploration, they are okay. Then a little more exploration becomes okay. Then oral becomes okay because it doesn’t involve the penetration of the penis in any “vital” areas. The young woman thinks to herself that she is still a virgin because she hasn’t had sex. There is still more exploration to be done and the gloves come off. The young woman proclaims that only vaginal intercourse is sex. There are even rare cases where this may be taken even farther, when penetration occurs but there is no ejaculation (and therefore no “exchange of fluids”). This of course, falls apart when condoms are brought into the mix, but it is used nevertheless.
Where is the real line? No one can truly say. The court ruling in the case against former president Clinton ruled that oral was not sex. Clinton apparently took his cue of this being true somewhere in the bible. Then the question of where homosexual sex falls into this arises. Is it sex when there is no interaction between a penis and vagina, and if this is not sex, then how are these people expected to be able to express there ultimate love for each other. Is it to be a double standard? There may be no true answer.
But that is not what this should be about. This should be about a question of innocence and whether holding onto it is worthwhile. This should be about a young person’s decision to save themselves for that one person they plan to spend their life with. But that cannot happen until innocence is defined, and until sex has a clear denotation this is not possible. This should not have to be about drawing lines in the sand and then creating new ones and seeing which one leaves a better taste in people’s mouths. It should not be about what makes a thing easier to digest. This should not be about dairy. But it is.
Here’s How It Feels
It’s a feeling of complete helplessness. Like drowning. I am shrouded by uncertainty. All of the sudden everything that I do is wrong. The syntax of what I’m saying turns to jargon. All my self confidence, all the assuredness that I am so associated with leaves me. My entire body weighs down on me. My self esteem is shot, all hope dissipates. All the things in my life go wrong, every time that I think about them there is a chain that inevitably leaves me alone and useless. From there the Dysthemia folds in on itself, multiplying like a virus. Nothing I can do is right; my life turns to shambles before my own tearing eyes. Everything happening around me destroys me little by little. I fabricate lies from the people I should know would not lie. I create a conspiratorial world where I am but a puppet for everyone’s amusement. I envision them all watching me, taking pleasure in my self doubt. In my visions I see the ones I love betraying me because I could not possibly be good enough to bequeath loyalty upon. Sorrow, begets misery, and a dark cloud encircles me. I am drowning in these moments; drowning in a shallow pond. If I struggle and stand straight up, my head is above water and I can breathe for a moment longer. In that moment everything is clear, no panic, no drowning; in that moment I am free. But I cannot maintain the vision long, it takes so much strength and I become weary and begins to crash once more. Even when I am free it lurks beneath me knowing I must again succumb. This disease disempowers me, makes me weak, makes me need too much. So I struggle to get my head above water because I know that if I don’t I will only be brought down more. But the need pulls on me, makes me see the fruitlessness because no one is there to fill it, and I know that I need it to be pulled out, but I push any chance of receiving it away by reaching too soon. It seems the more that I struggle for what I need the farther out of reach it becomes. But the more distance there is from it the more I need it. And so this vicious circle drags me down even more. Any moment I may break loose and everything will be clear, my head will be above water and things will be fine. But always I fall back into drowning. The Dysthemia never goes away. But I keep struggling, and keep getting my head above water. I just hope those who love me can have patience with me when I am drowning; that they can reach for me. It’s so much easier to keep my head above water with a hand to hold onto. But right now the Dysthemia covers me and I am so sure that there is no one who will reach for me. So the cycle continues.
posted by David Fuchs (Greg Goble) @ 5:10 PM
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