Life-Saving Choice: Why I Embraced Sexual Abstinence

I waited until I was 19 to have my first sexual experience. I wasn’t in a relationship with this young man. He was someone who today would be labeled a narcissistic abuser. He manipulated me, which was easy for him: at 19, I was still naive. I had just entered a new world: business school. In that environment, there was intense pressure to party, drink, and socialize. When I shared that I had never had sex, I was pressured relentlessly. Not a single party went by without someone reminding me of my virginity, which seemed to be viewed as a failure. Throughout the day, I kept hearing: “Deva, when are you going to take the plunge?”

I felt a shame I had never experienced before. Ashamed of never having indulged in carnal pleasures. Rather than feeling good about my choice, I ended up in the arms of the first person who came along, this narcissistic abuser. My first time was horrific, filled with violence. It was nothing like what I had imagined. I was with an experienced man while I knew nothing. He didn’t protect me and completely ignored my fears, seeking only his own pleasure. Afterward, I bled for several days. A visit to the gynecologist revealed that I had a tear, which explained the bleeding.

The Descent into Horror

Two weeks later, I saw him again at a party. I hadn’t heard from him and found out he had gotten a girlfriend in the meantime. Meanwhile, I was still suffering and bleeding. I tried to talk to him because the way he left me after my first time left a bitter taste in my mouth. Naively, I thought he would reassure me. But it opened the door to hell. He dragged me to the bathroom and raped me for 45 minutes. After that traumatic event, I saw several psychologists, all while remaining in denial. I refused to acknowledge what had happened to me. Between unsuccessful appointments, I fell into another sexual relationship, thinking it would help me move on. It went well with a kind person, but I felt nothing. I couldn’t enjoy it. Therapy continued, to no avail.

At that point in my life, I was completely lost. I didn’t know who to confide in or how to keep my head above water. To escape my dark thoughts, I often stayed at a friend’s house and also turned to sex. I kept telling myself that one day, a positive experience would reconcile me with my body and with sex. One night, we decided to go out just for a change of scenery. At 20, one seldom needs a reason to go out. During the evening, I met a guy and, unsurprisingly, went home with him. Things started well, but alcohol soon changed his demeanor. He tried to strangle me. I thought I might die. For forty long seconds, I struggled to breathe. I’ve often heard that victims of rape or sexual assault are at greater risk of being assaulted again. I guess I’m part of those statistics.

Solo Pleasure and Then Total Abstinence

Following that trauma, I suffered from vaginismus. Vaginismus is characterized by involuntary contractions of the pelvic floor muscles around the vagina, making penetration impossible. This forcibly put a halt to my sexual activity. I took time to ponder what I wanted for my body. I then began to pleasure myself alone, which was the first step towards total abstinence, to reconnect with myself. I wanted to be able to engage in sex when I truly desired it, not under coercion.

For two years, I distanced myself from any interaction with the male body, and even from my own body. Initially, abstinence was a form of rebellion. It was a way to take control, to focus on myself, and to prove that I could exist without being defined by others’ gazes or desires. Over the months, something deeper took hold. It was as if I was rediscovering my own worth, not tied to seduction or sexual conquest, but to my being, my presence. There were moments of frustration, of course. My body sometimes craved the tenderness it no longer received. But it was also a lesson in control, patience, and most importantly, self-respect. The body I had given away too quickly, I learned to listen to, respect, and cherish.

Returning to a Chosen and Affirmed Sexuality

Approaching a man again after nearly two years of abstinence was both frightening and liberating. Frightening because I feared not knowing how to proceed, not being “good enough.” Would my body still respond? Could I still be desirable? But it was also liberating. I had learned to assert myself, to say “no” when I didn’t want to, to set clear boundaries, to listen to my desires and not just respond to others’. Sex finally became a choice, a conscious act, and not just a response to implicit expectations.

“By asserting myself, I attracted different men”

And then, something magical happened. By asserting myself, I attracted different men. Men who were willing to wait, to understand that connection isn’t necessarily through the body, but also through the mind, through exchange. I discovered forms of tenderness I had never explored before. Caresses without intent, sweet words that didn’t lead to more, shared moments where just being together was enough. I was in the skin of a woman more aware of herself, more respectful of her limits and needs. Pleasure was deeper, more authentic, because it was no longer based on the moment, but on a real intimacy built over time, through exchanges, looks, and silences.

I’ve learned that sex could be a language, but it wasn’t the only one. Sometimes, waiting and restraint amplified the intensity of the exchange. Well-received desire thrives on these moments of pause, rediscovering each other without touch. Today, I know I can say no, I can wait, and I can desire without feeling compelled to give in. This strength I’ve acquired, I carry it with me in every relationship. It allows me to choose the men I want to be with, not those who expect something from me, but those who are truly ready to know me, with or without sex.