Hello, I am a 26-year-old virgin who has never been in an actual relationship. I call myself a unicorn because in this day and age, I think I'm pretty unique. I know there are other people like me out there, but we're not the norm. Sex is not a taboo subject. It's everywhere, and while I'm happy everyone is sexually free, that's just not me.
I can't give you a definitive reason why I've never been with anyone other than it just never came up, and I never went out of my way to make it happen. I'm sure if I met the perfect person, fell in love and we were in a relationship for a while, it could happen. But it's never happened, so here I am.
I'm proud of who I am, but what I do hate is the stigma that comes from being a virgin at my age. I have friends who think they need to fix me. They feel the need to get me laid. My virginity is something I keep a secret unless I'm asked. It just feels weird saying it.
I know it's not that weird, but when sex is so prevalent in our society, someone who doesn't partake in it feels like a party pooper. I don't mean to be or want to be a party pooper -- please continue the party. I'm happy to be here, but I'm just in the corner playing with the host's cat, because I like cats and this party gives me anxiety.
It's never been a problem really except for one area. You see, I've only been to the gynecologist once and when I went, I was turned away for being a virgin. Women are told to go to the gynecologist at 21 years of age, even if you are not sexually active. It took me until I was 22 to even overcome the nerves to book an appointment.
I mean, it doesn't sound like a trip to Disneyland, so I wasn't in a hurry. But I knew I was overdue. I found a woman doctor who graduated from my alma mater, NYU, and decided to suck it up.
This was new territory for me, so obviously I Googled “How to prepare for your first gyno trip.” I did as much research as I could, and got to a point where I was no longer nervous. I don't know how I did it, but I was ready. I showed up to the fancy office on the Upper East Side of Manhattan. The waiting room was nicely decorated and I was at ease.
I thought to myself, “Rachel, you're doing this. You got this.”
I was called into the examination room not really knowing what to expect, but I was OK with it. The doctor came in. She seemed nice at first. She asked me the manner of the visit. I told her it was my first. She asked me if I was sexually active and I said no.
The look on her face after I said no was as if I told her I just farted. She looked slightly disgusted and disturbed. She then asked my age. I told her I was 22, and I heard I needed to go even if I'm not sexually active after 21. She then told me that's not true.
All of those nerves I had managed to suppress came flooding back to me. My cheeks turned red, and I was embarrassed. I was trying so hard to hold back the tears. She told me she was going to just have me leave. She left for a second. I felt humiliated sitting in the very cold examination room. I thought I was a leper. How dare I be a virgin and come to the gynecologist?
She finally came back to the room and told me I could leave without paying. I said thanks. She told me to come back once I was sexually active. She escorted me out, stopping in the waiting room to announce at the front desk — and therefore, waiting room — that I didn't need to pay. This basically announced to everyone that -- *trumpet noise* -- "Hey everyone, this woman is a virgin."
I couldn't hold back my tears anymore. I hung my head low and shuffled out of the office and into the harsh city streets of New York. It was early in the day and everyone was on their way to work, so of course it was crowded. I was the gross human virgin slob bawling my eyes out as these refined Upper East Siders in their business suits were navigating their way around me. I called my mom and just cried. I tried to make jokes. “I can't get a guy to go near my vagina, and now my gynecologist won't either. There must be something wrong down there. I'm going to die of cancer and no one will know.”
My mom tried to calm me down, but I was a mess. I've never felt so rejected in my life. This thing that I was so proud of, my virginity, is making me a human leper. I found a corner to hide in and cry near Central Park. I was standing there just sobbing on the phone with my mom for five minutes when a nicely dressed woman walked by.
She immediately did a double take, swung back around, came up to me and said, “I don't know what you're upset about, but you look like you need a hug.”
I said I did, and she hugged me. I cried on that woman's shoulder and felt terrible about probably ruining her nice blouse. She finally let me go and said, “Whatever you're upset about, it will get better. I promise you.” I said, “Thank you,” and she kept on walking. I was calm for a second, started crying again. She turned around, came back, hugged me again and said, “You look like you need another one.”
That woman was my savior that day. She made me feel so much better. If I call myself a unicorn, then that woman is an angel. After she left for the second time, I collected myself and realized I was late for work. I finished talking to my mom and jumped on the subway.
I still haven't been to the gynecologist since that incident. I know I need to. My friend who is attending medical school gets mad at me when I tell him I'll probably never go again. I'm half-joking.
Honestly, I'm so scarred from that incident that it's going to take me a while before I muster the courage to go. Despite it being one of the worst days of my life, I learned three things from this incident:
1. Doctors aren't always the smartest people. Some are idiots. You know what they call the person who graduates last in their class from medical school? Doctor.
2. No one wants to go near my vagina.
3. Sometimes there are angels walking around Manhattan who will make a virgin leper feel better about herself after being rejected by her idiot gynecologist.
Wherever you are angel lady from the Upper East Side, I want to say thank you.