Like I said before, I never dated when I was growing up on the island. My mother saw to that. Her favorite way of stopping any carnal urges was by telling us if we ever got a girl pregnant she would kill us. I was never allowed to talk about sex. Looking at women was a cardinal sin. Nasty thoughts, as she called them, were the devil’s playground. I remember the first time I saw condoms; it was the one and only time I saw a Playboy magazine too. My brother knew this nurse. I am not sure if he was dating her but she had given him the magazine and a large brown paper bag of condoms. He brought it home and I remember flipping through the pages, my heart racing and my eyes popping out of my head. There was this one woman, Katsika the African princess. She was my favorite. For weeks we were able to keep it hidden from our mother, changing hiding spots frequently. We soon ran out of places to hide it, so my brother placed it under his mattress. One day we came home from playing football and as we entered the yard, I thought I smelled rubber burning. We walked to the back of the house and sitting on a bonfire was the brown bag and the Playboy magazine, engulfed in flame. I did not turn around but I felt my mother’s eyes piercing through the back of my head. We did not go into the house; we just stood there and watched Katsika burn. My mother did not talk to us for days after that, but her reaction was worse than getting a whipping.