This Is How Growing Up Catholic Made Obsessed With Having Sex Despite Believing It Would Destroy My Soul

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When you spend your entire childhood growing up under the roof of a Catholic family you pick up a few quirks and phobias.

I became glaringly aware of the fact that temptations loomed everywhere. Things like drugs, death, and bodily functions both scared and deeply intrigued me. Mostly because my teachers and family taught me that these topics could quickly morph into “vices” or obsessions. Ones, that by Catholic teachings, could threaten your soul and pull you into the fiery pits of hell.

Growing up, my main “sinful” obsession was with virginity.

That ultimately drove me to become lowkey thirsty for info on the ins and outs of sex.

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Of course, I had some theories on how it worked. Kissing while naked, showering with someone, and doing what looked like cartwheels in bed were just a few.

For a while “losing” it was one of my biggest concerns.

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According to my very Catholic teachers, anything could be a threat to losing your virginity. Boys, kissing, music, bicycles. You name it, it was coming to pop your cherry.

And I constantly looked up words I thought were “dirty.”

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Actually, my first forms of porn came straight from Webster’s Dictionary because #pureimagination.

By the time I got to high school my confusion and interest in sex only EXPLODED.

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I was completely torn between my Catholic guilt and burning curiosity. I really wanted to try doing what everyone else was apparently doing, but I also didn’t want to meet el diablo.

Then I learned my friends were starting to do it and I was all like…

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And then I saw that they were all still coming to school the next day, not possessed by the devil or suffering from a soul that’s turned dark.

So I started to want a boyfriend, which of course my parents quickly shot down.

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And because boyfriends were SINFUL and I probably couldn’t have gotten one anyway (puberty was not kind to me), I tried to find other options.

I started doing a little “self-exploration.”

It wasn’t long before I learned that this too was a big fat Catholic no-no, and there were a TON of supposed repercussions for it, like blindness and going to hell.

But like a pecaminoso addict, once I started I couldn’t stop, and the fear and guilt came crashing in.

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I swore I was getting hairier –  a cruel punishment for someone who already suffered from intense fuzziness. According to the Cuban Catholic legends I’d heard, God worked in creatively mysterious ways, so growing hair was entirely possible.

So I stopped, and started, and stopped, and started, again and again and again.

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And each time I threw in a few Hail Marys. Just in case.

Eventually I realized that no matter how much I did it, El Coco still hadn’t come for me.

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Sure I was hairy AF, but it was probably just genetics. Plus, it wasn’t anything that a little shave session couldn’t fix.

Which meant that eventually I determined it’d be A-okay to give the old deed a go.

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And that is the story of how a little Católica came to understand that touching herself and having sex didn’t equal eternal damnation. Yay!


Read: Every Year For Nochebuena, My Twin Brother Gets To Go Golfing While I’m Forced To Play Cinderella And Help Make The Lechon, Here’s Why

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