Good lord.

This is how it went:

After amicably (although profoundly sadly) ending my relationship with a man I loved very deeply, I had

to get my sea legs, so to speak. But really what I ended up getting was my sea drunkness. And my sea promiscuity.

Because damnit, I'm a confident 20something with a grown-ass job and it's Wednesday and I'm alive or whatever that quote from "Girls" is.

Anyway, I jumped into the seventh circle of Hell that is OKCupid and went on a bunch of dates. It was pretty easy to do -- I’m gainfully employed and live in a city where, statistically, women have the upper hand in the dating pool -- and I basically started kind of collecting men like Pokemon.

I'm not proud. OK, I'm a little proud.

In the midst of this Katamari ball of mostly-forgettable, frequently problematic men, I met one who was shy and sweet and seemingly well-adjusted. He had a real job and a real place to live and wasn't sketchy and didn't really seem into bullshitting around. He was cute and stylish and we had enough things to talk about, so I was hopeful that, while I wasn’t looking for a relationship, the idea of going out with someone kind and not-weird for a while sounded pretty appealing.

And he followed up with polite texts and liked to make plans, so we did go out a few times. Three times, to be exact.

Which, interestingly enough, is the exact number of times it usually takes to go from “Should we sleep together?” to “Yeah, might as well just sleep together.”

That wasn’t how it went at all, though. Oh Jesus Christ, it wasn’t. And not for any reason I was even mildly prepared for. Because I don't know if, after a sex bender, you can ever prepare to feel the feelings you feel when the man with whom you're between the sheets tells you he's never had sex. Never. Had. Sex.

Maybe I should’ve known by his relative clumsiness at everything leading up to sex, but then, a lot of guys in their 20s are still pretty fumbly in that realm. But honestly, there were no firm clues.

It’s not that surprising -- with teen sex rates going down, there must be more 20-something virgins walking the earth, right? But to be fair, the vast majority of Millennials have already given it up; by age 19, seven out of 10 women have already had their first sexual encounter.

To answer all of your questions: No, he wasn’t religious. No, he wasn’t bad-looking. No, he didn’t appear to have anything critically/criminally/pathologically wrong with him. He was just very shy and very smart, and I think the combination successfully cockblocked him throughout college and well into a smart-person job that has almost no dating prospects.

I’m fairly sure that the reason I was so shocked was because he didn’t tell me during our walk back to his place, or during that awkward time when we were on his couch looking at each other with very little left to say. (Turns out, it was so awkward because he legitimately didn’t know how that situation usually pans out). Or even when it became clear that sex was imminent and I started unbuttoning my dress.

In fact, he waited until he was putting on a condom to inform me that he’d “never done this before.”

After the shock, there were two options, really: Do it with the awareness it would not be good for me and potentially emotionally difficult for him, or don’t do it and leave the poor dude still standing with his V card firmly in his trembling hand. So naturally, I went into caring stranger mode.

“Oh, jeez,” I stammered. “OK, we need to stop.”

Internally, I was screaming at myself to not laugh, not make a face, not judge. He definitely didn’t need that -- and really, he should get points for honesty, right? But outwardly, I was ultra-calm.

“I don’t think I can be the person you do this with. I’m not going to be your girlfriend, this isn’t going to be a relationship -- and you probably should do this with someone who is,” I told him as placidly as possible. He just groaned.

For a split-second, I did consider another possible plan: Come back at a later date for the mercyfuck. Maybe he just really wanted to get it over with, and I could be the somewhat-slutty (in the most positive way) lady who could come along and help him get over the hump of virginity. But almost immediately, I realized what a terrible idea that would be, because this did not seem like the kind of guy who could go from zero to 60 and suddenly start having casual sex.

In the end, I had to just leave his apartment and know that there was a very good chance I wouldn’t see this man again. It was just too sticky of a situation, and one that felt more appropriate for someone else to handle. Maybe if I were a kinder person, I’d have been more willing to assist -- or maybe it’s a super-entitled, narcissistic thing to assume that he’d even really wanted me to.

He waited a full week to text again, and when he did, he asked me to come over and watch movies, which, with any other guy, I’d assume was code for “have sex with a movie playing somewhat uncomfortably in the background.” But with a virgin, it was all new territory.

I didn’t respond, which I don’t think was the right thing to do, though, in this story, I don’t know that there was a good outcome possible. Maybe there was -- I’m sure you’ll tell me what I should have done.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681009)

yup. what a hellhole

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681715)

where the fuck is something like this 'published'.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681729)

https://www.xojane.com/it-happened-to-me/it-happened-to-me-i-ended-up-in-bed-with-a-27-year-old-virgin

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681734)

"IT HAPPENED TO ME: I Farted in My Tattoo Artist's Face While Getting My First Tattoo"

and

"IT HAPPENED TO ME: A Group of Japanese Tourists Got Angry at Me for Claiming to Be Japanese"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681736)

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681738)

“Wait one more year,” my mom kept telling me. I was 18 and like every other person “coming of age,” I wanted my first tattoo. I wasn’t particularly rebellious or whatever you want to call it. I was just young, and to be honest, I thought it would be cool to get a tattoo. I wanted a meaningful Bible verse on my ribcage. Total cliché, I know.

I decided to wait a year, for my mom, because she asked so nicely and was so concerned about my wellbeing. What’s one more year anyway, right? During that year, I finished high school and started my freshman year of college. I had gone with many friends as they got tattoos, and it always took a bit of self-restraint to not just say screw it and get one myself. When I went with friends, I was always the one holding their hands and taking photos. I couldn’t wait to be the one finally getting one.

I scheduled an appointment for Christmas break back in my hometown, and my best friend was coming with me. I was excited when we got to the shop. The tattoo artist was this burly, bearded man who didn’t say much but was polite enough for me to trust him. He had done some my friends' tattoos, and I was completely basing everything about him off referrals.

He drew up different fonts for me for my verse, all in varying sizes and formats. I picked one I liked and checked the spelling a billion times. Finally, I got on the table and lifted my shirt for him to start.

He sat behind me as I lay on my left side. My friend sat in front of me holding my hands. He tested the machine on me just to show me what it would feel like. Not so bad! Even though it was a relatively large piece, I thought it would go over pretty quickly and not hurt too much.

He started outlining the letters. My thought progression went something like this: OK, it’s getting worse. It’s a constant pain that isn’t going away. Geez, how many letters are in this verse?!

Anyone who has a tattoo on their ribcage knows the pain and discomfort I'm remembering. It seemed like he was working forever, when in reality it had only been about 10 minutes. I had seen so many friends get tattoos in the past — I didn’t want to be a baby and ask him for a break or to stop. I just needed to buckle down, clench my teeth, and wait for it to be over.

What I didn’t realize was that I wasn’t only clenching my teeth. I was squeezing my entire body. After what seemed like an eternity, the artist paused and said, “OK, quick break. You can relax.”

I let out a breath and felt all the air I was holding inside of me come out of my mouth.

And then it happened.

As I relaxed my body, the loudest, longest fart escaped. It was one of those farts that you hear on TV and think, No one actually farts like that. Or better yet, think about sitting on a whoopee cushion slowly and having the fart come out really loud but seemingly never-ending. That’s what came out of me.

To make things worse, my tattoo artist was still sitting right behind me, his face at my butt level. I looked up at my friend to see if maybe I had imagined it. There were tears forming in her eyes as she tried not to burst out laughing. Nope, I definitely did not imagine it. I slowly turned my face over my shoulder to see if maybe he was facing the other way or had somehow miraculously missed the huge fart that just came out of me.

“Did you just fart on me?” were the first words out of his mouth.

According to my friend, I answered him right away. But in my head this moment seemed like forever. I thought about maybe just running away. What’s a half-finished tattoo anyway, right? I can get someone else to finish it. Then I thought about lying or blaming it on someone else. Thank goodness it didn’t smell or I’d have a whole other issue to worry about. I just nodded my head in embarrassment.

He started to chuckle. “In 20 years of tattooing, I’ve seen some ridiculous things, but you’re the first to fart on me.”

My face was getting hot, and I could feel the red blush spreading. I started apologizing over and over, but was also trying to keep still because my shirt was half off and my tattoo wasn’t done. Then this tough-looking man, with tattoos all up and down his arms, told me to take another deep breath and actually relax. He calmly told me he was going to start tattooing again and to keep breathing.

As he tattooed, he started telling me a story about how he passed out while getting a tattoo once. He was just sitting there getting inked, and the next thing he knew people were offering him water and asking him if he was OK. He told me another story about how one of his friends threw up during a tattoo because of the pain. I started to think about what it would be like to vomit during this experience, the mess and cleanup, and how that would have really delayed or stopped the process. The stories continued throughout the next hour and a half, all about embarrassing things that have happened to him or people he knew while getting piercings or tattoos.

Although I wasn’t sure if any of this was true or if he was making it up to make me feel better, I was so thankful in that moment. I was able to get through the time and forget about what had happened for the time being. When he was finished, I looked in the mirror and admired the verse. He asked me if I was happy with it, which I most definitely was.

Then he told me, “Hey keep ripping those things out! Your body does such cool things — farting is one of them!”

I think about my body now, with a couple more tattoos, and look at everything I’ve accomplished because of the body I am in. It’s true, my body does some pretty incredible things. Who cares if I let one rip every now and then? As least I’m going for it, and things could always be worse than a little nervous gas.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681749)

The United States is one of the only countries, if not the only country, that defines a person by biological percentages. How much of a certain ethnicity you are matters significantly to this day. For example, to stay on a reserve, you need to be a certain percentage of Native American, and in Hawai’i, to live on homestead land, you need to be a certain percentage of Native Hawaiian. This blood quantum rule/biological percentage provides guidelines and a form of classification. This classification even extends to biological physical characteristics — and I've found that's when classification extends beyond the US as well.

Living in Hawai’i, I've seen many Asian tourists come to visit the island. Being the outgoing person that I am, I always try to make conversations with people. I love meeting new people and learning about where they’re from; other people and other cultures fascinate me. Hawai’i is so isolated being smack dab in the middle of the largest ocean in the world, so every chance I get to meet someone is a chance I happily take.

One day, when I was walking down the Waikiki strip with my surf gear, I came across a group of tourists. I overheard them talking and, being part Japanese, I could tell from their speech that they were Japanese and that they needed help with directions. Being a native of Hawai’i, I offered my help and started to make small talk. I asked them where they were from and when they said they were from Japan, I was instantly ecstatic.

“I have always wanted to go to Tokyo and Hiroshima,” I said.

“Tokyo I understand. It big city and there are many people in Tokyo, but why Hiroshima?” a woman in the group asked me.

“Hiroshima is where my great-grandfather is from and I have always wanted to see where he grew up to get more in touch with my culture.”

Right as I said this, the group of Japanese tourists all looked so shocked. They glanced at each other with the most peculiar expressions, and their curious looks soon turned to dismay and outrage.

“You not Japanese,” one woman said with the most disgusted look on her face.

“You too tall to be Japanese!” another woman blurted angrily.

I have never had a conversation that took such a drastic turn for the worse, and I have never infuriated tourists before. There anger was infectious because I started to get angry.

“But I am!” I pleaded.

How were they going to tell me if I was Japanese or not? They have known me for five minutes. Just because I am, tall that supposedly makes me not Japanese? I’m tall because I’m part Caucasian and Hawaiian. I was infuriated that they were judging me merely off of my looks. Since I don’t have many physical traits that align with what's considered typically Japanese, that makes me not Japanese? I have a Japanese last name for crying out loud! Nishida is one of the most common Japanese names in all of Japan. It’s like how Johnson is a common last name in America.

But why am I even trying to prove myself to these tourists? Because this world is filled with people like them and I want to be accepted. Too many people are being judged, classified, and disowned because of their looks. Being a mixed minority woman in society is very difficult. I am Japanese, Chinese, Hawaiian, Danish, and Portuguese. According to America’s biological formula, technically I am 12.5% Japanese, 1% Chinese, 20% Hawaii, 16.5% Danish, and 50% Portuguese. As I stated earlier, in Hawai’i, to live on homestead land the individual needs to prove that they are Hawaiian and they need to prove that they are a certain percentage Hawaiian. In this process, you have to list what other ethnicities you are along with how much of that ethnicity contributes to your biological identity.

What puts me in such a difficult space is the fact that many people of my many ethnicities will not accept me because I am not “enough” of that ethnicity to “count.” Despite having a great-grandfather from Japan and having one of the most common Japanese names, I am not “claimed” by Japanese people because 12.5% is not “enough.” Reviewing my biological identity, the only group I would be accepted by is the Portuguese. But when people look at me, I physically look Hawaiian. With my long brown hair, hazel eyes, and tall frame, when most people look at me they don’t even know what I am. There have been so many occasions where I have been asked "what" I am and it makes me feel like an alien.

I want to be accepted as a Japanese, Chinese, Hawaiian, Danish, Portuguese woman. Not criticized by people for being a certain ethnicity or not “enough” of an ethnicity. I take pride in all of my ethnicities; it makes me the distinct woman I am.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681771)

Perhaps one of them lost face in Jap way or perhaps she did something inadvertently rude to japs but forgivable because she's not jap herself.

then when she claimed to be jap they had to set her straight or indirectly in jap sidewise way "explain" why protocol was previously broken without offense.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682460)

your a mongrel. there, thats your identity.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35683816)

If you're losing your virginity at an embarrassingly late age, your only option is to not disclose that you're a virgin and be prepared for the fact that women might ding you for being a lousy, clumsy lay

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35681826)

Really highlights this idiocy of his poast

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35684430)

"heh, we fucked: DODECACHUCK"

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682476)

1. Why did she make the judgment for him as to whether or not he should have sex? She basically implies throughout the entire piece that it's loser behavior to not have sex, yet this guy who hasn't had sex literally gets to the point with her where he's putting on a condom, so he can't be that much of a loser. Why would her inclination be to then stop him, as opposed to perhaps just being flattered and asking him whether he wanted to lose his virginity to a girl who probably wouldn't be a LTR?

2. Related to #1, I wonder if this is really all about her in that finding out he was a virgin made her freak out like she was giving it up to a loser and thus pulled the plug.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682478)

2. Humiliating him makes her feel superior

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682487)

i'm not sure about point #1 -- why would that be vanity? because she is too vain to sleep with a guy who hasn't ever fucked another chick before? isn't the vanity excuse thrown out the window when she literally had the guy strapping on a rubber to fuck her before he made that disclosure?

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682551)

would be nice to see pics of the ppl involved here but they're both prob hideous

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682568)

http://www.xoxohth.com/thread.php?thread_id=515885&forum_id=2#6891124

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35683669)

like, he got to the NCAA finals and lost by 2 points. he can clearly hang.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682604)

it doesn't matter if this guy can "hang" and give her a good time on dates. what matters in this nightmare machine kabuki casino is what you are not what you do. if she just wanted a fun time the latter would be enough. but in her bombarded mind perceived smv is identity. and this dude was a virgin, all else be damned.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682736)

The reality is that:

- She didn't want to fuck him once he revealed himself to be an ultra beta

- Nonreligious males who lose their virginity in later in life likely *do not want* their first sex to be some extremely memorable occasion. If it's too mind blowing and awesome, it's just going to be that much more bittersweet to think about going forward, because it's just going to stand out as a constant reminder that you went many years without sex.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35682933)

IT HAPPENED TO ME: I Lost My Virginity in Public

https://www.xojane.com/it-happened-to-me/i-lost-my-virginity-in-public

Cliffs: guy fucked her, dumped her, gave her crabs

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35683085)

But because he missed out, now he's behind... and being behind makes him more behind... and after this he'll probably be gun shy for a while and may even hit 29 or 30 without having sex... so when he's out in the dating market again he'll be even less confident and even farther behind.

The winner take all sexual market means you can *never* catch up. It's probably more important for a happy life that a man have sex early and often to get that experience and confidence, even if it means delaying college. You can always start college at 20 and won't get DINGFAGGED for having never been to college before. But you can't start women at 27 because you will get DINGINCELLED for having never been in a woman before.

This truly is a dystopia.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35683131)

"Anyway, I jumped into the seventh circle of Hell that is OKCupid and went on a bunch of dates. It was pretty easy to do -- I’m gainfully employed and live in a city where, statistically, women have the upper hand in the dating pool -- and I basically started kind of collecting men like Pokemon.

I'm not proud. OK, I'm a little proud."

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35684238)

I think playing this in my early 20s coloured my views of the app dating game.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35684265)

MY story

MY pokemons

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=3928204&forum_id=2#35684273)