Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, hopes that new freedoms would quickly replace the old have often been dashed by the re-emergence of patriarchal, conservative and traditional practices. Largely kept suppressed by the communist system, and exaggerated by the exodus of many who might have formed the middle classes during the economic collapse of the 1990s, gender and issues of sexuality were particularly affected. True, homosexuality has been decriminalized, although homophobia remains a significant problem, and new freedoms might have “liberated” a minority of citizens in Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia, but sexuality remains a contentious issue for society as a whole. In 2007, for example, a study by the Caucasus Resource Research Centers (CRRC) found that there was still resistance to the idea of pre-marital sex. 70.4% of respondents in #Armenia considered pre-marital sex unacceptable at any age, 72.8% in #Azerbaijan, 63.8% in #Georgia… Nevertheless, if talk about sex was once taboo, although male bloggers still disrupt Women's Days marches to change prevailing attitudes on female virginity and domestic abuse, there is at least now the possibility to discuss matters more openly. LGBT groups can operate more openly, and have especially empowered themselves through blogs, while, as recently seen in Georgia, discussion has gone online. The CRRC data, for example, even formed the basis for a three-part series of posts on Women's Forum by a former Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) stationed in Azerbaijan on dating, or rather the absence of it. In the first post, Micael Bogar says that there isn't even a word for it in Azerbaijani. As is also true for the entire region, attitudes towards sexuality are usually not only gender-biased, but also arguably hypocritical to the extreme. You can learn a lot about a culture by learning its language. Back in 2003, I was surprised during one of my first Peace Corps Training classes to find that there is no word for “date” in the Azerbaijani language. After class, I pulled my young modern language teacher aside to clarify. I figured she’d give it to me straight. “Was there really no such thing as dating in Azerbaijan?” Her response was a surprise to me. She detailed the custom of dating as a furtive awkward attempt for two people to get to know each other through secretive phone calls and quick exchanges in parks or on the street. To be alone in a room with a person of the opposite sex without a marriage license was strictly forbidden. If word got out that such a thing was happening the girl would be labeled a whore and the boy scolded. Boys will be boys – it’s the girl who was to blame. Frankly, I was shocked. […] Sitting out on the balcony of our tiny two bedroom apartment zdanie we’d watch young girls walking by. “That’s Aysel. She’s a whore,” my host sister Layla would say. “She meets with Ferid in the park in the center of the city and everyone knows it. Everyone knows that Ferid loves Sevinj and he would never take Aysel as a bride. Aysel is just a whore.” In the second post, Bogar details her own experiences in Azerbaijan when she started to get close to a local acquaintance. I know what you’re thinking: “What a whore!” And I was. In Azerbaijani culture I was being a qehbe (whore). Still to this day I cringe thinking about it. However, I grew up in a culture where having sex with your boyfriend is perfectly acceptable. So, to deny myself that freedom was silly. It’s not like I was saving anything. He left my apartment that morning just before the sun rose in the hope that no one would see him sneak out. Of course, they did. If you’ve ever spent any time in an Azerbaijani mehle (apartment courtyard) , you know that nothing goes unaccounted for. Once the news spread, my life changed. It was never anything I could point to. No one ever said anything directly to my face but things started changing. People stopped smiling at me in the street. […] […] Ali and I stayed together for nearly two years. Still to this day he is one of my dearest friends. I would not change our relationship for the world. I am not ashamed or afraid to say that he was my boyfriend and yet even as I write this I am not using his real name. Even as I write this, women in Azerbaijan are forced to keep their romances a secret and feel ashamed of their desire to love. What is so shameful about wanting to get to know someone intimately before you commit your life to them? As Azerbaijan continues to modernize, I worry what kind of effect this cultural expectation has on my close friends. The country is full of young women that have traveled the world, speak different languages and have never known what it’s like to be intimate with a man they care for.