Let's Talk About Sex - Part Deux

While I was trying to understand the sexual world, which at this point was like trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle when you only have 2 of the pieces, I was also trying to understand the spiritual world. To say that religion represses sexuality is not my intention here. I am simply telling my story, and everyone’s experience is different. That being said, I got the impression from youth group, Bible camp, Christian friends, my grandmother, etc. that sex was not cool. Talking about it was basically asking for satan to temp you. Experimenting was a one way ticket to somewhere you do not want to go. When I was 14 I asked my parents for a purity ring, as a symbol of my promise to God, myself and my church that I would abstain from sex until I was married.

It was my dear Father who once again sat me down and said “look, I know you have your beliefs. And I know you feel strongly about sex. But I just want you to know that when you do fall in love and find someone you want to marry, you should have sex first. Because it’s a big deal. And if you don’t – um – work well together in that area, it can make other parts of your life difficult.” And once again I was horrified and heartbroken that my own father was trying to lead me into a life of sin.

Drastic measures were called for. I burned the Xaviera Hollander book, along with a 3 stories in 1 Danielle Steele book I’d picked up along the way. I burned sexy ads I had found in magazines. I burned pages of my diary that confessed sinful thoughts. I have to smile when I think back to that self-imposed purification party. My parents probably thought I was insane. (Note: I did all this burning in a small incinerator out in our yard, where my brother had to burn our garbage every week. Safety first.)

But, alas, there was temptation. I had a couple boyfriends when I was in high school. Kissing turned to making out, which is about as far as I would go. Until it went further...I still find it funny that the first boy to get to second base with me later came out to me in the equipment room of our gym. But that’s another story. My approach to sex in my mid to late teens was best described by Al Pacino in The Devil’s Advocate “Look, but don’t touch. Touch, but don’t taste. Taste, but don’t swallow.” I was forever pushing the envelope, so to speak, and then feeling terribly guilty for it afterwards.

I was caught in a kind of a yo-yo pattern, and at the end of grade 12 I found myself at a crossroads. I could move away from home with my best gay friend to have scary new adventures in the city, which would most likely lead to eternal hellfire. Or I could choose the straight (literally) and narrow, move in with a friend from Bible camp and continue to date my older and wiser boyfriend (also from Bible camp) who I was quite taken with. I chose the latter, of course, with the best of intentions.

[I feel I’m rambling quite a bit, but certain things just can’t be left out.] My boyfriend and I had both made commitments to remain pure until marriage, so when the night came that I just couldn’t say no in time, and he just couldn’t help himself any more, I was left feeling unbearably betrayed by him and by own body. I cried in the dark as I realized my wedding night would never be what I had wanted it to be. Yet I was also crying because I was disappointed...that was it?? That was the big mystery I had been grappling with since I was a child?? And suddenly, all at once, the mystery was gone.

Coming up faster than you can say supercalifrajalisticexpealidocious - Part III !