The Virgin Diaries: Just Another Victim of the Unicorn Effect

There comes a point in life where everyone you know is fucking, sucking and gyrating on each other. It usually starts in middle school when people’s hormones wake up and they begin experimenting with their bodies. But as soon as that high school diploma touches their hands, their hormones implode and they genuinely can’t help treating their private parts like an object for show and tell.
Sex is so common that those who aren’t indulging in fornication become mythical creatures in people’s fantasies, prancing around the world under a rainbow and masked by wispy clouds of glitter. At this point (in your twenties and there after) virgins are no longer just another human being. They are unicorns.
As soon as the unicorn/virgin leaves their den of flowers, perfume, and ambrosia to make his or herself known to the general public, people clamor around them, eyes wide and mouths agape to catch a glimpse. In short, shit gets really weird.
Unless you’re a museum exhibit, having people ogle at you isn’t something you’re used to. At first there’s disbelief and denial that you exist—which is the single most frustrating thing in the world. How are you telling me that I’m not a unicorn? Once they’ve decided you’re not lying, they bombard you with questions. Why? How? Are you scared? Are you saving it for someone special? I would equate this interrogation to being interviewed by every talk show host that ever existed at the same time!
A good number of people are nonchalant about it and move on once they’ve asked their questions but others will continue to stare at the horn protruding from your forehead no matter how hard you try to act like it’s cool. Some put you an a pedestal, especially if you’re a Sanctified Virgin, others (usually of the opposite sex) see you as a conquest and watch you from a distance with some silly binoculars, learn your scent so they can track you, and wait for the moment they can capture you and mount you on the wall above their fireplace.
Obviously there’s worse things int he world than telling someone you’re a virgin, but it’s uncomfortable enough to make you pick and choose with whom, when and where you share that information with.
Being an exhibit lasts for thirty minutes tops…but no one ever forgets that time they saw a unicorn.

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