It would be a mistake to draw hasty conclusions from Lauren Wilson’s appearance. This is a woman who tosses her long, glossy hair as she speaks and bats her long eyelashes – even at me.

A glamourpuss who admits, with a coy smile, that she is actually a bit of an icon to her peers. But this poised 22-year-old is no small-town seductress.

In Colorado Springs, a city in a very religious corner of the American Midwest, she is admired principally for her virtue: not only was she a virgin when she married her boyfriend Brett, but she had never even kissed him – a deed accomplished for the first time in front of a cheering congregation.

“There was something so special to know that we’d waited,” she told me. “I mean, a kiss awakens everything, and all of a sudden everything within you just wants to respond. We have no regrets.

” Young women like Lauren are no great rarity in the United States these days.

In fact, one in six girls aged between 12 and 18 is estimated to have taken a “purity” pledge. Some wear a silver ring to signal their intention to remain chaste, but others take the concept much further, vowing to be pure in all aspects of their behaviour.

Lauren’s sister Khrystian, a 21-year-old musician with long blonde hair, explained: “Purity for me is purity of the mind, purity of speech. It’s what I spend my time doing: emotional purity in the heart. It’s a complete wholeness. I have chosen a higher standard for my life.”

The sheer numbers in the purity movement are making these aspirations more than a pipe dream: if the people you know share your deep-seated beliefs, then you’re less likely to succumb to temptations.

They even have their own teen idols – such as the Jonas Brothers, the pop band composed of three virginal brothers, who were so rashly mocked by the British comedian Rus-sell Brand at the MTV awards. And there are plenty of ordinary teenage boys and young men who are also prepared to wait. In these circles, those who fall pregnant before marriage can be all but ostracised. One young woman I spoke to – a former beauty queen – got pregnant when she was 19.

“The guilt was awful. Mum cried, I cried, my dad started to cry – that’s hard,” said Jessica, her eyes filling with tears eight years after the event.

“Ever since then, my mom treats me as a lesser person. She still doesn’t think I’m capable of making my own decisions.” Jessica, who miscarried her baby, now lives “in sin” with a boyfriend; she is 27, but her parents refuse to see him and have told her “he can go to hell”.

One can only imagine what the good people of Colorado Springs think of Bristol Palin, the pregnant 17-year-old daughter of John McCain’s running mate – but their sympathy will definitely be with the girl’s parents. Even the purity movement’s rituals – I witnessed one father giving solemn blessings to five daughters in turn – hark back to another age. I’d gone to Colorado Springs in May for Channel 4 to film a group of girls, one of them aged just five, as they prepared for the annual Father-Daughter Purity Ball at the Broad-moor hotel.

This ball is considered the apogee of the purity movement. Dressed in elegant gowns, the girls arrived with their dates – their fathers. Then, to the accompaniment of Hollywood film scores, they gathered round a large wooden cross to pledge their troth to remain pure.

Taking a leading role was Randy Wilson, the father of Lauren and Khrystian, who believes that the key to a girl’s purity – and future happiness – lies in the quality of her relationship with her dad. As a father of five girls ranging from five to 22, he reckons he knows a thing or two about raising women.

“There is a core question that women have in their being, and that is: ‘Am I beauti-ful? Am I worthy of being pursued?’ ” he explained. “It must be enforced by the father, the man in their life. If they do not get that reinforced by the father, they will go outside the home to get the answer to that question.”

It was Randy and his wife, Lisa, who came up with the idea of the ball – now in its ninth year and attended by about 130 girls. Mothers are also invited, but often don’t come, and there is usually a smattering of brothers.

A three-course dinner, without alcohol, is followed by the signing of a covenant: each dad intones: “I choose before God to cover my daughter as her authority and protection in the area of purity.”

Typical of the fathers was Ken Lane, a purity devotee who invited me to his white-carpeted home and introduced me to his daughter Hannah, 11. “It sounds unrealistic in our day and age,” he acknowledged. “It’s not the exact path I went down personally – but if it can work, how cool would it be to say that I kissed but one man in my life? Why not shoot for the fairy tale?”

Hannah shifted slightly under her father’s gaze when I asked her about dating. “Once I’ve found a man, I think I might want to get to know him a little better,” she said. “I’ll take him to my dad for inspec- tion and he’ll spend a lot of time with my dad, then maybe I’ll do group-dating with friends and go out to dinner with our parents. If girls don’t have a relationship with their fathers, they’ll turn to other males, and that will often end in heartbreak and anguish.”

I couldn’t help suggesting to one trio of sisters, aged nine, 13 and 17, that they might need to kiss a lot of frogs before they found their handsome prince – but such remarks merely produced frowns. One of them spelt out the word “adultery” silently on her fingers and informed me that it was the core of the seventh commandment.

I asked another girl what she would do if she didn’t like the way her husband kissed her at the altar. She looked thoughtful, then brightened. “I probably would – he’ll probably take care of that one. He’ll probably kiss really good. I hope.”

During my 10 days in Colorado Springs, I couldn’t help but register the sweetness of the girls, the complete lack of teenage truculence. There’s no straining at the parental leash, no desire to escape and experiment; they are, in short, a delight. Jane Austen is their cultural heroine, with films such as Sense and Sensibility endorsed as an ideal family-viewing choice. Everywhere I turned, I found sentimentality and scant curiosity about the world.

The innocence of the parents was more alarming. An army doctor, who had two daughters on his arm, told me that the HIV virus was so powerful, it could penetrate a con- dom. I said the British government had based its entire antiAids ad campaign on the assumption it couldn’t. A few days later, after doing some research on the internet, he rang to say he’d been wrong.

To cynical Brits, the intensity of the relationship between the girls and their fathers can be unsettling. It is too trite, however, to label such relationships quasi-incestuous: these fathers are motivated wholly by a desire to remain a strong, controlling influence in their daughters’ lives.

For now, the purity movement is too young for anyone to assess whether it leads to happier marriages or fewer divorces. Courtships tend to be quick. Young men are vet- ted by the fathers, and many suitors seek permission to marry within weeks. They may be madly in love – but they may also be suffering from extreme sexual frustration.

Six weeks after the Father-Daugh- ter Purity Ball, Randy e-mailed me to say that Khrystian had just become engaged to a Captain Chad Lewis. She will have her first kiss in December on her wedding day.

Cutting Edge: The Virgin Daughters, produced and directed by Jane Treays, is on Channel 4 this Thursday at 9pm

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