It has been a long time since I have written a public article, one is not much, and the other is not well written.

The sexual mindset of being ashamed of being a virgin is widespread in the male population. So I, being a virgin, pretty much means having to face the question head-on - am I ashamed of being a virgin?

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TL;DR, yes.

The reason I’m thinking this way doesn’t stem from a sudden thought I had in sage mode after masturbating in bed watching a romance action movie. The main reason is that I recently reviewed and re-watched a classic movie “Good Will Hunting”, translated in Chinese as “Mind Catcher”, and there is a classic scene in the movie, which is a quote from Sean, a psychology professor.

  Sean : [sitting on a bench in in front of a pond in park]  Thought about what you said to me the other day, about my painting. Stayed up half the night thinking about it. Something occurred to me... fell into a deep peaceful sleep, and haven't thought about you since. Do you know what occurred to me?

  Will : No.

  Sean : You're just a kid, you don't have the faintest idea what you're talkin' about.

  Will : Why thank you.

  Sean : It's all right. You've never been out of Boston.

  Will : Nope.

  Sean : So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you... I don't see an intelligent, confident man... I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right?

  [Will nods] 

  Sean : You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally... I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can't learn anything from you, I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't want to do that do you sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.

The first time I watched this scene was in my freshman psychology class, when I was even a student who chose to skip class after seeing only half of the movie, and now, years later, when I see this dialogue, it makes my heart ripple. It’s not that it made my lower body heave, or that it made me think in a direction like “obsessed with information, but lost in myself. Rather, I was posing as if I knew I was shallow, but in a situation where I didn’t know I was even shallower, I unconsciously touched the source of my powerlessness, “I don’t know yet, and I have no way of knowing,” and this powerlessness made my fear of being a virgin materialize. Just as I indulged in masturbation, I stroked my lower body while my eyes were constantly drawing in the audio-visual images of flesh colliding on the luminous screen, and on the other hand, I reconstructed a beautiful delusion in my mind based on dopamine secretion. The moment I couldn’t stop myself from gushing, I wiped it with a tissue almost without thinking, and then fell asleep in silence, leaving only the tissue on the floor next to the bed. In the end, I fought the world with a definition of sex that began and ended with masturbation.

I tried to comfort myself by reassuring myself that I knew a lot about sex or pornography. But after the shame subsided, I figured out that what could I prove by knowing these things?

Even though I follow a lot of sex knowledge bloggers, such as Queen C-cup, but what is the geometry behind the sex knowledge corresponding to the actual operation? The reference source is nothing more than an exaggerated rendition in a love action movie.

Even though I know that “talking about sex without talking about love” and “talking about love without talking about sex” both make sex itself deviate, but how can I talk about sex and love when I don’t even know the touch of women’s breasts?

Even though I have a million ways to act out fictional sex scenes when I talk to friends about my sexual experiences, I can never be there for the warmth of skin and moaning during sex.

All of these things made me feel ashamed of my virginity. The shame is not that “they have it and I don’t”, but that “I don’t”. An inappropriate metaphor, “Knowing is knowing, not knowing is not knowing” which describes a wisdom, not an excuse that I don’t know I have a reason, and when “I don’t have”, I don’t want to make any excuses, but just want to touch the truth of the truest “I don’t want to be without” desire. Everyone loves emotions not facts, and I am no exception. I love facts only to take care of my glassy-eyed emotions. Sexual inferiority always surrounds me, and I have lived 25 years in a routine, with false confessions and false love. But the only constant is that only my right and left hands remain with me. The invisible blow that accompanies these experiences is such that I can only show a kind of “I can’t have it” resistance.

Sometimes through the luminous screen, even if the chatting person is a woman, but I never construct sexual fantasies about each other, I know very well that I myself do not not go to construct, but dare not construct. Whether it’s the “I’m sleepy with you, I’m sleepy with you! I’m afraid that the slightest sexual fantasy will destroy the balance I hold with the women on the screen, and I will accidentally fall into the forbidden zone of confession or lost love.


I was imagining, imagining that I was really favored by the gods of luck, but the thoughts that followed left me eclipsed ……

I’m imagining that I don’t even know how to use a condom when I have sex for the first time, how will the other person think of me?

I am imagining that the other person needs to put up with my ugly face, ugly teeth, skinny and unwilling to exercise body, and perhaps the unbearable body odor that I don’t know but the other person.

I am imagining that when I enter the other person’s body I can’t hold back a thousand miles, and the other person then says “It’s not your fault/It’s okay”, but does the TA also think so in his heart?

Fear makes me imagine, imagination makes me fear ……

So I should be complacent that I don’t know how to use condoms? I’m sorry I don’t have this kind of thick skin that justifies not knowing; so I’m justified in thinking that I the other person just likes myself before I have sex with myself? I may not have the confidence to believe that someone likes himself; so I have to think without a doubt that the other party is really fine? I don’t possess the nerve to disregard the other person’s mood.

…… until my imagination once again falls into the argument of “why do I think I’ll ever have sex” of sexual inferiority, all but a repetition of irony.

The only rare thing was that I knew one clear fact all along - no one in the world cared whether I was a virgin or not.

But this fact is just another question that confronts me with a more frightening meaning of existence, and I’m afraid I won’t have the strength to continue to cut myself open, even though I’m always longing for a better vision of my heart —