There will be time to go back and talk about early
childhood, but I’ll start with my first conscious awareness of sex between
partners.
I was walking with my friend Carol outside my old Brooklyn elementary school, P.S. 169, when she asked me
if I knew how babies were made. I had
just devoured a great big greasy slice of pizza and her question made me
queasy. I was 11 years old and puberty
was making a loud and early entrance in my life. Yet though I was noticing boys more, and was
filled with romantic fantasies based on the novels and movies I’d read, the
mechanics of baby-making eluded me. I
was content to leave it that way. Even
then, I knew I didn’t want children.
Still, once she raised the subject, curiosity got the better of me. “How?”
