The 28-year-old male virgin
That damned clock is ticking. I’m sure it’s been pacing away since my teens, but I’ve noticed it only recently: the timer in my mind that counts up towards some chaste world record and down to some imagined expiry date. Because that’s what I believe: I’m steadily accelerating towards a cliff off the edge of which there is no return – no possibility of a fulfilling sex life.
Likely you imagine me as one of two things: a religious devotee, saving myself for my wedding night, or a basement-dweller, occupied with virtual achievements and still living with my parents. Well, I am neither. I’m agnostic and not too bad to look at, with a master’s degree and a career in political communications. I cook, play the fiddle, am well travelled, have my own place in a big city and a generous handful of close friends. My relationship with my parents is solid and supportive. I am what most would call well adjusted – a catch, even. So what gives?
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