The Scarlet Letter
Growing up in one of the most conservative towns California has to offer has been the greatest blessing to a white, middle-class, young woman like myself. I had everything I ever wanted when I was sixteen. I had a great family, great friends, and, to top it all off, I was in love with one of the most talented musicians my high school had to offer and, amazingly enough, he was head over heels in love with me. Everything was perfect.
To give a little background on my upbringing, I was raised in a Mormon household for my entire childhood. I was taught by my loving parents to value and love my body. My body was sacred, a temple nonetheless, and it only belonged to myself and my future husband. I accepted these lessons with open arms because not only was it all that I knew, but I agreed with these teachings. To me, sex is special and is meant to be with the man I will share the rest of my life with. These seem like great teachings and my parents taught me well, but they never even allowed talk about sex before marriage. They would do everything in their power to keep me a valiant, chaste young woman.
I remember having a “sex-talk” with my dad once and he told me, “Kylie…listen…I really do not want you to to have sex…hell I don’t even want you to have friends who are males…but, if you do…talk to us. We’ll be pissed, but your mother and I just want you to be safe.” He then awkwardly shuffled out of the room. Almost immediately after, my mother, who was eavesdropping around the corner, stormed in and told me, “Disregard everything your father just said. You know the expectation I hold you to. If you have sex before marriage, we will be incredibly disappointed in you. Sex is for your future husband. No one else. If I ever find out you had sex before marriage I will be so unbelievably upset with you.” Although my parents meant well, I am terrified to tell them anything that happens between me and a boy. Whether it is a kiss or something more, I have this fear that if I have sex before marriage, I will literally be shunned by them.
Even with my parents breathing down my neck about keeping my virginity intact, my boyfriend at the time and I had a great run. He was everything I thought I wanted in a man, and I just lost myself in him. He was so easy to be around, talk to, and, the best part, he had no interest in having sex with me because he respected me and my values! What a catch, am I right? We happily dated for seven and a half months until we went to frozen yogurt one day. The conversation went like this:
He sits me down in front of the shop, looks me in the eyes, kisses the tip of my nose, and says, “Kylie, listen, I’m ready to have sex with you.”
“…What?”
“I feel like we have been dating long enough, and I think you and I are ready to have sex.”
“…I don’t think I’m ready to have sex.”
Silence. He frowns at me. “Are you sure?”
“…Yeah…I think I’m sure…let me think about it.”
He sighs and mumbles, “Wow, that’ disappointing…I thought you were going to be more open to the idea‚Ķ” He pauses, looks at me and says, “Okay then, you know what? We don’t have to have sex, but I’ll buy a package of condoms and I’ll just carry them with me until you feel like you’re ready, okay?”
“…Okay‚Ķ baby, can you promise me something?”
“Of course.” He smiles and brushes my hair from my face.
“Can you promise me that you want to have sex with me because you feel close to me? Because, if we do this…I’m going to want to be with you for a very long time after this. I just want to make sure it isn’t because your best friend recently started having sex with someone and you feel like you’re missing out.”
He suddenly gets very defensive, “Kylie, how the fuck can you think like that? Am I some kind of monster? Jesus Christ, I just want to have sex with you and be with you.”
“Okay, okay. I believe you,” I smile at him, “I just wanted to make sure…I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”
We had sex four days later because he brought a condom to my house when I was home alone and I did not want to disappoint him again.
My boyfriend and I then continued to have sex for another month. Every time we hung out we had sex; that was literally the only thing we did. Whenever he was high we had sex. Whenever we went on a date we had sex. Whenever he would drive me anywhere or take me out on a date I would repay him with sex. At eight and a half months, he stopped texting me and wanting to hang out with me. Come month nine, he sat me down at a park bench and shattered me when he told me he fell out of love with me.
And, to top it all off, my parents still think I’m a virgin.