Author: Mattie Jo Cowsert
During my fourth summer of auditioning for musicals in New York City, I booked a contract in New Hampshire, performing as various fairytale book characters. I had recently ended a four years long fu*k boy situation, and was entering my “fully developed frontal lobe” phase, so I was actually really excited to leave the city to “higher self” for awhile. I was going to focus on me, dick-distraction free!
But the universe had other plans.
Sort of.
During opening week, I spotted an Eastern European babe and couldn’t unsee him. I told myself not to talk to him, just enjoy my visual crush from afar. I guess enough of my not so subtle stares got weird, so he finally introduced himself. His name was Zorro* and he wanted to invite me over to meet the other international employees that evening. Afterward, he offered to walk me to my cabin around the corner, and when we parted ways, he didn’t try to kiss me! Or invite himself inside! Dating in New York seemed to always involve some level of expected physicality with a stranger. I wasn’t used to this kind of relationship-appropriate engagement.
*his name wasn’t actually Zorro but he had all the essence of a mysterious, regal, sword fighting Robinhood-hero-like hottie.
After a few more evenings spent group socializing, Zorro asked if I’d like to go on a walk, just the two of us. We ended up chatting under the stars of the White Mountains for longer than we should have considering we could have been eaten by a bear. Eventually, I expressed that I really should be getting back. What with needing to be up soon to perform fairytale parodies of Taylor Swift songs the next day. “Before we go” he started, “there is something I am needing to tell to you.” Uh Oh.
Does he have cancer?? Of course this exceptionally handsome, considerate, chivalrous man HAS CANCER!
He did not have cancer.
But he was a practicing Romanian Orthodox, and was “waiting until marriage.”
Oh my God. Literally.
I grew up a pastor’s kid and proud purity ring wearer. My sexuality was likened to new shoes and/or shoes that had been “worn by the entire football team.” In my public school sex ed class, there was a metaphor consisting of a tomato being stabbed repeatedly by a pencil. If I let enough “pencils stab my tomato,” I suppose, I’d only have an obliterated tomato to give to my husband. What kind of gift is that to the love of your life?!?!?!?! (Except mashed tomatoes make all kinds of delicious things like marinera, salsa, KETCHUP. I digress…)
I didn’t sleep with my college boyfriend of nearly three years. Most of my community were young couples who planned to be married quickly after college because the women wanted their titties to be fondled without fear of going to hell and I think the dudes just didn’t want to have wet dreams well into their thirties. The point is, I was no stranger to people – yes, even males – who were choosing celibacy.
Being with Zorro helped me figure out how to better sift my sexual co-conspirators.
After moving to New York, however, all of my experiences forced me to question my faith and reinvent my sexuality. I learned to date in the secular world via “baptism by *Tinder flame Symbol.* I had no idea what I was doing, but a field study seemed like the best way to figure it out. So about the burroughs I went, allowing any willing dolt to “wear my shoes.”
I went from being super ashamed about sex to practicing zero discernment about sex. I had the kind of sex I think most people have in college or maybe high school. Sure, I was having sex, but I certainly wasn’t having good sex. I had no idea how to vet my partners, let alone how to speak up for what I wanted in the bedroom.
When I did try to speak up, I was met with projected insecurities and shame. For example, when I did express what I wanted in bed, I’d receive responses such as “Well, it sure seems like you liked what I’m doing” or “Really? I’ve never had anyone ask me to do that.” Not to get too explicit, but I was asking for basic clitoral stimulation not to like, please peg my eyeballs. When asking men to use condoms: “Do I have something to be worried about?” I hope I don’t have to explain the horror of that one. Timing is everything and all that, because given my current “relief” at not putting up with shitty sexual behavior in men, it was nice to not have to think about sex with this man.
Zorro setting his boundaries helped me get clearer on mine.
Back to Zorro and I in the woods and him telling me he’s choosing celibacy. He went on “But you see, I know this is something weird about me, not you. So if you are not good with it, that’s ok! I just wanted to share before we go on liking eachothers more.”
Huh.
This was nothing at all like the purity declarations of my yesterfaith. In my Evangelical world, men expressing purity boundaries was a way to both posture his holiness and see if your sexual purity measured up to his. Zorro wasn’t doing any of that. He was just like “Hey, this is a personal choice of mine. It’s okay if it’s not yours as well, that doesn’t change my liking you. I just want to make sure you’re cool with honoring the boundary.” This kind of quality communication (in like, a fourth language!) and character was enough to convince me to say “Yes, we can go on ‘liking eachothers more.’”
We were together for over a year, and that sweet, respectful, confident, celibate man taught me a lot about sex.
First of all, Zorro setting his boundaries helped me get clearer on mine. Taking sex out of the picture gave me time to tune into the pace that I preferred. In my days of New York sex-ing, I was constantly haunted by internal pressure to perform the way I thought men wanted me to. I’d be on a first date, and even though these dudes I was meeting on apps were literal strangers, I still felt an expectation to go home with them. Sex had never been spoken about as a thing for me to desire and drive accordingly. It was always about pleasing the man.
With Zorro, I got to develop emotional intimacy before plunging into physical intimacy. Which made me realize, I wasn’t ever truly intimate. I was often getting drunk on dates if I knew sex was a possibility, in order to preemptively balm any potential discomfort. Or I was dissociating entirely as a trauma response. I was often not fully present in my body, and therefore, not present with my partner. How could I know if someone was worthy of a shared sexual experience if I wasn’t even fully paying attention to their cues, words, and overall essence? Being with Zorro helped me figure out how to better sift my sexual co-conspirators.
With Zorro, I got to develop emotional intimacy before plunging into physical intimacy. Which made me realize, I wasn’t ever truly intimate.
Additionally – and very lucky for me – due to organized religion’s typically very patriarchal view of sex, what straight couples call “foreplay” was entirely okay for Zorro. So, we did a lot of that over the summer. I was actually exploring my pleasure – with a partner! – for the first time! And he was such an enthusiastic participant! I learned so much about the joys of touch, taking time, sex being shared. And yes, lots and lots o’ Os.
He also taught me that choosing to wait until marriage – or with “the right person” – to have sex isn’t inherently misogynist. When it is weaponized against women to define their worth, and subjugate them accordingly, it is. Which happens in and out of the church, btw. It was such a relief to not feel judged about my sexual choices by a man. For once!
Eventually, Zorro decided that he would like to – as he called it – “gift my virginity.”
“Losing sounds bad, right?” He said. “What I am losing? It shows love, for two people.” GREAT POINT, ZORRO. What are we losing when we have our first penetrative sexperience? Other than, you know, the belief that p-in-v sex is the pinnacle of human existence.
Zorro is in Romania, married with kids, and I am partnered with a tatted Italian (of the New Jersey varietal), still in New York. Though we were not each other’s “forever,” I do forever cherish the integral lessons a virgin taught me about having a great sex life.
God works in mysterious ways.
About the Author: Mattie Jo Cowsert
Mattie Jo is an actor, author, and shameless oversharer now living in New Jersey but still calling herself a New Yorker. Grab her hilarious and “painfully poignant” book: God, Sex, and Rich People, join her not-so-righteous Substack community by the same title—and/or snag her free five-day Dating Post-Purity Culture course datingafterpurityculture.com. Follow her here.