I’ve always known that being Muslim would mean waiting until marriage for sex. It’s not that we’re prudish or lacking desire: Islam teaches us that wholesome sex nourishes the bond between a husband and wife. Rather it’s because sex is so precious that we preserve it for the one we want to spend our lives with. I wouldn’t want it any other way.
But sexuality doesn’t start with marriage. It starts in adolescence, like everybody else’s. I’m blessed with a great career, supportive family and friends, and an active social life, but it doesn’t take away the longing to come home to a kiss on the neck and more.
The problem is that, for a whole generation of British Muslims, meeting the one is getting harder. For a community that values marriage so highly, we set ourselves many barriers. Men in their 40s who won’t look at women past their reproductive prime. Women who still live at home, but won’t consider men who don’t own their own home. Thinly veiled racism and sectarian prejudices, blamed on parental preferences.
In the meantime, I’ve learned self-pleasuring. Religious scholars have differing views on this, but it’s my way of keeping my libido in check while discovering how my body responds to different sensations and what I enjoy. There’s no porn – just my imagination. And when I do meet my future wife, I hope that she’s done so, too. That way we can discover intimacy together, knowing our needs and supporting each other sexually as well as spiritually.
• Each week, a reader tells us about their sex life. Want to share yours? Email sex@theguardian.com
