Our society’s discourse on sex in incredibly reckless.

From an American perspective, the rhetoric is either, “Sex is awesome, and if you’re not having it, your life fails to have any meaning” or “If you’re having sex, you’re a dirty heathen who deserves to burn in eternal damnation.” This is so dysfunctional, and I really feel it does more harm than good. Many of my columns have taken a very actively sex-positive slant, encouraging safe, consensual, fun, enjoyable sex — which of course I will forever support. However, sometimes I think it’s far more interesting to think about the reasons people abstain from sex.

As I’ve mentioned before, I didn’t lose my virginity until I was 22, almost a year after I graduated from college. Many of my friends also remained virgins throughout their entire college tenure. None of us were prudes – we all enjoyed steamy makeout sessions and poor lapses in judgment just like our friends who were fully indulging in coitus. None of us were remotely religious, and we didn’t engage in slut shaming. There were definitely times in my college experience where, had I chosen to, I could have just done it and crossed “losing my virginity” off the list. And yet, I was never comfortable enough to go for it. I didn’t buy into the idea that losing my virginity was supposed to be a supremely remarkable experience, complete with fireworks, rose petals and dubious in-the-moment declarations of love. However, I knew that I wanted it to be with someone I placed a modicum of trust in, and more importantly, I wanted to be confident that I could make it through the experience unscathed and still comfortable with myself – after my first kiss, I was so anxious that I couldn’t even go to sleep that night. I was overwhelmed with nausea, I couldn’t stop shaking and I felt like I had given away a part of myself to someone who didn’t appreciate it. All of that was following only some kissing and boob action, so of course I was extremely hesitant to bring penetration into the mix. That hangup aside, I was pretty content doing almost anything that didn’t involve a P near my V or my A.

By my senior year of college, I was idly starting to worry. I mean, it seemed pretty strange to leave college still clinging to my virginity, and I was kind of concerned that guys in the future would pick up on my lack of experience and think I was damaged goods (no, I wasn’t evolved enough to realize that a guy like that is not someone I should be interested in banging anyway). I’m really glad I didn’t bow to any external or internal pressure to swipe my v-card just to get it over with, but it worries me to think of how many women (and men) end up having sex way before they’re ready just because of some arbitrary social expectation that they should. Yes, sex is a great thing, but it is also incredibly personal. We all (to be totally cheeseball) blossom at different times, and I wish that virginity wasn’t as stigmatized as it is. Some people are pretty content with being virgins while still leading enjoyable, fun, robust lives (intimate and otherwise), so can we put a moratorium on policing other people’s sexy times?

[Image via Kamira/Shutterstock]

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In reality, though hook ups are common, an increased number of students are identifying as virgins. As much as I love talking about sex, and how amazing it can be, I totally acknowledge abstinence as a legitimate choice. For much of my college life, I was practicing abstinence. Contrary to stale stereotypes, I wasn’t a sullen, judgmental prude waiting for the perfect man to marry me before I gave it up. I was sex-positive, make out-friendly, and always looked forward to Sunday mornings so I could live vicariously through my friends’ recaps of their sexcapades.

Despite my deep interest in sex, I knew I wasn’t ready to engage yet (unlike others). I was waiting for someone I could trust. Someone who would grab breakfast with me in the dining hall a couple of times a week, who would respond to my texts in a reasonably timely fashion, who I could have the “let’s get tested” convo with, who would be there for me if I did get pregnant and would be a source of support for me while I figured out what my next course of action would be.  And I just wasn’t coming across dudes who fit that description.

I’m a sensitive, emotionally-driven woman.  I was distraught when I kissed a guy and then he would proceed to pretend I fell off the earth. The idea of actually having sex with someone who would then refuse to acknowledge my existence was just unbearable to me.  I wasn’t begrudging of my friends who were able to hook up with whatever random cutie they found at the bar, or my friends who snagged amazingly kind guys. I was totally comfortable with the path I chose.

And that’s the most important thing.

Really, whenever you’re having sex, you should be completely at peace with your decision to do so. Abstinence is a totally commendable option for college students. We all have different comfort levels, and none of us should be stigmatized for our personal choices, especially if we’re not harming anyone else.

So abstinence underwear exists.

I’m starting to think that the people who come with elaborate and creative abstinence plans are completely asexual. Because when you’re hooking up with someone and contemplating the horizontal mambo, you’re really in the mood to throw on your spectacles and read the messages on someone’s underwear.

“Oh wait, what’s that, your body language is saying you want to have sex, but your underwear is saying not tonight? Well blue balls be damned, I’m pulling up my pants, and  I’m going to go finish off my night reading the bible and eating dry toast.”

The only way this underwear method could possibly work would be if it had a high-res image of a baby being born and a Teen Mom DVD set coupon stapled on the back. That might remind some people of the possible consequences of sex…and hopefully remind them to use birth control.

So, apparently Bristol Palin is rolling in the dough from participating in the Candie’s Foundation’s abstinence campaign . If your saying “whaat?!” right now then we are in total agreement. How can Little Miss Get Pregnant at 18 While Your mom is Running for VP be making so much money (click here to see just how much!) promoting something she knows nothing about. And also, sidenote, why are people considering BP a celebrity?

Anyways, it got us thinking…if Bristol Palin can make this much money for promoting abstinence, then who else should be making mad dough for being a complete hypocrite…

What were they smoking when they came up with this crackpot commercial for abstinence? No seriously. Does anyone really think that The Situation is a good spokesperson for anything, let alone anything involving smart sex decisions? We won’t even get into the fact that Bristol “I don’t have sex…except for that one time when I got pregnant” Palin has become a spokeswoman for abstinence.

But I will give credit where credit is due, and it’s clear from this commercial that they’re both excellent actors. (In this context excellent means horrible, unconvincing, poorly trained, stick to regional theater).

P.S Candies: you really couldn’t find ANYONE else to do this? Maybe try Craigslist next time? Or Google “celebrities who don’t have kids.” Just a suggestion.

Get more WTF Fridays here. Because this world is real messed up.

It was Thanksgiving up in Canada this past weekend. I spent turkey day with my extended family, eating the most delicious of dinners (though, in all honesty, almost anything is a step-up from nightly KD), devouring pumpkin pie, and feeling a bit like an outcast.

You see, while my entire family is aware that I’m an up-and-coming journalist, I always find it interesting that no one brings up exactly what I write about or what kind of publications I’m aiming to write for after graduation. Even my successes – the fact that I just got to interview my sex-columnist hero, Dan Savage, and that I’m running my very own sex advice column in my school paper – were tiptoed around like a landmine. God forbid I say the “sex” word, I suppose.

Maybe I’m too wrapped up in this world of college where finding a condom wrapper in the kitchen garbage is just another thing to laugh at, and not used to being around people who blush at the word “vagina”. I can’t help but wonder, though, why sex is such an utterly taboo topic — why being a nearly-twenty-year-old sex columnist comes with this huge stigma, even when it’s approached in the most sex-positive and family-appropriate of ways (really, it’s not like I was going to get into the intimacies of my sex life around the dinner table).

And the thing is, this isn’t just an issue that surrounds my (apparently conservative) family. This is something that affects everyone – from the girls who refuse to masturbate because they believe their vulvas are “gross”, to the married couples who let their sex lives suffer horribly because they’re too embarrassed to put into words what exactly it is that they want in bed – we’re all being affected by sex-negativity, but where exactly does it come from?

Religion
To be fair, I’m a fan of Richard Dawkins and can therefore blame pretty much any societal issue on religion. That said, I do genuinely think that much of the stigma surrounding sex and sexuality comes from religious culture; a culture that tells us that sex outside of marriage is sinful, selfish, and just plain wrong. Because religion is constantly sending the message that sex (outside of marriage) is bad, wrong, dirty, and only-for-makin’-babies, those who do have sex before marriage – which, by the way, is nearly 95% of people – are just left feeling guilty about it (like they did something bad, dirty and wrong). Funny thing is, this rhetoric obviously does not dissuade most people from partaking in premarital sex but only acts to make people feel shameful about their healthy and natural sex lives.

Language
Think about it, even the language we use to talk about sex is veiled in shame and embarrassment. We talk about that stuff we have “down there,” or, and I admit to using this phrase myself, “getting dirty.”  It’s not often, if ever, we’re able to have open and honest conversations about our genitalia using real words instead of frilly-nicknames like va-jay-jay – things we’re most likely taught from our embarrassed parents at an early age. (Hell, I was told to call my vagina my “monkey.” Yikes!)

While I’ll admit there’s nothing sexy about telling someone you’d really love to “have sexual intercourse” with them, it’s also important to keep our outside-of-the-bedroom conversations as honest and grown-up as possible; the only way to confront sex-negativity is to tackle it head on. Ladies, it’s okay to talk about your vagina! Just, please, stop calling it a va-jay-jay.

Education
I’m more and more grateful every day that my Canadian schools taught me comprehensive sex-ed. Being taught that remaining abstinent is the only way to have a healthy sex life as a married adult is not only grossly blown out of proportion, but it’s also not working. Much of abstinence only sex-ed relies on scare tactics – the “if you have sex, you WILL get PREGNANT and DIE” approach – without focusing on pregnancy and STI prevention and protection. Not to mention, you can only contract an STI from someone who already has an STI. And, while they’re not 100% effective, condoms do a pretty damn good job at keeping you baby and infection free. Oh, and the whole BS about “abstinence is the only thing that is 100% effective at preventing teen pregnancy” spiel? You will not get pregnant from oral or manual sex. Just something to think about.

How do we change it?
Recognize the sex-negativity in your own life. Stop calling sexually active women “sluts” and “whores” and make an effort to educate yourself on the realities of a sexually active lifestyle. Also, don’t be afraid to have an open discourse about sex with the people around you. Of course, these conversations don’t have to be graphic or overtly personal, but once you get the sex-positive conversation flowing, you’ll come to realize that sex is one of those things we all have in common.

In the world of journalism, that, my friends, is called a question lede. I’m supposed to spend the rest of this article trying to answer that question, but honestly I can’t make any promises. You see, that question has been in my mind for a while now, and I can’t seem to figure it out. Why do people care about someone’s “magic number,” and why is a person’s morality level judged by how many sexual partners they’ve had?

Historically speaking, it’s understandable why chastity and virginity were important. Without any kind of protection, getting pregnant or catching a disease was very much a reality. Virginity was maintained until marriage because no one wanted to catch a disease from their future spouse. Which is fair enough, really.

But those reasons are mainly invalid in modern times; we have condoms to save us from diseased genitals and unwanted fetuses. So long as sex is protected, it really shouldn’t matter how many people have been involved. Sex with multiple partners (not necessarily at the same time…) is often frowned upon as being immoral and looked at as being a “sin of the flesh” – but what is so immoral about it? No one is getting hurt and no one is being damaged. So long as the people involved are consenting and protected, there really is nothing immoral about it.

From a religious perspective, we’re told chastity is important because “every time you have sex with someone, you’re giving a little piece of yourself away. If you continue to have sex, once you get married, there won’t be any of you left.” Well, what Christians seem to overlook is that love causes one to lose way more of themselves than sex does. Every time you get your heart broken – every time you give your heart to someone – that person gets part of you, whether sex is involved or not.  And yet, the faithful don’t warn against falling in love. It’s not a sin to fall in love, only to have sex. But love is much more powerful and potentially harmful than sex. How does that make sense? Oh wait, it doesn’t! And besides, if someone didn’t want to marry you because they thought you slept with “too many” people, is that really the type of close-minded person you would want to spend the rest of your life with anyways?

Choosing not to have sex with multiple partners is a personal choice — and one that is as fair as choosing to sleep around. I’m only offering a different point a view. I’m not saying one should wrack up notches on a bedpost, but I’m also not saying that you shouldn’t. We should have a handle on our own moral compasses, not get them from old-school teachings that tell us that sex is immoral, sinful, dirty, and wrong. If you have so many notches that your bed is barely existent — you are no less moral than someone who has waited until marriage. Believe it or not, who we have sex with doesn’t make us who we are.

Everyone has a choice as to how many people they have sex with. But that choice shouldn’t be looked down upon because it’s immoral or wrong, because it is neither. Keep sex safe, keep it consensual, but don’t keep it up on the nonsensical pedestal where it’s been for centuries. Look at it this way — I guarantee that no one has been on his or her deathbed at 90 years old thinking, “Jeeze, I wish I had sex with fewer people.”

For my 20th birthday last year all my friends congratulated me on surviving teen pregnancy. Although we had a little chuckle, teen pregnancy is a huge issue that is only getting worse. Honestly, with shows like I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant holding marathons every weekend I’m completely baffled as to why young girls are still getting knocked up. But they are. A lot.

Clearly these young ladies need a real lesson in Sex Ed, because whatever they’ve been taught is not sinking in. So being the baby fearing girls birth control experts that we are, CollegeCandy has put together a few rock-solid ideas to preventing teen pregnancy in this here country. If teachers and parents do things our way, teen pregnancy would be a thing of the past. And MTV would have a few time-slots to fill during the week.

1. Give them the facts.
This may seem obvious, but science has shown that teens have less of an ability to think things through and see future consequences, so it’s time to spell things out for them: Pregnancy sucks. You will get fat, you’ll act like a bitch-on-wheels, and those perky teenage boobs? Forget about them. Pregnancy can also wreak havoc on every part of your body: you’ll sprout hair in weird places, your skin will break out, your back will ache and it can even put stress on your heart and lungs. Oh, and forget about all those tasty snacks you love so much. You can’t have caffeine (which is in chocolate), nutra-sweet (see ya later, Diet Coke), un-cooked food (TTFN, sushi and lunch meat) or booze (which you shouldn’t be drinking anyway!) for 9 freaking months.

Did I mention you poop on the table when you give birth?

2. Show them their future.
If any of that doesn’t sink in, maybe it’s time to show pics of a woman’s body before and after pregnancy. I’m sure most girls would jump on a bowl of condoms if they saw all those stretch marks or realized they may never fit into their favorite skinny jeans again. On average, women should expect to gain at least 25 pounds during pregnancy, but most gain more (way more) than that, and those pounds are extremely difficult to lose when you’re taking care of a baby 24/7.

3. Give them a dose of reality.
Why not show a few episodes of Teen Mom? Watching Amber move into a dirty motel with her baby had us running to Costco for jumbo packs of Trojans.

4. Educate them.
Let’s stop with the abstinence-only education and give these girls some real information. It’s 2010 in AMERICA, for god’s sake. Even if you believe in the whole “save yourself for marriage” stuff, it’s time to arm our youth with the facts (and the condoms) so they can protect themselves.

This is why even I wondered if I was slightly insane when I decided to completely abstain from boys this summer.

The decision (The Vow, as I now refer to it) was something I really had to think about. I knew that going home to Miami would mean I’d have options for a summer fling. Beautiful, jacked, sun-god-like options that seem to only exist in dreams. But, having been single for over three years, I needed a break.

I think that relationships, as amazing as they can be, sometimes just aren’t worth it. I’m incredibly busy, as are most college students, so I only want to make time in my life for someone if we have something I can’t imagine giving up. But while being single right now is best for me, it can be so exhausting. From wondering if the attractive guy digs me back to whether or not to be physical with a guy I may not have emotional connections with, I was just sick of it. So, to the surprise of my friends, I decided that for summer, I’d basically be like one of the nuns that taught me in grade school. Except I’d still curse and wear bikinis and stuff.

When people would ask my why I was doing this, I usually said something new-agey like “I just need some time to really be alone. I need to focus on myself.” And focus on myself I did. I took a mini road trip with one of my best friends to an amazing art exhibit. I re-read one of my favorite books that I haven’t read since junior year of high school. I started doing Pilates, which completely rejuvenated and calmed me. I surrounded myself with the carefree joy of children, and picked some of their confidence along the way.

Because of how much I love boys, sometimes my mind is completely consumed by thoughts of them, when it should be completely consumed with thoughts of  how to get straight A’s, make my friends feel extra special, or some other more important thing. I wanted to stop being that girl that thinks about guys that much.

I had a few really close calls to breaking The Vow. I’m pretty sure Oscar Wilde was talking about me when he said “I can resist everything but temptation.” I’d have these weird little moments where I’d think “Um, why am I doing this whole abstinence thing? That guy is totally hot and he totally wants me and I’m not going to do anything? Cause I ‘need to focus on myself’’?! Beezy, please.” But for the most part, I was fine. More than fine, actually. I got to know myself and was so happy to be single, because I was doing everything I wanted to do, without the concern of guys.

I experienced a lot during my summer without boys and I give myself a huge pat on the back for spending my last teenage completely on my own.

Now that I’m back on campus, I’ve somewhat gone back to my boy-crazy ways. (Asking me to stay away from boys is like asking Speidi not to do that annoying fake makeout thing when cameras are around – it ain’t gonna happen!) But that’s OK – I learned a lot about myself this summer and came away a deeper, self-aware and totally toned (thank you, Pilates) woman.