Ack, the peril of being a Star Blogger; I am forced to make an embarrassing confession! No, make that many embarrassing confessions.

I was 15 when I first learnt about the birds and the bees. It was a very warped education that came out of a conversation with some girl friends.

It happened in class during a free period. One of the girls said, "I was at this park last night. I saw a man doing something to a woman."

"What?"

"He put his thing into her thing."

"What thing?"

*censored*

"What?! Are you sure?"

"Yes!"

"How is that even possible?!"

"Really lah!"

"Why would they do that??"

"That's what adults do lah!"

"Eeeeeeew! That's sick!"

Sex was a horrifying image formed in my innocent mind and I never wanted to grow up.

Maybe I should explain that I lost my mother at age 11, so there wasn't anyone to educate me on such matters.

It's not that I was a total prude or anything. I started having crushes when I was 11 but it was something I didn't quite understand. It was just a feeling of wanting to be in the company of the boy I liked and feeling light-headed when I was near him. I didn't quite know what it meant or what I was supposed to do with that.

The naughtiest thing I ever did was to sneak out of my house in the middle of the night (at age 14) to be with a boy I liked. We didn't do anything. It was a group gathering and he didn't even know I liked him. He liked another girl in that same group. It was quite a heartbreaking time for me.

I was 16 when I went out on my first date and had my first kiss. It happened in a secluded shopping mall staircase late one night. Not in school uniform; it was during the school holidays.

We were sitting on the stairs, enjoying each other's company, not talking very much because we were both shy, when he suddenly leaned over to kiss me.

I was totally grossed out. I mean, I had actually been fantasizing about kissing him but when it came, it was sudden, very wet and quite violent. It wasn't what I had expected. Shocked, I endured it for a few seconds before I pushed him away.

After that, we just sat there for the longest time, trying to pretend that the kiss never happened. We went home and never hung out with each other again.

I was 17 when I had my first real boyfriend. It was the happiest thing that ever happened to me because after many long years of having silent, heartbreaking crushes, that was the first time someone actually liked me in return and was bold enough to make it happen.

This first relationship was heaven and hell.

It was sweet. He was intelligent, good-looking, talented and loving. We took every chance to be with each other. We wrote each other love letters and made each other love cards every other day.

The hell happened during the afternoons I went home with him after school.

I liked the hand-holding and the little pecks on the cheeks or lips. But I hated when he turned too passionate. Those kisses were wet and slobbery and disgusting. Those kisses led to explorations under the clothes. And then the nightmarish image of what men did to women would spring into my mind and I would freeze in terror. "Oh no, he's going to do that to me!"

Fortunately, he never did because he didn't believe in pre-marital sex. He didn't believe in pre-marital physical intimacy, either, but he said he couldn't control himself. He would apologise wretchedly each time he got too intimate and promise it would never happen again, but then it always happened again.

We actually attended the same church, where our church elders would preach endlessly that lust was wrong. Even wearing sexy clothes was wrong. And pre-marital sex was the ultimate sin.

So there was always a huge struggle when he went into one of his passions. I called the relationship off after a year.

I guess I was quite the nun during my school days. I had many more boyfriends after the first, but they all traumatised me by forcing themselves on me with their slobbery kisses and maniacal gropings.

I would endure those for a time because I thought it was a girl's duty to please her boyfriend. But then, it was always so unpleasant and it was so hard to believe that people actually did this for fun.

It seemed like every guy I met only wanted me for my body, so I would call off each relationship before it got too much for me to handle.

So, no, I can't lay claim to having exhibited public displays of affection while in school uniform.

To be honest, I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing.