Bravo was a magazine for teenagers. It was about music and movies, but it also covered teenager’s first questions on dating and sex. It wasn’t pornographic at all, but it did cover a topic so unknown to me that it was like reading a book from the blacklist. Barely into my third magazine, Manuel or mom had found me out. Mom, especially, was not amused. To her, Bravo actually was a filthy magazine. To her, it actually was the book from the blacklist. To her, Bravo was nothing for her daughter to be in touch with. To me, this unknown world of sex and sexuality was not only a mystery; it had quickly turned into something bad and ugly, shameful, and nothing I should be part of. I guess the first time I was ashamed was when my mom gave me that very speech; it was ugly, and she wouldn’t allow me to read Bravo or any of such teenage magazines ever again. You can be certain that I never again did.

Back to then, to my new old room, my high bed, and my new routine of getting out of the bathroom as quickly as possible to go back to listening to music and finishing my beauty scheme. My room’s door-sized window opened out to our balcony and the balcony to a spacious parking lot beneath with trees lining its sides. Nobody could have seen me dancing around, but mom and Manuel must have noticed anyway. Not only had they noticed, they were terribly upset. A girl, a young woman, should not do that. Wasn’t I aware that I could be seen by someone? Men? I wasn’t. But these men, ha, they might think – whatever! Horrible things! Bad things! Very, very bad things! Today, I understand their concern. Back then, what I learned was, ‘Don’t be naked. Don’t show yourself. Men should not see your body. They might or will do bad things if they did.’. And all I did was dance without clothes on to let the body lotion soak in before getting dressed – and because it was fun.

Do be clear, I believe mom wanted to teach me openly and honestly all she knew about sex. She also told me about the birds and the bees, or actually, she didn’t; she was much more advanced, and she really explained well. But what I understood was that sex was something men wanted and women provided. It didn’t sound like there might be a chance for a woman to want and like it, too. Instead, the woman could become pregnant, and I, then a young girl, really didn’t want to become pregnant.

You might easily understand why all of this resulted in me not being much interested in sex. Or rather, let me phrase this differently: I was terribly curious about it – and felt so shameful and guilty because I was. During my teenage years and early twenties, I limited myself to only allow for kisses; if they ever happened. Kisses I enjoyed, but all the rest was way – way! – too much. If I wouldn’t be paying attention, I would get pregnant, which I most certainly did not want to. Teenage fun was teenage concern.