Twelve horny adults who’ve never had sex coming together (wishful thinking?) on a remote island. What could possibly go wrong?
Just when you thought Channel 4 had exhausted its seemingly endless quest to expose every area of sexual life, along comes Virgin Island with a two-week retreat in which nervous virgins explore intimacy and, hopefully (for the channel, as well as the participants), get down and dirty amongst the Mediterranean waves.
Hmmm. If you’re willing to go on national television to (a) tell everyone you’re a virgin, and (b) face the prospect of losing your virginity for the viewing public to see, you really don’t have a problem because once your faces are out there, you’ll be banging for Britain, because that’s how TV works. Or has no one told you that?
Everyone remembers their First Time. And if you can’t recall the actual act, you’ll sure as hell remember the hangover you woke up with the day after, wondering if you’d DTD (Done the Deed).
Isn’t losing it – the anticipation, the excitement and, hell, yes, the fear – just a rite of passage? If you need a TV crew to get through it, sex is the least of your problems.
I remember my first time so clearly, I can even tell you the registration number: MUH 853P, since you ask. White Ford Estate, front seat, awkward gearstick – there were definitely three people in that relationship.
I was 20 and had spent my formative years since the age of 16 being groomed by a schoolteacher, and all our meetings took place in his car. It was a situation that continued after I’d left school and it scarred me for life; to this day, I still continue to go for men who will throw me just a few crumbs, as he did, rather than a decent guy who is emotionally available.
The Deed didn’t happen for years. I’m not sure why. He was waiting for that special moment, but when I met him at a hotel when he was at a conference (when I was still in school), a fellow attendee recognised me and, I suspect, put the fear of God into him, so nothing happened. When, years later, it did, it was unremarkable. There was no guilt, no shame, certainly no pleasure (though he was very pleased), and I couldn’t see what all the fuss was about.
I wasn’t the only pupil to lose my virginity to a teacher in that school. One head of department chose a new victim every year, helping them to get into Cambridge where, having been a student himself, made it easier for him to pull strings. One of those pupils is today an adult wreck; DTD took place on his living room floor where he was rough, insensitive and cruel.
One of the others does not call herself a victim and maintains their relationship was formative in helping her live what she now calls her ‘best life.’ I’d say she’s deluded, but maybe she was just aggressively ambitious – she dumped the teacher I was with (oh yes, he got around) for the other one, who was clearly going to be of more use to her).
I wasn’t so lucky, but despite the way my life turned out romantically (the Titanic of disasters), I don’t hark back to losing my virginity with any kind of regret; in fact, I hadn’t thought about it for years until I saw the Channel 4 trailer. I’ve laughed about it more than I’ve cried. Incidentally, the years preceding DTD took place in TBO 440H, which he sold for the s**gmobile – a silver Ford Estate – the cars were far more memorable than his performance, which makes it all even funnier.
I just don’t see what the big deal is and, having seen clips from tonight’s show, with fully clothed adults gyrating over each other and talking about intimacy, I can’t help feeling they would have been better served going on an 18-30s holiday, getting plastered and doing what comes naturally. Stop talking about it – just get on and do it. That’s what always worked for us in the past. It’s what works the world over.
But we live in a culture now where everything about sex has to be laid bare, literally and metaphorically; there’s no mystery and, if reality TV is anything to be believed, very little pleasure.
Read a sex manual – goodness knows, there are enough of them out there, just as there is no shortage of people willing to be experimented on. There was limited choice in my day – Alex Comfort’s The Joy of Sex looked like one long advert for a ‘past sell by date’ Greggs sausage roll – but today there are thousands, and if you’re still having issues, there is a never-ending supply of therapists only too willing to take your money.
Is there anything left at the bottom of the barrel for Channel 4 to scrape? Probably, and when they’re done with that, they’ll probably start scraping under it, too, when I’m sure they’ll be able to mine even greater depths, and we can but hope that animals and corpses will remain off sexual limits.
Good luck to those hoping to pop their cherry in the series. But losing your virginity is only the start of the journey. Just remember that at the heart of every cherry lies a stone.
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