When inexperience is a shame

I recently came across a copy of

The Village Voice, the New York City newspaper committed to liberal views

and liberal use of the word “f&*#.” The

Voice has everything you’d expect — reviews of indie rock bands, ads for escort services — and some things you wouldn’t (an unsettling “Ask a Mexican” column). An advice section toward the back drew my eyes, and it read like a Dear Abby for naughty New Yorkers.

One advice-seeker, in particular, caught my attention. “I’m a straight female in her early 20s, currently engaged to a handsome man three years older,” the poster began. “We’re very happy, and we have a strong, healthy relationship, but lately, I’ve been worried about one question: Considering my limited sexual experience . . . is it possible to have a long, enjoyable sex life with him? I’ve gotten some (well-intentioned, I’m sure) advice that suggests that we are both making mistakes. I can’t have a satisfying sex life without being able to compare him to anyone else, I’m told, and he’s making a huge mistake by pairing up with a less experienced partner.”

This perplexing debate arrived on the heels of several conversations I’d just had with girl friends, conversations held separately, over separate cups of coffee, with women who are as different as vinegar and molasses. The first woman — foxy, smart and bold — confided her fears that she would be too inexperienced for her new love interest.

“Too inexperienced?” I asked.

“I haven’t — you know. Done much,” she said.

I was shocked. She’s in her 20s and a college graduate. Few women I know make it though the cesspool of undergraduate hormones and liberation without a roll in the hay (or two) and the requisite walk of shame afterward. But I was proud of her. Here was a girl who had held onto what people once considered sacred — her “carnal treasure,” as Topher Grace calls it in the romantic comedy “Win a Date with Tad Hamilton!” And she was embarrassed about it.

Less than a week later, the second friend confessed to a similar embarrassment. In her soft southern accent, she, too, admitted being inexperienced and she, too, worried her new paramour would soon grow bored.

What saddens me about these two young women — and the third from

The Village Voice — is not their lack of experience. It’s how mortified they seem. I wonder when we stopped honoring our chaste women and started making them feel ashamed of their virginity.

In his reply to the poster in The Village Voice, writer Dan Savage gave a wise response. “Are you happy? Is he happy? That’s all that matters,” Mr. Savage said. “And there are plenty of men and women out there in miserable, sexually dysfunctional marriages who met after both had plenty of experience.”

I n the end,

we define our love lives by the quality — and not the quantity — of our romantic experiences. We would do well to keep that in mind, even as we seek the next notch in the bedpost. 

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