The first guy I was genuinely crazy about in college (not the first guy I seriously dated in college, for whatever that says about me) had a family who wasn’t so much actually observant of their Christian faith (in the going to church on Sundays sense) but more just passionate about, shall we say, keeping the bloodline pure.

I’m not sure if he ever actually told them we were dating – he certainly snuck me in and out of his house (during winter and summer break the year we dated) as if he didn’t want them to know.  Apparently my half-Jewish/half-Christian status wouldn’t pass muster with the creme-de-la-creme of New York society, despite the fact that my father being the Jewish one meant that I wasn’t actually accepted as Jewish by the Jews (but that’s a whole other rant that’s slightly off-topic for this blog, consider yourself spared).

The best part, however, was that he wouldn’t sleep with me.  He was a virgin and was very clear on the terms: he wasn’t waiting for marriage, just waiting for SOMEONE SPECIAL.  Well, for a competitive 18-year-old like me, this wasn’t a red flag (12 years later, I’d be inclined to say “if you don’t think I’m special in general – not just related to sex – I’m out of here”), it was a challenge.  I was going to be the most amazing girlfriend ever.  I was going to PROVE to my boyfriend that I was indeed special enough to have sex with.

Oh, and there were many times I was sure it would happen…the night of the spring formal…the weekend we spent at his family’s beach house where I spied a condom in his toiletry bag (but then he never asked if we could use it)…and then there was the time it could have happened:

He’d broken up with me mid-summer.  I’d used the anger and self-pity to lose twenty pounds (hey, what girl hasn’t gained the freshman 15?).  When I showed up at a house party he threw right before the start of the school year, he couldn’t take his eyes off me.  We drank and danced and he played the worried “friend” – “I’m concerned about how skinny you’ve gotten” – which I of course read as “damn, girl, I made a MISTAKE dumping your fine ass.”  The night continued and ended, naturally, with the two of us in bed.  Most of me knew this was a terrible idea, but part of me thought HA! I WIN!  What I wasn’t expecting, however, was for him to say “I have a condom.”  I just looked at him in disbelief.  “I really want to…” he trailed off.  “Are you fucking kidding me?” I replied.

Apparently “special” either meant “skinnier,” “less available,” or a combination of the two.

I didn’t sleep with him.

The next year, he went on to lose his virginity to the girl who tapped him into his secret society.  She was fat.  That’s certainly not a nice thing to say, but it is a true statement.

I lost track of him after he graduated (a year before me), but saw his wedding announcement in the Times a year or so ago.  His wife is from an affluent New York family and has one of the waspiest names imaginable.  I do sincerely hope they’re happy…if you don’t believe me, go back and read the title of this post again.