What’s more, I’m an obnoxiously picky person who avoids letting go of control, being vulnerable and making mistakes at all costs — a by-the-book Type-A perfectionist.

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I believe wholeheartedly that sex and love should coexist.

In fact, I believe they need to coexist; that without love, sex is just a Band-Aid fix for something that should be addressed with words rather than walks of shame.

It’s true I always had a crush on one (or two) boys and had my fair share of boyfriends, but no relationship ever got serious enough where sex was even a thought, let alone a deal breaker.

For most of my junior high and high school years, I played the role of the friend — the token girl in a group of boys who were more interested in taking my advice for how to ask a girl to prom than taking me to prom.

The most serious contender waited until I was so smitten with him that I would break plans, skip class, call in sick — whatever — to drive hours to visit him, and then dumped me, saying it “just wasn’t a good time for him.”Another reason sex didn’t factor into my coming-of-age years is that I’m a Christian.

Not a Bible-thumping, the-world-is-going-to-hell-in-a-handbasket Christian, but a (sexually) conservative, Bible-believing, traditionally raised Minnesota Lutheran girl who was taught that sex is for marriage and that’s that.

Instead of just sucking it up and telling Boy One why I was being so weird, I decided to be extremely mature and wait until he had left to text him asking if we could talk.

He called me and I spent the next half-hour mumbling and stuttering out the truth.

There’s no good time to tell a guy you’re a virgin. So: There’s no good time to tell a guy you’re a virgin. I’m a 26-year-old woman with a college degree, a good job, an adorable duplex and no debt.

Wait until the third date and you risk being considered a tease. Perhaps, but at this point you’re both still fretting over whether or not to eat another piece of bread; delving into sexual histories (or lack thereof) seems a bit extreme. I should be better at sharing this bit of information by now.

Heck, the first time I even heard of a blow job was when I threw a party in eighth grade and my mom caught a girl going down on a guy in our basement.