The Mormon Special Forces Guide to Virginity
Part Two of In Search of My Lost Virginity
After my interview with Spencer W. Kimball, I slowly came to understand something astonishing.
Mormon virginity was apparently not protected by ordinary morality.
It was protected by military doctrine.
This became especially clear during my years around Brigham Young University, where young women were simultaneously described as:
- delicate daughters of God,
- pure flowers of virtue,
- and apparently part-time Viking warriors expected to defend chastity to the death.
The messaging could be difficult to follow.
One minute a church pamphlet sounded like a Hallmark card.
The next minute it sounded like instructions issued before the invasion of Normandy.
I remember hearing teachings connected to statements later published in The Miracle of Forgiveness that suggested it was “better to die” defending virtue than surrender it.
Die?
I could barely survive freshman algebra.
Now young women were apparently expected to repel violent criminals while maintaining spiritual composure and perfect moral accounting.
The whole thing struck me as wildly ambitious.
Back in Alberta, if a bull charged you, the accepted strategy was generally:
“Run like hell.”
Nobody suggested:
“Dorothy, preserve your honor through ceremonial sacrifice beside the grain elevator.”
But somehow, in certain religious circles of that era, ordinary teenage girls were handed standards previously reserved for Japanese samurai movies.
A nineteen-year-old coed from Provo was expected to possess:
- the courage of Joan of Arc,
- the self-control of Gandhi,
- the reflexes of Bruce Lee,
- and the tactical awareness of a Green Beret.
Meanwhile, the boys at BYU were still getting emotionally overwhelmed during group kissing games at ward parties.
The imbalance was extraordinary.
The underlying logic seemed to be this:
- resist heroically,
- protect eternal virtue,
- remain morally spotless,
- and if necessary, die beautifully while violins played in the background.
This was presented to people who still needed help operating washing machines.
The more I think about it, the sadder and stranger it becomes.
Because underneath all the sermons and interviews was one terrifying idea:
That a woman’s worth could somehow be damaged by violence committed against her.
Even as a young Mormon kid, something about that felt wrong to me.
If a mugger steals your wallet, nobody says:
“Well… your financial purity is gone now.”
If someone steals your car, nobody whispers:
“Sadly, she is no longer an intact Chevrolet owner.”
Yet somehow, generations of young women were burdened with the idea that surviving an assault might make them spiritually diminished.
That’s an awful thing to place inside a frightened teenager’s head.
Especially one already trying desperately to be good.
And the strange thing is, I don’t think many of the people teaching these ideas were evil.
Most were sincere.
That may actually be the most frightening part.
Because sincere people can sometimes pass along terrible ideas with absolute confidence.
I remember hearing scripture quoted constantly about purity.
Not kindness.
Not humor.
Not compassion.
Purity.
Purity became the entire weather system.
You could practically feel students checking themselves hourly for moral scratches like people inspecting rental cars.
At times it seemed less like a university and more like a giant celestial virginity insurance agency.
Looking back now, decades later, I honestly feel sorry for many Mormon kids of my generation.
We were young.
We were earnest.
We were trying to please God.
And many of us carried enough sexual guilt to power Las Vegas for a month.
As for me, I survived.
Though I still occasionally wake up at night wondering whether somewhere in Utah there’s a secret warehouse containing thousands of confiscated Mormon virginities carefully catalogued beside emergency food storage and slightly damaged copies of the Book of Mormon.
Part Three coming soon, assuming I am not called into another interview.
