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Saudi women may live under permanent house arrest, but I will say that the culture does cherish an admittedly extremely limited definition of femininity. Not us, say those living in rural New Zealand. In my community, men and women did not mingle socially except under the influence of alcohol. When I was about 11, my more socially adept classmates started talking about Saturday nights. This was when a big group of teenagers and young men would get together after a rugby game, drink hard spirits and have clumsy sex.
A friend of mine confessed she'd just had sex with her crush, who then immediately said, "we shouldn't have done that".
He hopped out the window and took up another half-conscious girl, who had herself recently rutted with another boy the term for this, in our romantic dialect, was to "stir the porridge". There was no obligation to communicate or even make eye contact with the person or persons with whom you had been "intimate" an ironic euphemism because it's hard to think of anything less intimate than drunken sex.
This prohibition of tenderness and intimacy played out in a lunch hour when I was A male classmate of mine was walking hand-in-hand with a girl out on the rugby field, smiling in an adolescent love haze. A large group of students, mostly boys, lined up along the wall pointing, laughing, and jeering about how he probably had a boner. The sight of affectionate behaviour was so unusual that people felt compelled to make vicious fun of it.
It aroused the group's anxiety and hatred because it wasn't normal. Like a lot of girls my age, I didn't want my first sexual experience to be insensate rutting, but nor was I brave enough to initiate any sober arrangement. I had a crush on one boy and had the usual fantasies about anonymously leaving roses by his letterbox or nursing him after a horrific bus crash we were the only two survivors — sadly, I didn't much care what happened to the other passengers. One day he asked me in an accusing sort of way, "Do you like me?