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Even when we gave up our chastity belts for the boys we loved, it was done quietly.
We came to understand the geographies of our bodies using candlesticks, toothbrush handles and frozen hot dogs.
Beneath bedtime covers and silent shame we felt and touched and prodded and poked, desperately looking for the button that would flick the switch and ease the ache deep in our bellies.
Yet despite the silence and the stigma, we still did it anyway. We came into womanhood under the cloak of invisibility, bourgeoning with a new awareness and a sense of self that was kept tightly under wraps.
We discovered our sexuality behind locked doors and Googled porn sites.
I wish I had been able to talk to my mother about it. I wish I could have asked her what to do with my body when I felt heat pulse through it and didn’t know how to play with it safely.
I wish I could have told her that it was one of the most beautiful nights of my life. Instead, I had Google, which I have learnt is far less reliable than my mother on these matters.
It is always clouded in secrecy and paired with the strategic planning of a covert ops mission.
To add to that, it’s mostly an uncomfortable experience that is always painful and often traumatic.
Islam promotes sexual relationships and female pleasure, albeit under the sanctity of marriage, but the reality is, there are Muslim women all over the world not getting married any time soon and young men and women who will break every rule in the name of love, or lust.
Ignoring that fact will not change it and we’d do well to remember that discovering the ways in which you can pleasure yourself is not forbidden, but I’m yet to find any group of aunties in the local mosque discussing female pleasure.