Being a Virgin in My 20s

I never thought I’d still be a virgin in my twenties. It’s weird to even write that out. Like it’s some confession, even though it shouldn’t be. But here I am, 23, still holding onto something that everyone around me seems to have already experienced. It’s not that I haven’t had the chance. It’s just...complicated.

Most of my friends lost their virginity years ago, and sometimes I feel like I missed a train I was supposed to be on. When they talk about it, it’s all so casual—like going to the movies or grabbing coffee. "Oh yeah, I slept with so-and-so," they’ll say, and everyone nods along, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But when they realize I haven’t had sex yet, something shifts. Their reactions can be so extreme. It’s either surprise followed by awkward reassurance, or they act like I’ve been saving myself for some magical moment that will change my entire life.

Then there are the guys. Some of them, when they find out I’m a virgin, get this weird, intense look, like they’ve just won a prize or something. It’s creepy, honestly. They overhype it, like I’m some rare artifact. “Oh, wow, really?” they’ll say, eyes lighting up in a way that makes me want to shrink into myself. I’ve had guys joke about how it’s going to be “special” or “mind-blowing,” which only makes me feel more awkward. They don’t get that it’s not about them.

Then there’s the other side of it—the ones who seem to think that once I finally do it, I’m going to get attached. It’s like they’ve already decided I’ll catch feelings just because it’s my first time. And maybe they’re right, maybe I will. I don’t know. But the assumption stings, like they think my emotions are predictable, like I’m some character in a story they’ve read a hundred times.

I won’t lie—I’ve thought about just doing it. Getting it over with. There have been nights where I’ve felt so out of place, like I’m behind in some race I didn’t even realize I was running. Everyone else seems to be moving forward, checking off milestones while I’m stuck in place. I’ve caught myself wondering if it really is that big of a deal, if maybe I’m just building it up in my head. Maybe I’m overthinking it. Maybe I should just do it, with whoever comes along next, just to say I have.

But the truth is, that’s not what I want. I don’t want it to be something I rush into just to cross it off a list. I don’t want it to be some awkward one-night thing where I wake up the next morning feeling like I gave a piece of myself away too easily. And I’m not waiting for some fairy-tale moment, either. I just want it to feel right. For me. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’m on the outside looking in.

I wish it wasn’t such a big deal to people. I wish my friends didn’t look at me like I’m some kind of anomaly when it comes up. I wish guys didn’t treat it like a prize to be won or a burden they’ll have to deal with. I wish it wasn’t something I felt so much pressure about, like my virginity is this ticking clock that I need to beat before I turn 30. I hate that it even matters to me, that I even care about what other people think.

But here I am, feeling like I’m missing out on something that’s supposed to be this universal experience. And maybe I am. Or maybe I’m just writing my own story, one where the pace is a little slower and the ending isn’t so predictable.