There isn’t a lot of things that surprise me. Furthermore, I rarely surprise myself. However, I think it’s safe to say that I’ve surprised myself a hell of a lot more often in the past few months than I ever have in the past.
I’ve always found myself adamantly studying human behavior and the reasons behind their actions. In the same way, I also study myself and once
in a while, I am astounded by what I’ve done or how I’ve reacted.
I’ve already written a few articles on the changes that have occurred over the semester and the adventures that have been experienced. I have lightly touched on this subject, but I have not really elaborated enough. So I’ll ask: what drives a person to do things outside their nature? Nature being the operative, or rather meaning a person’s predictable personality.
It’s easy to agree that people have the ability to do things they normally wouldn’t do, when all reason and logic disappear and pure animalistic instincts take over. Being such a highly evolved species—that is, most of us—are able to control our “wild” instincts. But what is it that wills us to make a conscious decision to let that all go?
I used to be a virgin. I used to want to wait until marriage, to save it for the man I would spend the rest of my life with, your typical romantic ideal. I was a virgin up until I was 22. Not a bad record, I have to say. During that time, I was also in a serious relationship with another virgin, which made it less of a temptation to let loose on our physical desires. However, I had the urge to know whether or not I was sex-worthy to my boyfriend. I would ask once in a while if he ever wanted to make love to me. Ironically, he would get irritated and say “no, not right now.” I think he took me literally, whereas I just wanted the satisfaction of knowing that he would if he wanted to. After the sixth month of our relationship, his mind changed, a full turnaround. Suddenly, he was all for it. And I gave away myself to the one I thought was “true love.” At 22, I was super naïve. That boy was the only boy I had ever been with, even past our eventual terminated relationship.
Now the count is two. Two at 24.
After my breakup, I wanted to try and wait again until marriage. I didn’t want to run amok and sleep with any guy that was willing, even though there were times the opportunity was extremely tempting. I wanted to keep the sex thing something special between me and someone else. Something meaningful. Worthwhile. Not just a physical exercise to get my jollies off. I want to do it for love. Is that so surprising?
So, while I was doing my best to revirginize myself, I developed a very close friendship with a boy. He became my best friend. He was amazing in every way, a Godsend, really. He and I were pretty much welded at the hip. He was 22 and also a virgin.
Our friendship was picked on by most people, behind our backs or to our faces. People at work pressured and gossiped. Close friends disapproved and also gossiped. Most didn’t believe we could be “just friends.” It was hard to a point. Emotionally hard. For my best friend had also fallen for me. I, however, couldn’t see him more than just a friend. Perhaps it was because that’s how I started out, looking at him as though he were a brother of mine.
But we were the opposite sex. And there were times where the attraction could become very hard to ignore. There were little moments where we did allow ourselves physical exploration, but it never led to much of anything else. Our code term was “stuff and other things.”
“I’m in the mood for doing stuff,” I’d say.
“And other things?” he’d respond. We’d laugh at our little inside joke.
But one fateful night, I gave in. I slept with my best friend. All logical reasoning flew out the door, all consideration for our friendship—gone. Just simple and pure, straightforward and relentless, human instinct. For a night, my reservations on sex vanished. I guess you could say my need was much stronger than I thought. There was no regret, which mildly surprises me. I used to regret it before.
Also, I find it ironic that I’ve only slept with virgins… Kinda makes me feel like I’m a thief of innocence.
Nonetheless, how can I explain myself? What was it that drove me to give in after all those months of being able to thwart off physical passion? How did I turn from a person who so believed strongly in waiting, to becoming who I am now? It cannot be explained off by simply saying “I changed my mind.” There’s more to it. Was it love that I felt for my best friend? Did I finally see past the idea that he was “just a friend?” Or was it loneliness? I’d have to say no on that one. There were a few other guys I could have been with out of loneliness, but chose not to. Was it simply out of passion? Again, I’d have to say no. I would have taken it out on guys a lot sooner, if that was the case.
Then it was love. It had to have been. I had already known how deeply I felt for him, that I wanted nothing but his happiness. I wanted nothing but for him to know what love was like. Robin Williams in Bicentennial Man states it perfectly:
“That you can lose yourself, everything, all boundaries, all time—the two bodies can become so mixed up that you don’t know who’s who or what’s what. And just when the sweet confusion is so intense you think you’re gonna DIE, you kind of do…leaving you alone in your separate body.
But the one you love is still there.
That’s a miracle. You can go to heaven and come back alive. You can go back anytime you want with the one you love.”
Was it really so wrong of us to do? I don’t think so.
So, even though I promised myself to wait—even though I believe making love is special and shouldn’t be wasted—even though I wasn’t in a romantic relationship with him—even though there are those who may think I’m a horrible person for giving in and sleeping with my best friend, accusing me of knowing better and putting all responsibilities on my shoulders—even though I did something outside of my own personal nature—I know that I am happy. Maybe because I knew he was happy. After all, showing love is giving love.
…stuff and other things.