Once he was standing in the hallway as I approached. He beckoned to me to come in. The wave of his hand was like a magnet and I followed it, and in that dim, small hallway felt it on my cheek. I must draw away, run out, I thought, but I stood there and he held my hand and we kissed for a long time. Shyly I put my arms around his waist, feeling my thighs against his. An erotic sensation came over me. Although I could not understand its nature, it made me tremble in his arms.

We became more and more daring. We began to meet in distant neighborhoods where we would not be recognized, for an afternoon movie or ice cream in a modern restaurant. We would mostly see American or European movies. Gregory Peck, Jennifer Jones, or Silvana Mangano moved before me with messages from other worlds. Always we would hold hands. Once or twice he kissed me.

I was filled with anxiety that perhaps I had lost my virginity, that no one would be willing to marry me. My knowledge on the subject was vague and my friends were equally ignorant. I set out to see a gynecologist in a clinic I had noticed once on one of my excursions to the other side of the town. I told the receptionist that I wanted to be examined but did not want anyone to know about it. She shook her head and asked no further questions. I sat on a bench along with several other young girls who were there with their mothers or aunts or cousins. One of the girls was crying. I was very stiff and ashamed, and tried not to look at anyone.

In a few moments a nurse—a middle-aged woman—came in and led me to a room. She asked me to undress, put on a robe and lie on a cot. I went through the process of getting undressed and lay on the cot, staring at the ceiling and counting to make time pass faster.

The doctor, a woman, came in, holding some shiny instruments. She was young and pleasant-looking with a smile lingering on her face.

“What’s the problem?” she asked.

“I wonder if … if …”

“I know. You want to know if you’re a virgin.”

I nodded, blushing deeply.

“That’s a common fear these days among young girls. Have you had intercourse with a boy?”

The question puzzled me. I was silent.

“No?” she asked.

“I kissed and held hands with a boy … two boys.” I was counting Darius. Tears filled my eyes.

She laughed. “That’s not enough to do anything to your virginity, but you can break the hymen on rare occasions, by exercise. I’ll examine you anyway.”

The tears spilled out of my eyes as I tensed at her touch, her gaze at parts of me that I thought must be permanently kept from scrutiny.

“Relax, relax. Here, I’m finished. You have nothing to worry about. Everything is fine. You can get married now without being afraid.”