Of all the stories about sex on Tulane’s campus, the most awkward one would have to be from my freshman year. It was our first night in the dorms, and a few people from our hall were hanging out in our tiny dorm room. Someone had the grand idea for an icebreaker: to discuss our body counts — not exactly my favorite way to get to know people, but that’s Tulane. 
When it was my turn, I nervously said, “Zero.” Shocked looks spread around the circle.
“You’ve seriously never gotten laid?!”
“Didn’t you have a serious boyfriend in high school?”
“Okay, well now’s the time … let’s find you a guy.”
Unfortunately, the number zero wasn’t even the most shocking thing I said. What came next really stole the show.
“I’m waiting until marriage,” I said. It was as if all the oxygen got sucked out of the room. It never occurred to them that someone in the room might actually want to keep sex as a meaningful and intentional bond shared only between a husband and wife.
Fast forward to now, and I’m happily engaged to my husband-to-be. The diamond on my left ring finger often gets confused stares in lecture halls. But the question remains: Have I really saved myself for marriage?
The answer is yes. Sex, to me, is a beautiful thing created to be an intimate bond and connection between a husband and wife. And yet, I still get some of the same shocked reactions from acquaintances and classmates alike: “You’re really going to marry a guy you haven’t slept with?” “What if you’re not compatible?” “Aren’t you just setting yourself up for disappointment?” “You’re missing out on a big part of life before marriage.” “That’s so outdated.”
For a culture that claims to celebrate sex positivity, I’ve received very little positivity about my decision to wait. The idea that sex can be meaningful, intentional and worth waiting for has often been met with skepticism, pity and disgust rather than respect and support.
And that, perhaps, is the most awkward sex story of all: Not that I’ve waited, but that the concept of waiting has become so hard to fathom.
