What if I Die a Virgin?
After braving probably a hundred disappointing dates over six years, I actually met a cute Mormon guy when I was 24. We fell in love. A year or so later he brought up marriage. I picked out a ring. I even moved to Utah to be with him. I can't believe I actually made it, I thought. I get to have sex! But I celebrated too soon. We quickly realized we were incompatible, and sadly, we decided to break up.
I moved back to New York and vowed that I would focus on myself, not on getting married, for a while. Which made me a virgin with no end in sight — a daunting predicament. I started taking yoga, hoping it would help release my pent-up sexual energy. Then, one day in class, we did a hip-opening pose lying on our backs with our legs spread-eagled. In a soft, meditative voice, the instructor said, "This position may bring up some emotions for you." Before she even finished the sentence, I started sobbing and muttering to myself, "I'm going to die a virgin!"
Right there on the floor of the yoga studio, despite everything my parents and religion taught me, I decided to change the rules. I, Elna Baker, could have premarital sex. My criteria were pretty simple: It had to be with someone I trusted (no one-night stands). Most important, I would not cave to pressure from anyone. I had to make the decision for myself.
Over the next year, instead of just kissing sitting up, I started kissing lying down (the gateway drug to sex). And my dating life actually improved. By not taking sex off the table right away, I made it past the four-week mark in relationships with several different guys.
That's how I find myself in the Hotel Chelsea with kind, funny and incredibly hot James, barely dressed and as close as I've ever been to losing my virginity. As we lie on the giant bed reflected in the giant mirror, James asks, "Should I get a condom?"
I hesitate. Mentally I run through my sex criteria. Do I trust James? I do. Then I get to the most critical one: Is it really my decision? What do I want?
And Now Back to What I Learned in Church…
The only way I can explain how I feel at this moment is this: Once, I tried to follow my daring brother's lead and dive off a 30-foot cliff into a pool of water. I hoisted myself up the jagged rocks until I made it to a ledge at the top. I took three steps back and began propelling myself forward. But as I approached the steep drop-off, I stopped and froze. My heart raced. You could break your neck. This isn't worth dying for. After a few minutes I started to climb back down. But the trip was much harder in reverse. I was stuck — too scared to go back, too scared to go forward.
There were many times I could have taken that leap with sex, and the consequences could have been heartbreaking for me. No matter how sweet and well-meaning the guys were, the hot-and-heavy moments I'd shared with them just didn't add up to something worth losing my virginity over. After all, once it was gone, I could never get it back.
As I learned in church years ago, I have to fight for the future I want through the choices I make. And even though it's hard to fess up to, a big part of me really does want to give myself to one person alone. Not for him or for anyone else — for myself.
"I'm not ready to be intimate," I hear myself tell James.
"What do you think this is?" he says, laughing and gesturing from me to him. "I think when you do finally have sex, you'll be surprised. It's not that different from what you're doing already."
"I know," I say, and I can see his point. But I also hear another reassuring voice. Someday Elna, it says, you will look around the room at your husband and children and the rich, full life you've built for yourself. And you will be so proud of the choices you've made. That's the voice I'm listening to.
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Elna Baker's memoir, The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance, will be published in October by Dutton. She lives in New York City.
