Ed. Note: We have been interviewing poets who are ex-virgins about how they lost theirs. Our inspiration: this poem by Terence Winch from his new book "This Way Out" (Hanging Loose Press, 2014). Keep those anecdotes coming.
How I Lost My Virginity
I cannot tell you how I lost my virginity.
It’s a secret that to some extent depends
upon the meaning of virginity. When I go out
at night, as I did tonight, and I wander these
beautiful 19th-century rooms, which is what
I did, and I speak to very smart people about
art and books, and who might run for president
next time around, I do not tell any of them how
I lost my virginity. No. Instead, I tell them one
of my many pig jokes, and they are very amused,
as they should be, for these jokes of mine
about pigs are very funny and I’m pretty good
at delivering the punch line.
Later, in the car on the way home, I sit
in the back and we have an intense discussion
about some very serious fallings-out among
our erstwhile friends. One of our old friends,
it turns out, is a child molester, but a lot of people
are unaware of that about him. Even I, for many
years, compartmentalized this information
and remained his friend until it slowly
began to dawn on me: this guy’s a child
molester. Until it happens to you with
someone you care about, you won’t
really understand what I’m talking about.
So don’t judge. As for my virginity, I lost it
a thousand times, once in an apartment,
and once outdoors at the beach, with a
full moon above, the two of us pretending
to be in love. And on one other occasion,
I never lost my virginity at all,
as far as I can recall.
-- Terence Winch