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Unfortunately, because Boy One fell into the celibacy-then-bail category, it was just a matter of time — three months — before the truth came tumbling out.
Our relationship ended in a drunken yelling match that spanned from my withholding physical affection (his words) to his withholding emotional intimacy (my words) to us not communicating, period. Boy Two was the polar opposite of Boy One: optimistic, bubbly and more excitable than a puppy. Sex was less of an issue this time, mostly because I knew he was my rebound (yes, I’m a terrible person).
The longer I go without sex, the more build-up there is: the more anxiety and curiosity, fear and desire, anticipation and uncertainty.
I have a solid group of friends, a supportive family and a clear awareness of who I am and who I want to be. Yet the moment I have to tell the guy I’m dating that sex is not an option, I become a squirmy, awkward, fidgety girl who can’t make eye contact or put together a complete sentence.
Think junior high dance, only without a bathroom to hide in.
The Chat was never really an issue for me until three years ago.
I wasn’t like many teens, who consider sex a rite of passage.