Having grown up with an older brother I did at least know something of the mechanics of the “act”. I knew where the different bits and pieces were supposed to go and I knew that it might be physically painful the first time. It had absolutely no romantic associations for me, it was another technique to be learned, like riding a bicycle or the back-stroke. I tried to imagine myself naked in front of some man and it didn’t seem the least bit erotic. What if he told me I was fat or ugly or that I ought to be ashamed of myself? How could I make myself as vulnerable as that, in front of someone I hardly knew? I assumed it would have to be someone I hardly knew – who else was there? And at least that way, if it was a disaster I would never have to see him again, or him me.