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I Am A Walking Cock Block

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I am your favorite kind of never-have-I-ever friend. And by favorite, I mean you love to gush over how cute/sweet/respectable/enviable I am. When I say, “Never have I ever had sex” your eyes always pop out of your heads and you squeal with delight. What?! How?! Are you serious? Yeah. I’m serious. I am a 21-year-old virgin who has somehow managed to get through high school and college without going past second base. Making out is second base, right? My bases may be a little off, but I grew up playing soccer, so you’ll have to excuse me.

Why am I still a virgin? Is it because I grew up Christian? Nope. Is it because I’m waiting for someone special? Possibly. Is it due to the combination of sexual self-consciousness and the knowledge that I’m totally do-able which has created a tighter chastity belt than any smooth-talking southern gent could attempt to unbuckle? Ding ding ding. Honestly, I’m still not sure why the closest I’ve ever gotten to doing the deed is my extensive research on micropenises (honestly, it’s just a hobby). But I think it has something to do with the complete power trip I go on — knowing that guys want me but they’ll never have me. Sure, it’s due to my extreme self-consciousness over the fact that just about all of my friends have done it, and I’m still taking birth control strictly for my periods. But whatever. I’m a walking cock-block just the same, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

But just because I’ve never actually done the act, doesn’t mean that I haven’t come close. Kind of close. I’ve still never touched or seen a real life penis. But what I’ve done is far, far worse. I’ve gone home with guys, only to get into their bed and drunkenly announce the most dick-softening words of any douchebag’s nightmares.

“I’m not going to have sex with you.”

And let me define my version of sex for you in these situations: anything involving the nether regions. Yours, mine, ours — all big ol’ NOPES in my book. No penises, no vaginas. Just the glamorous tonsil hockey that 1950s television pretended was down and dirty.

The closest I’ve ever come was late one drunken night. I don’t quite remember how exactly the situation came about. But there I was in a bed, with a very hot, very horny fraternity member. I was enjoying my usual standard of nothing more than clothed, ABC Family-approved escapades when this guy grabs my hand and places it over his pants. And what did I feel there? Only the most horrifying thing I had ever touched in my life (and I had stuck my hand inside a cow’s stomach before). Yep, this guy put my hand on his boner.

His long, hard, massive man-boner.

So you think that since I’m clearly out of my proper state of mind, I would just go with it. Right? That’s what hot college girls do, right? LOL, nope. My drunk, sassy virgin self did the best thing I could ever hope she would do. When he put my hand on his hard-on and gave me a suggestive wiggle of the brow, I simply whipped my hand away and said, “That is not my job.” Yup. I quoted the crazy boss from Drake & Josh. And then I went back to making out with him, satisfied with my ability to ramble off useless television quotes at the drop of a boner. Bless his heart, but hun, there’s no taking advantage of a strong-willed and confident virgin. Did he go into the bathroom and “do the job” himself? Maybe.

Some girls are out to get laid, and some of us are out to remind boys that they can’t.

Image via Shutterstock

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