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What does it really mean to “lose your gay virginity”? For some guys, it’s about physical acts—penetration, usually. For other gay men, it’s emotional: the moment they feel seen, vulnerable, or intimate with another man. And for a lot of us, it’s complicated. Like this closeted bi man who recently shared his story online and sparked a big conversation. He wrote:

Hey, so I’m a closeted bi guy. I started exploring male sexuality via erotic massages. I always put a line as ‘no penetration (giving or receiving)’ because I thought that that was the line of technical virginity. Occasionally a guy would poke my hole from the outside, but not go in. If someone was pushing, I’d clench my ass and not let them in.

Anyway, recently I was having a massage that got … playful. I told the guy my line and he said that it was no problem. I had told him he could poke from the outside but not go in. I felt relaxed that he agreed to the rules. At one point he spread my legs and was poking from the outside and I was clenching. He applied lube and kept poking and he went in a little. I told him ‘hey, we said no penetration’ and he said ‘it’s not, look, I’m barely in’ and he kept thrusting slowly to that same depth. I promise I’m not writing this as an erotic story. I wanted to ‘keep my virginity’, for guilt reason to be honest (please don’t mock my personal beliefs), but I’m not sure what counts as having lost it. Did what he did count as taking my ass? Is virginity any kind of anal, or is it only giving? I know it’s subjective, but my mind hasn’t stopped for the last 3 weeks since it happened.

The gay internet had thoughts—and not all of them were about virginity itself. Here’s how other gay men weighed in, along with some reflections and advice.

One guy replied, “If religious women over the last hundred can still say they’ve got their virginity intact after engaging in exactly that mechanic, you’re good too.” This is a lighthearted take that makes an important point: lots of people draw the line differently, especially when they’re trying to hold onto beliefs rooted in shame or purity. You’re allowed to define it your way.

On the other hand, one gay man said, “Yes, your virginity is gone. No, it doesn‘t matter at all. You should be more concerned with the fact that your sex partner did not respect your boundaries.” This is key. No matter where you draw the line, your limits should be honored. The bigger issue isn’t the label of virginity—it’s that someone crossed a boundary you clearly set.

In addition, a guy commented, “Oh yeah, your hole has been fingered, it’s no longer a virgin hole.” Blunt and cheeky, but this kind of response shows how different the definitions are. For some, any penetration at all means virginity lost.

Meanwhile, someone pointed out, “Virginity is a social construct invented by religion to serve as a mark for women.” This one is a popular point. Many in the queer community have questioned why we still hold onto concepts like “virginity” when they often come from cultures that tried to erase or shame us.

Further, a commenter advised, “Just tell yourself you’re still a virgin if it makes you feel better.” It might sound flippant, but it’s actually empowering. You own your body and your story. If it brings peace, call it what you want.

Lastly, one gay man observed, “The mental gymnastics, wow.” This comment reads more as a wry observation than a judgment. It highlights just how complex and layered our personal definitions of intimacy and boundaries can be—especially when emotions, identity, and societal norms and expectations all collide. It’s a quick way of saying, “This is complicated,” without diminishing the original poster’s (OP) experience.

Having said all that, if you’re asking whether you lost your virginity, the better question might be: Why does this matter so much to me? Is it about shame? Control? Morality? Validation? It’s okay to feel confused, especially if you’re navigating sex, queerness, and religion all at once. But it’s important to remember: virginity is not a biological reality—it’s a label. And labels should serve you, not trap you.

Also: someone crossed a line with you. You said no. He went in a little anyway. That is not okay. Your boundaries matter, and you’re allowed to enforce them without guilt. Being closeted or new to intimacy does not make your body less worthy of respect.

You might want to explore these feelings with someone you trust or even a gay-friendly therapist. You’re not alone, and this confusion doesn’t make you broken. You’re growing, and growth is messy—but beautiful.

Anyway, what do you think, Adam4Adam blog readers: what does losing your gay virginity mean to you? Is it penetration, emotion, trust—or something else? Did you wrestle with guilt, fear, or confusion around your first experiences? Let us know down below what you wish you’d known when you were younger.

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