Daisy laughed but looked a little astounded at the thought and image. The truth was that Daisy and I pretended we knew so much, but if we were honest, we would have to admit we didn’t know all that much more than Agnes and Edna did when it came to actually having sex. Everyone by now had been taught about the birds and the bees, but except for a forbidden kiss Daisy referred to, usually something quite unsatisfactory, neither of us had ventured to do much more.

We brought everything into the house, and Daisy said good-bye. We promised to see each other soon without the other two, or any other girl for that matter, so we could have more revealing discussions.

“I’m amazed at how much I’m still learning from you, Corrine.”

We hugged, and she left.

Where was I to get much more to tell her? Despite how wise and mature I appeared to her, I was still forced to live in an asexual world, ignoring every thrilling sensation and avoiding every carnal fantasy. My mother was good at sensing when I had these feelings and erotic illusions, too, especially now that I was older and they came more often. She would take one look at me and say, “Clean up your mind,” which brought the blood to my face, a revelation as good as a verbal confession.

Desire and passion were hanging there with all the other forbidden fruit dangling in our home. God forbid I mentioned having erect nipples, and although it was never clearly stated, only vaguely suggested, satisfying the overwhelming urge to masturbate was the same as opening the lid to the hole that dropped you directly into the arms of Satan.

Often I wanted to scream, “I am not made of stone!” Was I to ignore my perfectly shaped, firm breasts that had appeared almost overnight, disregard this smooth curve in my waist, and completely overlook the deliciously formed rear end that Nature herself had designed?

But was it all, this body that Venus herself was sculpting, to be hidden in those awful clothes my mother favored, not only for herself but for me? Maybe my mother wished my hourglass figure would turn into a jar.

No matter what looks my mother gave me at the first sign of flirtation or what waves of ice-cold warnings she declared about the dangers men by their very nature possessed, I couldn’t let go of the dream. One day, despite my mother, I would emerge like a dazzling butterfly and lift myself away from her constraining reach. I would hover freely for a while, maybe just to torment her, and then explore the promises that attracted me, each a branch, a leaf, or a soft petal upon which I could land and from which I could shine the beacon of my beauty like a lighthouse of love.