I was seducible.

She seduced me.

End of story…sort of.

She was a cute, long-haired blonde nurse from Alberta, a couple of  years older than myself, and for some unexplicable and unexplainable reason, she wanted ME. So, on that icily frigid Yellowknife-arctic evening there was very little romanticism or long, languid looks involved. Love didn’t play a part for either of us. Lust held the key this night. We were young and friendly and fun. It was dark and chilly in her bedroom when our limbs and externals and internals mingled and tingled together.

In my later teens, I’d been close to the final destination on a number of earlier journeys with other sweet travelers, but never quite finished the trip- by choice. I was now 20 years old and decided the time had come for the train to finally enter the station.

What made me think about this stuff is that I’m currently reading Richard Branson’s autobiography “Losing My Virginity” and his stories of starting the VIRGIN business empire. He’s one bold and flamboyant dude, that Branson. But here and now, we’re talking about a different Virgin version.

Every life and every lifetime is filled with firsts…first tooth, first walk, first grade, first kiss, first job. Firsts can be scary, exhilarating, illuminating, freeing, intimidating, terrifying. I’m choosing to dive into one of the FIRSTS on most of our taboo lists when it comes to sharing with others.


Virginity box

To be more accurate here, we’re talking about the loss of virginity.

The language we use around this is full of negative context and confusion. For many – especially men I guess – virginity loss is more like a gain. And in another bizarre twist we talk about women as being deflowered, defiled, impureWords from a different century. Having crossed the Rubicon makes you a Non-virgin. It’s all loaded in a way that is so generally negative that I find annoying and distasteful. In a world that celebrates BDSM stories like Fifty Shades of Grey, this just doesn’t cut it .

I propose we coin some new terminology on the Virginal vanguard.  How about some bright new positive terms for non-virgins like Bloomer (a pregnant female could be called a “Baby Bloomer“) or Coiticulated, or Post-Nooker or Carnalist or Intercourvet?

I haven’t heard or read any statistics, so I’m only guessing, but it seems pretty clear to me that 90+ % of us will experience this “loss” at some point in our lives. Virginity is one of those areas that is tied in with much of what explains us. The adjectives that describe our personalities can often also define or describe the time and nature of our first sexual intercourse…timid, bold, distant, careless, cautious, energetic, enthusiastic, patient, polite, considerate, cold, adventurous, sensitive.


Now I’m describing the heterosexual experience here…I don’t know if the term virginity even applies to gay/lesbian relationships. I’d appreciate any guidance you might offer on this front for people like me who are ignorant. Just one more qualification here…I’m a naive old fellow and I tend to think of sex as an equal, reciprocal, and consensual adventure. I can’t conceive of a violent or forced event and won’t address this in this blog. It makes me feel too sick to think about.

Anyway, loss of virginity is all tied up in a maelstrom of religion and social mores and pregnancy and love and alcohol and hormones and insecurities and elation and pain and drugstore condoms and the meaning of relationships and experimentation and modesty. The circle of meaning and importance is HUGE and so most of us agonize or at least contemplate deeply what, where, when and with whom this first will occur.

My early years were bounded within an ideology of family and social mores that dictated marriage prior to consummation. So even though I lost my belief in a god and a heaven just as I was entering my teen years, the belief that intercourse was something we save until marriage was deeply ingrained. Anything less would bring about great guilt, shame, and regret. And probably pregnancy and gonorrhoea to boot. Sex was a pool filled with circling piranhas.

Bunny and pope

There was huge discord between what I was being told in my home, school, and church, and what the movies, TV, books and Playboy were laying out for my hormonal schoolboy absorption. Sex was liberating and fun and blissful in those arenas. Who do I believe and who is right was the fulcrum on which I balanced precariously. The devil had begun to sink his horns into me and I was horny.

But human decency suggested that anything beyond self-stimulation (blindness be damned!) necessitated taking into account the physical and emotional needs of my potential partner…this tango was not an easy dance.

And it shouldn’t be, but not for reasons of religion or moral righteousness. Sex at its best is fun and it’s fantastic and a hundred other orgasmic adjectives. But we’re all complex beings with needs and desires and an assortment of very heavy baggage. Having intercourse has many different meanings (even within the same person), loaded meanings that can change depending on the time of our lives, the time of day, who we’re contemplating doing it with. Paramount, for me, was respect and knowledge of what sex meant to me AND to my lover-to-be. For years, I struggled hard with carrying virginity into marriage until one day… I didn’t. Sometimes, just waiting brings a clear answer in its own time.

 I used to be Snow White, but I drifted.”

………………………………………….— Mae West

My days spent in the Arctic as a young person threw me into a foreign milieu with lots of attractive, confident, young ladies and attitudes towards sex that I’d never encountered before. This was happening at the same time that I was jettisoning my own internal voices and shackles of religion and guilt.

My virginity wasn’t a holy grail to place on the altar of life to observe and protect at all costs. Sex, whether solely for recreation or serious intent, was one more additional benefit to a full life. It always has risks – swimming and driving have risks too but at the appropriate time we take precautions and dive (or drive) in. Sex doesn’t have to be ALL or NONE, but I was finally released from the NEVER.

Life spent in the teeth-chattering cold and long nights of the north made me sometimes question the wisdom of my decision to take my first professional job in the Arctic. I realized that virginity wasn’t a Boy Scout badge I needed anymore on that frosty Yellowknife night.


This was one way to stay warm in the Arctic…


…this was another…