(story by @ClarisseThorn, a Chestist)

When I was in my late teens, I had a couple straight lady friends who did this thing where they took a year of chastity … although they had already had a fair amount of sex. It wasn't that they thought sex was bad. It wasn't that they especially disliked sex. It wasn't that they regretted choosing to have sex previously. But these women felt powerfully drawn towards taking a year away from sex, a year where no sex happened in their lives … and I instinctively understood because I felt the same urge. In fact, I came up with the idea of deliberately taking a year of chastity on my own, before I heard that anyone else was doing it.

I'm not telling you this because I want to sound like one of the "cool kids"; I'm not trying to say anything like, "I was into chastity when it was underground!" As it happened, I never actually went through with my chastity urge. But I thought about it a lot, and I thought about the fact that other girls I knew were doing it. We didn't have backgrounds that one would normally consider anti-sex. We had liberal backgrounds, liberal parents, liberal educations. Why were we so attracted to the idea of taking a year without sex?

I thought about it a lot, and I concluded this: We felt like we didn't own our sexuality. We felt like our sexuality wasn't for us. Or at least, that's how I felt.

Even though on the surface it looked like I was totally in charge of my sexual decisions, there were social pressures and expectations that made me feel overwhelmed and confused. Not always, and not all the time! But enough that there were plenty of times that I just felt like all I wanted to do was stop and be done with it … "take my body back" from a world that seemed intent on constantly telling me how I must look, how I must dress, how I must have sex.

I've written about how much easier it was for me to learn how I ought to look and "perform" while having sex, than it was for me to learn what I actually wanted from sex. That, I think, is where the chastity urge came from for me. That, and the way I kept finding myself making out with guys who I had zero interest in because it was "too awkward to say no". Or the way I didn't feel like I could decide not to have sex with my boyfriends; not because I didn't think my boyfriend would listen if I said no, but because his potentially hurt feelings seemed so much more important than my bodily preferences.

So many things about the way I was having sex seemed to have nothing to do with me. And if sex had nothing to do with me … then why was I doing it? I guess I wanted to reassure myself that I could take control of at least one thing: saying no.

Eventually, I got a better handle on my sexual preferences and began to learn how to talk about them. It was a long process, and my sexual journey is far from over (yay!). There were people who showed me what it meant to have a low-pressure sexual relationship; there were people who made it easy for me to talk about sex; and there were other people who made it easy for me to turn them down, sexually, which was just as important.

But one interesting thing during the beginning of my learning process … especially given that I now really emphasize and encourage talking directly about sex … was that I felt like a couple of my boyfriends really, really didn't want to talk about sex. And while sometimes this was clearly terrible and toxic, sometimes it felt good. It felt safe. I wanted to be sexual, but I also felt so much pressure to be sexual that it sometimes felt like a huge relief to just … "not worry about it."

In retrospect, though, I think that the "safety" I felt when I didn't talk about sex with certain partners was a mirage. It was a false safety, sustained by a carefully crafted mutual fiction of the relationship. When we ended up talking about sex later, "giving up that safety" just made the conversation unnecessarily scary and weird. And the independent illusions we each had about our sexual relationship flourished and grew strong within our silence. Those illusions were so much harder to release after months of self-reinforcement than they would have been if we'd dragged them into the light from the beginning!

Occasionally, I wonder how it would have felt if I'd taken that deliberate year of chastity. I wonder which of my early experiences would have changed; I wonder whether a year of chastity would have made me feel more comfortable with my sexuality sooner. I'm very happy with how I feel sexually now. I sometimes feel confused or overwhelmed, but I think I'm okay at handling that and even talking about it. Yet I do wonder how it would have felt to draw such a strong boundary; to say such a strong "No" to the world and its messed-up sexual expectations.

Have you ever had a friend who decided to commit to chastity for a short period … or forever? Have you ever had the urge yourself? Do you know why, and did you ever try it? Tell us about it in the comments.

(READ MORE Clarisse here.)