More Virgin Stories from the Sex Field.

V is not always for Vendetta.

I wrote “Lebanon’s Sexual Virgins” and “The Virgin’s Dialogue” because I felt compelled to describe an often-encountered social phenomenon which I dubbed “perverse virginity.”

Perverse as in “arousing what one despises.” Perverse as in “wanting what one condemns.”

Today, with the below stories, I close the Virginity Trilogy.

Before that, I would like to thank my readers and friends for their direct and indirect support throughout the “Virginity Process.” I thank those who called me, those who thanked me, those who gave me all kinds of remarks and comments. I thank the True Virgins who called to thank me for writing what perversity human society has to offer. I thank the ex-Virgins, now enjoying all kinds of sinful pleasures (and positions), who also called – or texted me – to let me know how much they appreciated the post (and perhaps how much they enjoyed losing their virginity as well). I thank you all; but, first and foremost, I thank the Virgins, all of them: the good Virgins, the bad Virgins, the ugly Virgins; the True Virgins, the decent Virgins, the virtue-faking-Virgins, the filthy Virgins, the frustrated Virgins, the despicable Virgins, the horny Virgins, the “emancipated” Virgins, the immature Virgins, the double-standards Virgins, especially the plus-vierge-que-moi-tu-meurs-Virgins, the “Holier-Than-Thou” Virgins, the Virgins who touch themselves at night; I thank the churchgoing Virgins, the choir-singing Virgins, the hijab-wearing and the non-hijab-wearing Virgins, the Virgins of all religions and denominations; I thank the Virgins with a mustache or without a mustache, the Virgins who had a hymen reconstruction, the Virgins who are dying to get married, the Virgins who meticulously shave their punanni, the Virgins who flaunt their flesh at any occasion, the Virgins who hate being Virgins but can’t help but be Virgins (to those I say “tough luck”); I thank them all: the slim, the fat, the anorexic, the obese, the chubby, the rich poor cute sexy acne-ridden hairy Virgins tall short black white blond brunette Virgins stupidignorantVirginsinhibitedstuckupungratefulself-centeredchildishcocksuckinghypocritical

I thank you very much, really.


Story I: Dick Tracy and the A.O.C.-Virgins.

According to a trusted local source close to French and American intelligence circles (this is not a joke), Lebanon appears to be a major supplier of first-class faux-Virgins.

A relatively sizeable proportion of the Lebanese residing in Paris, the source says, is particularly active in Swinger* Clubs there. The reported information is confirmed by another source, Agent Dick Tracy (not his real name), a French-Lebanese civil security agent, living in the Parisian region, and apparently knowledgeable in the field. Agent Dick is absolutely positive that many Lebanese females involved in “swinging activities” in Paris are the proud and lucky holders of a CCPV**.

Agent Dick adds that many of those Lebanese virgin Swingers head to Paris for vacation to enjoy the special taste of French debauchery interpenetrating with Lebanese perversity — if I may put it that way.

The moral is, Virgin-swinging has been, until this eye-opening revelation, a belittled component of Lebanon’s exportation of national products. Which is likely to usher in a new, highly competitive market in France: that of the Lebanese A.O.C.-Virgins. Appellation d’Origine Contrôlée. Absolutely.

* To my young readers: a swinger is neither a Swing dancer nor a Swing music lover.

** CCPV: Certificate of Clinically Proven Virginity, refer to Episode I of Trilogy.

© Mujeres y Arte

© Mujeres y Arte


Story II: A Virgin You May Know.

I wonder if you have a sixth sense to recognize a Virgin at first sight. Facebook, for instance, has this intriguing feature that suggests that you add “People You May Know.” Among those, appears inevitably a palette of girls seeking your attention. You click on their profile, and you see pictures posted for you to see; photo albums generously shared to allow you more than just a desirous glance. They are usually busty, or leggy, or both, or “neither nor,” and if so, the illusion of both is created with a carefully chosen outfit, the right shooting angle, and of course, the right pose.

Tight dress. Uptight pose. Probably that.

You will know that they are Virgins because everything in them telegraphs inhibition, contrasting with bold positions, showy moves, minimal fabric on body, ultra-high heels à la Sex and the City; in one word: explicit content. But the inhibition is in every pixel. There is something affected, a Factor X, I would say, an X combining sex and no sex: a typical and recurring composure; almost immutable from one picture to another. Inevitably, a bit forced of a smile, be it the most natural in the world; the revelation of the teeth, the grin of the lips, the puffiness of the half-smiling cheeks. A way of staring at the lens, a certain expectation in the eyes, the curve of the back, a poise of head, a certain body language, the thighs hermetically crossed, an overdose of ostentation… like a Virgin.

Most of the time, the subject is trying too hard; her virgin arse is just too obscene! and the whole mise-en-scène… absolutely vulgar. Only a minority can play the game with intelligence. But in both categories, it’s a yin-yang combination of desexualized sexuality and sexualized virginity; an interpenetration of two paradoxes completing each other to give the perfect ambiguity of that Factor X. I am aware that “interpenetration” has been used twice so far.

Do you think “You May Want to Know” those people? Of course, it depends on the meaning you would be willing to convey to the verb “to know.”

[Editorial break: The author of these lines had originally wagered that the polysemy of the verb “to know” would include the meaning of “to have sexual intercourse with,” as used — rarely, but used — in French through the verb connaître, as in some clever French translations of Genesis 16:4: “Abraham connut Hagar et elle devint enceinte.” The gambling turned out to be miserably  unsuccessful. As the most pedantic translations would give: “Abraham went in unto Hagar,” and the most obscene ones: “slept with Hagar”; “had intercourse with Hagar”; “went into.” In short: not “knowing.”

However, to save the situation — and my intellectual honor –, I resort to decreeing the following:

“Inasmuch as Billets d’humeur is a post-modern initiative to which ideas are simply a text and words to be deconstructed,

Exceptionally and in this article only,

The above-mentioned alternative meanings of the French verb connaître are solemnly adopted.

In the Name of the Father, the Mother, and the “Hole” Family, Hymen.

End of editorial break.]

(Resuming)  Of course, it depends on the meaning you would be willing to convey to the verb “to know,” such as Abraham did.

So… even though you might know “The People I May Know,” it is very unlikely that I, at least, would ever want to end up “knowing” any of them.


Story III: Two Can Play At That Game.

Based on true events.

This is the fascinating true story of two young Frenchmen who landed in Lebanon and instantly realized how staggeringly beautiful Lebanese women were. However, they hadn’t yet known that the foundations of this perception was also about to stagger.

Since my people is particularly reputed for his hospitality and friendliness, and since our two Frenchmen did not waste their time in pursuing what they liked, mingling happened. Social mingling, natch. Thierry and Philippe (not their real names) are invited to some party somewhere in the city. They find themselves surrounded with women they “Would Definitely Want to Know,” (see story II above) and, each being the other’s best wingman, they contrive the following plan: they would come up to “Someone They Would Like to Know” and tell her they are sociology students who would like to interview them on male-female relationships in Lebanon, as part of some experimental research. The plan is immediately put into action; the approach is successful, the exchange is smooth… minutes later, it’s a done deal: they’ve just met Tahira and Batoul (not their real names) who are completely up to it! But deep inside, thanks to this innate gut-feeling only found in Lebanese women, the two girls know very well that this is a false pretext to lure them into a “male trap.” To avert it, Batoul chooses to be proactive; she suggests that the four of them continue the evening at her place. Tahira gets the idea, takes Philippe’s hand, and our two couples head to a fancy apartment right on the corner of the street. The girls giggle, do some rubbing, activate the touchy-feely mode, while the prowling tourists are excited to go to second base with the local Stepford sluts.

Thierry is blown… away by Batoul’s straightforwardness. When at her place, she serves him a drink along with a secret smile. On the other couch, Tahira’s irresistible charms have completely taken command of Philippe. After the drink, Batoul comes nearer; Thierry, drowned in the exhalations of alcohol, anticipates an imminent kiss, but Batoul’s playful lips brush by his ears instead, and whisper: “In my room.”

Abandoning Philippe to Tahira’s spell, Thierry is no longer feeling but the swelling of needy male excitation — the preying man’s greatest weakness. But as soon as the door is closed, Batoul’s expression is the same no more: her stare is severe, tyrannical, almost phallic. She commands him to sit at the corner of the room, then, lying on her bed, she lasciviously strips in front of him.

He is compelled to take action, but, Batoul is always a step ahead. “No, she says, you can only look, but you may not touch.” The desire of the predator always supplants that of its prey.

Here was she now, standing before him, slowly revealing all her self, offering in spectacle the image of her divine body and her perfect curves, the fullness of her breast, her vigorous waist, her sculptural pelvis, yet beyond reach of hand, and beyond reach of ph…; her bold nudity was challenging fearlessly the best way to get raped.

Laying in stupor, Thierry watches her undress, gazing at his own impotency. A thought goes to Philippe, probably ensnared there. And then, in the split of a second, Thierry realized that she was still…


Story IV: Can You Be A Virgin and Slutty at the Same Time?

The answer is clearly yes, you can. Like this girl of my entourage who wanted to maintain her CCPV while continuing to do some “action.” She was with this very nice guy, as she would say. He was good to her. Kind, considerate. But not sensual. No kissing. Awfully bad at French kissing. Not keen on “the thing.” Very bad at touching, caressing, flirting, and the rest. She said she felt the need for all this, but he was not the sensual type. So she left him because she wanted something like sex, but not sex.

The latest pictures of her on Facebook are borderline obscene. The body parts well emphasized, more flesh than fabric. So little that you almost see her anus in one picture or two. Virgins surely have the right to enjoy their body.

Her latest boyfriend is apparently mature enough to  have had at least a few relationships before her. At his age, I hope his passion keeps him away from masturbation. The secret habit as the Arabs say — probably my favorite expression in that language. A hypocritical expression for a hypocritical society. Or maybe the new guy has got low libido. Otherwise, he must be counting the days until he marries her. In the meanwhile, don’t rub it too hard, buddy.

I am wondering if his happiness and fulfillment offset his frustration.

Each one of us is responsible of one’s own suffering. We choose to suffer, don’t we?

A healthy relationship is when your needs meet the expectations of the other. It took me some time to learn this and respect myself.

How many of you have suffered, felt frustrated and alienated out of “love” for their partner? If this is your idea of love; keep it for yourself. I have my own. It’s totally different and it’s beautiful.


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