elantraceey:
Post the whole story here joor

umehmj:
no doubt the op is a dicck! not only is the story not his original write up but he selfishly want us to click on his damn link. well lemme import the full story here




At the age of 10, I took a pledge at my church
alongside a group of other girls to remain a virgin
until marriage. Yes, you read that right — I was
10 years old.
Let’s take a look at who I was as a 10-year-old: I
was in fourth grade. I played with Barbie dolls
and had tea parties with imaginary friends. I
pretended I was a mermaid every time I took a
bath. I still thought boys were icky and I had no
idea I liked girls, too. I wouldn’t get my period for
another four years. And most importantly, I didn’t
have a clue about sex.
The church taught me that sex was for married
people. Extramarital sex was sinful and dirty and
I would go to Hell if I did it. I learned that as a
girl, I had a responsibility to my future husband
to remain pure for him. It was entirely possible
that my future husband wouldn’t remain pure for
me, because he didn’t have that same
responsibility, according to the Bible. And of
course, because I was a Christian, I would forgive
him for his past transgressions and fully give
myself to him, body and soul.
Once I got married, it would be my duty to fulfill
my husband’s sexual needs. I was told over and
over again, so many times I lost count, that if I
remained pure, my marriage would be blessed by
God and if I didn’t that it would fall apart and end
in tragic divorce.
I believed it. Why wouldn’t I? I was young and
these were people I trusted. Everyone knew I’d
taken the virginity vow, of course. Gossip is the
lifeblood of the Baptist Church. My parents were
so proud of me for making such a spiritual
decision. The church congregation applauded my
righteousness.
For more than a decade, I wore my virginity like a
badge of honor. My church encouraged me to do
so, saying my testimony would inspire other
young girls to follow suit. If the topic ever came
up in conversation, I was happy to let people
know that I had taken a pledge of purity.
It became my entire identity by the time I hit my
teen years. When I met my then boyfriend-now
husband, I told him right away that I was saving
myself for marriage and he was fine with that
because it was my body, my choice and he loved
me.
We were together for six years before we got
married. Any time we did anything remotely
sexual, guilt overwhelmed me. I wondered where
the line was because I was terrified to cross it.
Was he allowed to touch my breasts? Could we
look at each other naked? I didn’t know what was
considered sexual enough to condemn my future
marriage and send me straight to Hell.
An unhealthy mixture of pride, fear, and guilt
helped me keep my pledge until we got married.
In the weeks before our wedding, I often got
congratulated on keeping my virginity for so long.
The comments ranged from curious (how in the
world did you manage?) to downright disgusting (I
bet you’re going to have one busy wedding night!)
. I let them place me on the pedestal as their
virginal, perfect-Christian-girl mascot.
I lost my virginity on my wedding night, with my
husband, just as I had promised that day when I
was 10 years old. I stood in the hotel bathroom
beforehand, wearing my white lingerie, thinking, “I
made it. I’m a good Christian.” There was no
chorus of angels, no shining light from Heaven. It
was just me and my husband in a dark room,
fumbling with a condom and a bottle of lube for
the first time.
Sex hurt. I knew it would. Everyone told me it
would be uncomfortable the first time. What they
didn’t tell me is that I would be back in the
bathroom afterward, crying quietly for reasons I
didn’t yet comprehend. They didn’t tell me that I’d
be on my honeymoon, crying again, because sex
felt dirty and wrong and sinful even though I was
married and it was supposed to be okay now.
When we got home, I couldn’t look anyone in the
eye. Everyone knew my virginity was gone. My
parents, my church, my friends, my co-workers.
They all knew I was soiled and tarnished. I wasn’t
special anymore. My virginity had become such
an essential part of my personality that I didn’t
know who I was without it.
It didn’t get better. I avoided undressing in front
of my husband. I tried not to kiss him too often
or too amorously so I wouldn’t lead him on. I
dreaded bedtime. Maybe he’d want to have sex.
When he did, I obliged. I wanted nothing more
than to make him happy because I loved him so
much and because I’d been taught it was my duty
to fulfill his needs. But I hated sex. Sometimes I
cried myself to sleep because I wanted to like it,
because it wasn’t fair. I had done everything
right. I took the pledge and stayed true to it.
Where was the blessed marriage I was promised?
I let it go on this way for almost two years before
I broke down. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I told
my husband everything. My feminist husband was
horrified that I’d let him touch me when I didn’t
want him to. He made me promise I’d never do
anything I didn’t want to do ever again. We
stopped having sex. He encouraged me to see a
therapist and I did. It was the first step on a long
journey to healing.
Ten-year-old girls want to believe in fairy tales.
Take this pledge and God will love you so much
and be so proud of you, they told me. If you wait
to have sex until marriage, God will bring you a
wonderful Christian husband and you’ll get
married and live happily ever after, they said.
Waiting didn’t give me a happily ever after.
Instead, it controlled my identity for over a
decade, landed me in therapy, and left me a
stranger in my own skin. I was so completely
ashamed of my body and my sexuality that it
made having sex a demoralizing experience.
I don’t go to church anymore, nor am I religious.
As I started to heal, I realized that I couldn’t
figure out how to be both religious and sexual at
the same time. I chose sex. Every single day is a
battle to remember that my body belongs to me
and not to the church of my childhood. I have to
constantly remind myself that a pledge I took
when I was only 10 doesn’t define who I am
today. When I have sex with my husband, I make
sure it’s because I have a sexual need and not
because I feel I’m required to fulfill his desires.
I’m now thoroughly convinced that the entire
concept of virginity is used to control female
sexuality. If I could go back, I would not wait. I
would have sex with my then-boyfriend-now-
husband and I wouldn’t go to hell for it. We
would have gotten married at a more appropriate
age and I would have kept my sexuality to
myself.
Unfortunately, I can’t go back but I can give you
this message as a culmination of my experiences:
If you want to wait to have sex until marriage
make sure it’s because you want to. It’s your
body; it belongs to you, not your church. Your
sexuality is nobody’s business but yours.

umehmj:
no doubt the op is a dicck! not only is the story not his original write up but he selfishly want us to click on his damn link. well lemme import the full story here




At the age of 10, I took a pledge at my church
alongside a group of other girls to remain a virgin
until marriage. Yes, you read that right — I was
10 years old.
Let’s take a look at who I was as a 10-year-old: I
was in fourth grade. I played with Barbie dolls
and had tea parties with imaginary friends. I
pretended I was a mermaid every time I took a
bath. I still thought boys were icky and I had no
idea I liked girls, too. I wouldn’t get my period for
another four years. And most importantly, I didn’t
have a clue about sex.
The church taught me that sex was for married
people. Extramarital sex was sinful and dirty and
I would go to Hell if I did it. I learned that as a
girl, I had a responsibility to my future husband
to remain pure for him. It was entirely possible
that my future husband wouldn’t remain pure for
me, because he didn’t have that same
responsibility, according to the Bible. And of
course, because I was a Christian, I would forgive
him for his past transgressions and fully give
myself to him, body and soul.
Once I got married, it would be my duty to fulfill
my husband’s sexual needs. I was told over and
over again, so many times I lost count, that if I
remained pure, my marriage would be blessed by
God and if I didn’t that it would fall apart and end
in tragic divorce.
I believed it. Why wouldn’t I? I was young and
these were people I trusted. Everyone knew I’d
taken the virginity vow, of course. Gossip is the
lifeblood of the Baptist Church. My parents were
so proud of me for making such a spiritual
decision. The church congregation applauded my
righteousness.
For more than a decade, I wore my virginity like a
badge of honor. My church encouraged me to do
so, saying my testimony would inspire other
young girls to follow suit. If the topic ever came
up in conversation, I was happy to let people
know that I had taken a pledge of purity.
It became my entire identity by the time I hit my
teen years. When I met my then boyfriend-now
husband, I told him right away that I was saving
myself for marriage and he was fine with that
because it was my body, my choice and he loved
me.
We were together for six years before we got
married. Any time we did anything remotely
sexual, guilt overwhelmed me. I wondered where
the line was because I was terrified to cross it.
Was he allowed to touch my breasts? Could we
look at each other naked? I didn’t know what was
considered sexual enough to condemn my future
marriage and send me straight to Hell.
An unhealthy mixture of pride, fear, and guilt
helped me keep my pledge until we got married.
In the weeks before our wedding, I often got
congratulated on keeping my virginity for so long.
The comments ranged from curious (how in the
world did you manage?) to downright disgusting (I
bet you’re going to have one busy wedding night!)
. I let them place me on the pedestal as their
virginal, perfect-Christian-girl mascot.
I lost my virginity on my wedding night, with my
husband, just as I had promised that day when I
was 10 years old. I stood in the hotel bathroom
beforehand, wearing my white lingerie, thinking, “I
made it. I’m a good Christian.” There was no
chorus of angels, no shining light from Heaven. It
was just me and my husband in a dark room,
fumbling with a condom and a bottle of lube for
the first time.
Sex hurt. I knew it would. Everyone told me it
would be uncomfortable the first time. What they
didn’t tell me is that I would be back in the
bathroom afterward, crying quietly for reasons I
didn’t yet comprehend. They didn’t tell me that I’d
be on my honeymoon, crying again, because sex
felt dirty and wrong and sinful even though I was
married and it was supposed to be okay now.
When we got home, I couldn’t look anyone in the
eye. Everyone knew my virginity was gone. My
parents, my church, my friends, my co-workers.
They all knew I was soiled and tarnished. I wasn’t
special anymore. My virginity had become such
an essential part of my personality that I didn’t
know who I was without it.
It didn’t get better. I avoided undressing in front
of my husband. I tried not to kiss him too often
or too amorously so I wouldn’t lead him on. I
dreaded bedtime. Maybe he’d want to have sex.
When he did, I obliged. I wanted nothing more
than to make him happy because I loved him so
much and because I’d been taught it was my duty
to fulfill his needs. But I hated sex. Sometimes I
cried myself to sleep because I wanted to like it,
because it wasn’t fair. I had done everything
right. I took the pledge and stayed true to it.
Where was the blessed marriage I was promised?
I let it go on this way for almost two years before
I broke down. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I told
my husband everything. My feminist husband was
horrified that I’d let him touch me when I didn’t
want him to. He made me promise I’d never do
anything I didn’t want to do ever again. We
stopped having sex. He encouraged me to see a
therapist and I did. It was the first step on a long
journey to healing.
Ten-year-old girls want to believe in fairy tales.
Take this pledge and God will love you so much
and be so proud of you, they told me. If you wait
to have sex until marriage, God will bring you a
wonderful Christian husband and you’ll get
married and live happily ever after, they said.
Waiting didn’t give me a happily ever after.
Instead, it controlled my identity for over a
decade, landed me in therapy, and left me a
stranger in my own skin. I was so completely
ashamed of my body and my sexuality that it
made having sex a demoralizing experience.
I don’t go to church anymore, nor am I religious.
As I started to heal, I realized that I couldn’t
figure out how to be both religious and sexual at
the same time. I chose sex. Every single day is a
battle to remember that my body belongs to me
and not to the church of my childhood. I have to
constantly remind myself that a pledge I took
when I was only 10 doesn’t define who I am
today. When I have sex with my husband, I make
sure it’s because I have a sexual need and not
because I feel I’m required to fulfill his desires.
I’m now thoroughly convinced that the entire
concept of virginity is used to control female
sexuality. If I could go back, I would not wait. I
would have sex with my then-boyfriend-now-
husband and I wouldn’t go to hell for it. We
would have gotten married at a more appropriate
age and I would have kept my sexuality to
myself.
Unfortunately, I can’t go back but I can give you
this message as a culmination of my experiences:
If you want to wait to have sex until marriage
make sure it’s because you want to. It’s your
body; it belongs to you, not your church. Your
sexuality is nobody’s business but yours.

acenazt:
I laugh at the Dont touch me girls. Virgins end up having terrible honeymoons

acenazt:
I laugh at the Dont touch me girls. Virgins end up having terrible honeymoons