“You’ve never been kissed?! You’re joking.”

The stares from the group are incredulous. While the rest of my friends are on their last hands for ‘Never Have I Ever’, I’m still on two hands. I always win this stupid game. Mainly because the subject matter always turns to sex. If the mindset of twenty-something year olds ever changed to anything other than that, I might have a chance to lose. This drinking game was supposed to decide who lived the most life. I thought I lived a lot of life, but as most of my fingers showed, apparently not. 

I shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You’re twenty years old!” Jess exclaims. “How have you never kissed anyone?!”

“Oh c’mon!” Dani says. “You know Dora is a huge prude.” 

She says it like an insult. Like I should be ashamed. When my friend says it like that, I don’t want to be a prude. I actually don’t want to be anything. I don’t think I need a title for my interests when I have no interests. But I especially don’t want to be a prude when my friends don’t want me to be one either. 

“It’s just kissing!” Jess adds before turning to me. “Does your religion even allow kissing before marriage?”

The whole balcony laughs. I manage a smile so they don’t think I’m an asshole. I’m Catholic and they think that contributes to my lack of interest or experience in sex and love. As if the holy water my parents poured on my head when I was a baby actually worked and washed away the compulsion that would give me the desire to have sex or fall in love. If that was true, then whatever happened in the parking lot between my classmates after youth group in high school probably shouldn’t have happened. 

Maybe my friends had a point though. My religion never made sex or love sound enticing. It was, at best, something to overcome. Maybe that’s why I’m not like them. Maybe that’s why I’m a prude no one wants to love. But I have fallen in love before, I think. I’m pretty sure I’m capable of it. It’s just that no one loves me. 

My first crush, Darren, was in the seventh grade. He had a goofy smile. He was nice to me when other guys weren’t. I passed him a note asking him if he wanted to go to the movies with me. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re twelve and think you’re in love for the first time. But he told me no and then avoided me for the rest of the school year. 

My second crush, Joe, was in the eighth grade. He was handsome. Every girl wanted to date him, but I was the only one brave enough to ask him out. I won the prize. That one dance we went to together was a dream come true for me, a false hope that I could be loved. But he didn’t love me either. He was just scared of me, too intimidated to say no. We never spoke again after that dance.

My third crush, Jackson, was in the ninth grade. His eyes were a beautiful shade of blue, his smile was deep, and he laughed at all of my jokes. If there was anyone I wanted to be in love with, it was him. So I asked him out, twice in fact, but he politely declined both times. Never really gave a reason. He just didn’t want to love me. He ended up haunting me for the rest of my high school career, a ghost dating my friends more worthy of his love than me. 

My fourth crush, Drake, was from tenth grade to senior year. He was an asshole. He made me laugh and I made him feel worthwhile. I let him drag me through the mud, letting him keep me as his safety net when other girls rejected him, because I was so desperate to feel the love all of my friends got to feel without much effort, or at least not the same amount of effort I gave it. But he never kissed me. Never held my hand. Never really loved me. If how he treated me was supposed to be love, then I had no need for it. 

I had two more mediocre crushes in college after Drake: Jacob and Alex. They were decent guys. But I only flirted with them. Flirting is fun, but it’s not love. I couldn’t imagine a future with them, couldn’t fathom meeting their parents or building a life with them. I was again only hunting for that elusive feeling of love promised to me from all of the fairy tales and my much more successful friends. The promise that love songs would make sense as soon as a guy looked at me the right way. That thing that all of my friends and family were crazy about, bothering me about why I haven’t found it yet. The reason why so many people were motivated to settle down and pop out babies rather than focus on their careers or themselves. A motivation I never really could summon myself to seek despite my best efforts and everything I was raised to believe. 

Hence, how I got to be twenty years old and losing a game for middle schoolers with my college friends on a random apartment balcony. 

“Never have I ever given a handjob,” Tish declares. 

My friends giggle. Some put their fingers down. All of them look at me. My finger count remains the same. 

Jess snorts. “She hasn’t even kissed a guy let alone given a handjob.”

“He can give himself one,” I state. 

“God you are such a prude.”

My friends laugh. I do not. Tish turns to me. “Dora, truth or dare?”

“We’re not even playing that game!”

“If you fell in love with a guy, would you have sex with him?”

“Yes!” My exclamation silences the girls’ giggles. They weren’t expecting that answer. Neither was I, to be honest. But it seems like a neat experience to have. Seems like a necessary part of being loved, if everyone else is to be believed. I sigh and wave my hands. “Let’s move on.”

For once, they listen to me and we return to the stupid Never Have I Ever game. Nearly all of them continue to list out sexual acts. I don’t. I know what I haven’t done and I don’t care to find out what else my friends have done in my absence of experience. Besides, I already put myself in enough trouble with my comment on never being kissed. My exhausted mind can’t handle another condescending look from Jess. 

To no one’s surprise, I win the game. It always baffles me because I could lose so fast if they focused on anything other than sex and love. 

“Never have I ever written a book.”

Finger down. 

“Never have I ever won All-State for my sport in high school.”

Finger down. 

“Never have I ever won an award for my contribution to the college media team.”

Finger down. 

My mom bought me a dress I adored. She never buys me dresses I like. When I asked her why she would buy it for me, she simply smiled. 

“For future dates.”

I wore it to the premiere for a music video I produced instead.

Eventually, the night tires everyone else out as much as it did for me. All live within walking distance except for Dani. I agree to drive her home since I’m the only one still sober. As we drive, Dani asks me for advice about handling her poor dating life which led her to countless futile first dates and fruitless crushes that only broke her heart. 

“Take this time to focus on your independence,” I said. “You’re alone from your parents. Find out what you like, discover new interests, expand your horizons-”

“None of that helps me,” She exclaimed. “I’m still going to be single, horny, and sad. I need to find someone to be with.”

I sigh. “Have you tried Tinder?”

“Hell no!” She said. “I’m a classy lady. I would never date from a hook-up app.”

I drive her the rest of the way home without much else success with assisting her romantic issues. When I drop her off, she congratulates me on the new anchor position I earned for the college media department and thanks me for the ride. When I make it back to my apartment, another car pulls in front of me and steals the only parking spot located near my building. Grumbling, I park at the only other spot available three buildings away. I start my hike home. As I walk past my stolen parking spot, I don’t really pay attention to the people exiting the vehicle that claimed my one mercy for the night, but one of them still recognizes me. 

“Dora!” She shouts across the parking lot. Her voice is slurring. She’s been drinking. “How the hell are ya?”

I almost had a breakdown about my lack of experience in front of my friends, I almost screamed at her car for stealing my spot, and I was exhausted from the late night and the stupid game. I was not in the mood to catch up with an old friend of a friend from a class two semesters ago that just stole my parking spot. 

“Good,” I lie.  

I suddenly remember that she got engaged over the summer. She was one of six Facebook friends that got engaged over the course of three months. That number was only going to get worse for me, but I’ll manage. Hers wasn’t a surprise. For as long as I've known her, she’s been dating her boyfriend. She doesn’t look like the type that would gush over a longtime boyfriend, but half of her Instagram is filled with pictures of the guy. 

I’ll even admit, their engagement was cute. The lighting was off, the pictures were blurry, and she was wearing sweatpants but you could still tell that they were in love. She was in shock, he was on one knee. Your average engagement, but what the hell do I know? I’ve never even been kissed. No one is going to propose their intention to love me for the rest of our lives any time soon. An engagement is a fever dream for me. 

But still, it’s nice when it happens to someone else. I wave to her as we walk in opposite directions. “Congrats on the engagement, by the way!”

“Thanks, Dora!” She shouts back to me. Then, she turns to her fiancée. “God I love that girl.”