I’ve never had sex before. Which makes me a virgin, I guess. It’s not something to be praised or pitied or mocked. It just is.
I think of not having had sex like a lot of activities– I’ve never flown in a hot air balloon before. I don’t have a burning need to do so before I die, I don’t find it particularly appealing–kind of inefficient and silly, really. But I’m not averse to it, I’m not scared of heights or anything. I just… don’t want to.
And that’s okay.
It’s okay to love hot air balloons, to want to go up in the air all the time. It’s okay to want to save it for special occasions, with a special someone. It’s okay to not particularly mind, but want to do so because someone you like wants to. It’s okay to be scared of heights and even avoid thinking about it. It’s okay to not even like it but do so anyway because, hey, maybe you work for a hot air balloon company.
It’s all okay.
And sex is like that too. Or at least it should be. Not all of us want to be up in the air, and that doesn’t make us sad or broken or lesser. And someone who wants to be up in the air all the time isn’t stupid or sick or wasting their lives.
I’ve never had sex before, nor do I want to, but that doesn’t mean I never will. I’ve never been in a hot air balloon, but who knows, maybe one day I’ll fly.
A/N: A blatant analogy for asexuality which would not leave me alone. So I’m like… okay, I’ll write it.