I want to lose my virginity by the end of the year — I’m fed up of being the odd one out

Welcome to How I Do It, the series in which we give you a seven-day sneak peek into the sex life of a stranger.

This week we hear from 23-year-old Hannah* who works as a waitress in a West End theatre in London.

She’s never had a relationship and has never had sex, so she’s set herself a challenge to lose her virginity by the end of 2025.

‘I’d like my sex life to at least exist,’ Hannah says. ‘It’s currently as dry and empty as a desert. It’s like seeing something really popular in the shops that I really want and know all my friends have, but for some reason I’m not allowed it.

‘I’ve struggled watching my friends get into relationships and start to have sex, but I always felt too nervous to try anything.’

Despite not having partnered sex, Hannah explored masturbation for the first time this year, using a sex toy, which she says made her feel ‘sexy.’

‘It also made me appreciate the hype around sex and why everyone is so obsessed with it, now I want it even more,’ she adds.

Without further ado, here’s how Hannah* got on this week…

The following sex diary is, as you might imagine, not safe for work.

Friday

‘Never have I ever had sex…’

I don’t know what came over me. But as I look around the Wetherspoons table. mid-way through the iconic drinking game, I see a mix of friends, co-workers and girls I don’t know very well, clutching their alcohol in shock.

They’re all doing a terrible job of hiding their obvious questions. What do you mean, never had sex? Like ever? She can’t be serious? Never had sex, isn’t she 23?

‘…outside,’ I finish. ‘Never have I ever had sex outside.’ This technically isn’t a lie, I’ve never had sex outside, but my friends don’t need to know that I’ve never had sex inside either. Minor details.

‘What was your first time like?’ a tipsy co-worker asks. Damn.

Luckily, I’m an expert at telling this lie. I say it was a one-night stand with a guy I met in a bar. I shrug nonchalantly, hoping that they don’t ask for any more details. I’d hate to tell a story that vaguely resembles a plotline I once saw on Grey’s Anatomy.

‘Where is the craziest place you’ve had sex?’ someone else asks. I hate these questions. ‘In a garden.’ I answer too quickly.

I look down at my drink and silently pray they don’t realise I’m referring to that spicy Bridgerton episode. I can’t help but feel slightly sad as the rest of the game continues.

I lie about my virginity because of the questions that follow. I also can’t stand the fake optimism that follows when they say ‘good for you for waiting for the perfect guy’ or ‘hang in there’. I’m definitely not waiting for the perfect guy and I’ve been ‘hanging in there’ for years.

Saturday

I wake up to a Hinge notification pinging on my phone. I check it. It’s from the guy I’m seeing this evening for drinks. I read five words.

‘Can’t tonight. Busy. Another time.’

As someone who hasn’t gone further than kissing, it’s comforting to know chivalry is still alive and well in 2025. I text back, saying it’s fine and we should arrange another time. In reality, I’m certain I won’t hear from him again.

I’m not exactly upset, or even annoyed, more frustrated. After texting this guy for a few weeks, I was fairly confident he’d be keen to fool around with me. A good guy to ease into sex with, maybe start with a hand job, and move on to oral sex? I’m not fussy.

I swipe a little on Hinge and browse Tinder. I know it seems slightly pathetic to not only lie about my sex life but also swipe endlessly on dating sites, looking for guys who would want to have sex with me.

However, after I told my best friend that my new year resolution was to lose my virginity, her reaction was ‘damn you must masturbate a lot.’ I realised I need to focus, and get it over with.

I just want to be able to understand what my friends are talking about when discussing sex, and I’m curious to know what it’s like – I feel ready.

Sunday

‘I’m just saying, if you were gay, I would be okay with that. So would Mum and Dad,’ my older sister Katie says as I lie on her bed.

I smile and assure her that if ever I thought I could be gay, I would talk to her first, but at the moment, no one seems to find me attractive, no matter the gender.

‘Maybe it has something to do with your huge boobs. They could be intimidating to guys,’ she remarks jokingly.

I’ve always fallen into the curvy category, it’s something I’ve made my peace with, but it’s always difficult when I’m next to Katie, who effortlessly rocks a size eight dress size.

I’ll never forget my first time in Victoria’s Secret at age 13, where I was told my boobs were too big, and I needed to go to a specialist shop. That was a great way to scar a teenager in front of her skinny friends.

As I walk home, my mind spins with questions. Could my body be really that unappealing to guys? Can I get a reduction? How easy is it to start taking Ozempic? Like most, I think obsessively about my body shape.

I convince myself that my body is preventing me from having sex, because it’s the only reason I can think of. I know I’m shy but I feel like I have loads of shy friends who have lost their virginity – the difference is they’re skinny. I must be the problem.

Monday

I read my Kindle on the bus to work. I’m a sucker for those trashy American romcoms that on the outside seem sweet and romantic, but have an outrageous amount of sexual content inside.

I’m about to get to the part where the enemies are finally becoming lovers and the heat turns up. My face flushes a bright red and I look around guiltily. I enjoy reading books like these, especially in public, it feels like my dirty little secret. I’ve never had a boyfriend to send dirty photos to, so this is the only sexy secret I’m allowed.

I’m shocked by the intense detail this book provides. I read about every muscle movement, bead of sweat and intimate gasp that goes on between these two character.

I have no idea how accurate it is. Surely the author must have based this on her own experiences. I’m not totally ignorant, so I understand this is essentially pornography and decide that I shouldn’t use it as a reference point to the real deal.

My bus pulls up to my stop, I look around one final time, wondering what people would think if they could hear the crazy thoughts roaming around my head.

Tuesday

After a long day, I’m having dinner with my mum and a couple of her friends. They talk about her co-worker’s daughter who has recently found her first relationship at age 19.

Everyone is so happy for her, the words ‘at last’ and ‘finally’ are thrown around a couple of times. I don’t try to hide my annoyance, and slight humiliation.

My mum then pointedly mentions another friend’s daughter who has recently come out as gay, looking at me, she remarks how happy and accepting everyone is.

I roll my eyes slightly and think back to my conversation with Katie a few days ago. Clearly, they have been in cahoots with each other discussing my love life, or rather lack thereof.

It’s nice to know they care, but I wish they would find someone else to obsess over. I long for the day when my inexperience in the dating world stops becoming dinnertime conversation.

The evening comes and I watch Bridgerton in bed and try to imagine myself as Daphne. I like the thought of having men fight over my attention. Closing my eyes, I picture myself getting frisky with Simon in the library, but I begin to feel awkward and tired and I don’t get very far.

Eventually my imagination is overtaken by sleep.

Wednesday

‘Me and my boyfriend have sex like four to five times a week.’ My co-worker says casually. I try to hide my surprised face with my coffee mug. She can have sex five times a week yet I can’t even get a Hinge date. The world doesn’t seem fair.

I pay close attention as she lists not only the crazy places, but also all those positions! I’m not totally sure what the Shoulder Holder position is and how she once did it in a swimming pool. Did she hold her breath? Were there inflatables involved? Surely someone must have caught them?

I’m also oddly impressed and slightly intimidated by the idea that she can have orgasms five times a week. She once had an orgasm at the gym in the missionary position, apparently.

I ignore this fear and convince myself that once I find a guy, I can figure out how everything works and it will be okay.

Thursday

At a work party I get chatting to Zack. I’ve seen him around the theatre but haven’t spoken to him before and after a few drinks, we’re making out.

It’s been well over two years since I last kissed a guy so I’m taking this as major progress. Both of us are tipsy, and I’m struggling to think clearly.

He pulls away and whispers in my ear, asking me to come home with him. I know what this means, and the internal panic bells start ringing.

I’m wearing contact lenses and didn’t bring my glasses, what if a contact lens falls out while we’re having sex? What if we go back to his house, and he changes his mind? I’m not on any birth control, what if the condom breaks? What does a condom even feel like?

These fears take over and I lose focus on the guy in front of me. He’s looking at me like a crazy person. I try to kiss him again, hoping he’ll temporarily forget about this request.

I’m more drunk than I realise and we aggressively bang foreheads. It looks like an awkward scene out of a bad sitcom. The moment has gone, and I scurry off to find my friends, feeling embarrassed.

I obsess over him for the rest of the evening, whereas he doesn’t glance in my direction. If only I wasn’t so awkward and nervous, I could be having sex right now.

I leave the pub with my friends, drunk and still a virgin.

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