Virgin‌ • Alec Baenen

I have a huge dick and have sex with a lot of women

I mean…

That’s what I’m supposed to say through lips pursed tighter than the zipper on my pants when someone asks me if I’m still a virgin


Am I the only left?

No, no, no I swear I’m straight

I’m just more celibate than the Virgin Mary herself and the great pilgrimage to the Holy Land of college where panties supposedly go down easier than a case of Keystone Light still hasn’t gotten my penis trapped inside whatever mythical wonderland, or horrorland lies between the thigh gap of that girl who asked me for help on a homework assignment last year

And don’t tell me she doesn’t want any of this because Facebook recommended that I “poke” her because we haven’t talked in a while and if that’s not destiny, I don’t know what destiny is.

I convince myself every morning that it’s only a matter of Tomorrowland before I whitewash the title ‘Virgin’ off of my resume in a spin cycle of awkward drunk sex but I’m not sure if I’m supposed to turn the dial to ‘permanent press’’ and use mild agitation to douse her faults in the detergent of my rising cesspool of emotion or throw her aside with the delicates, bleaching her white in the cotton fabric of my Neverland.

What I’m trying to say is:

I am shorter than 6 feet tall, my biceps are smaller than your wrists, and the first time we meet I probably will not dive to save you from oncoming traffic while our tongues get twisted in knots as rose petals fall from the sky before we hit the concrete.

I am not your Man Candy Monday

And if your creed is “Life is too short for bad sex and a man who doesn’t make you feel like a princess”. Well, then I’m probably Satan because my list of sexual endeavors makes a two and a half second hug with your sister look like a video on the scary side of pornhub with those creepy male enhancement advertisements in the corner that I definitely haven’t clicked on out of curiosity

Or watched porn….

Or touched myself…



At the end of the day, no matter how desperately I love her, I could never mold myself into her happily-ever-after. No massive concentration of nerve endings in my crotch can stimulate my desire to tear off the fear cladded to her eyes like the lace on her hips, nor may they grasp the intimacy in the way her body careens against the side doors that are too heavy to open with just the strength of just her hands.

Give me her absolute,

Her everything still unfurnished

Give me her unfurnished,

Her most beautiful of sins

Give her my sins,

The impurities of my carnal virginity


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