As a younger sibling to two significantly older offspring, I was privy to a lot of “trickle-down” information about sex and sexuality. Some accurate, some not. I absorbed most of it without comment or question.
As I approached about four years old, I decided that I was going to ask my mother about sex. However, having the typical tact of a child, I didn’t think about the opportune moment to do so.
My brother is eleven years older than I and was learning to drive. Always excited for opportunities to get behind the wheel, he convinced my mother to let him take us all on a short errand.
As we were backing out (!) of the very long driveway (for practice, of course) I chose the exact moment to ask, “Mom…what’s sex?”
I have a strikingly clear of my brother freaking out and driving straight back into the ditch. He was clearly shocked by his little sister coming out with such a thing.
“Watch out for the tree!” My mom’s frantic answer disregarded my question as my brother narrowly avoided a poplar and came to an urgent stop.
“We’ll talk about it later, honey. Here, let me drive.”
That pretty much ended that talk for the day. I don’t think my mother ever got back to me, but my brother didn’t really want to practice driving with me in the car much anymore.
My older brother and I each received the gender appropriate copy of a maturation book as explanation of the birds and the bees. On top of each book was a little note that we could ask mom questions if we had any.
What mom didn’t take into account with this plan was the fact that my brother had been unknowingly molested by a babysitter years before. Sexual behavior had already been a large part of his life and not in a healthy way. As big brothers often do, he imparted this knowledge on me, again not in a healthy way.
When I talked to my mother about the happenings between my brother and me, her response was simple. She asked him to stop. Again, what she didn’t take into account was the extent of his addiction to such behavior. Finally, I got the courage to stand up to him and make it stop (talk about empowering).
What most people don’t talk about when they discuss molestation and abuse is that it often feels good to the victim even if the contact is unwanted. It took me years to overcome the guilt associated with actually finding the sexual abuse that happened when I was young somewhat pleasurable. The emotional trauma is tremendous. How do you reconcile an act so vile, yet at the same time educational and often physically arousing? Add the fact that the perpetrator is someone you love and you have yourself a cocktail of ISSUES!
Many years of therapy and piles of self-help books later, I have overcome that guilt. I have a great relationship with my brother. I have an awesome sexual relationship with my hubby. My only worry is how to keep my children safe from the same childhood trauma that has haunted me for years. My mother certainly never imagined that such a thing would happen to her children. I can only hope that my experience will help me be much more aware of the goings on of my kids.
My little girl was but eighteen months old when she discovered that touching the tiny brown nubs on her chest felt nice. She did it repeatedly, all day, hands shoved up under her shirt to twiddle away as she carried out the business of being a toddler.
At home I largely ignored the practice unless she did it right in front of my face; for example, as I dressed her. “Those are your nipples,” I’d then point out. “Someday you can use them to help feed a baby.”
She’d been nursed and had seen other infants also drinking milk from their mothers’ breasts, so she accepted this information without much question. “Nip-pulls,” she’d parrot. “Feed baby.”
And then one day we were dressing for a play-date. “Drew is coming over,” I said, hitching shorts up beneath her round belly. “You get to play with Drew.”
Her hands went instantly to her bare chest. “Play with Drew?” I nodded. “I play with Drew,” she said. “I show Drew my nipples.”
I froze, her tiny shirt poised above her head. What should I tell her? Should I scold her for wanting to show off her anatomy? Caution her on the necessity of privacy? Ready myself to thwart any play-date efforts at nippular display?
In the end I did nothing. Drew’s mother and I talked while the babies played nearby; although I kept a wary ear on their babbling I hear no mention of nipples. It’s possible that she forgot. It’s equally possible that she whipped up her shirt and flashed the boy while I was fetching apple juice and crackers.
Would it have mattered? My daughter placed no more or less importance on her nipples than any other body part, whether toe, eyebrow or elbow. To her they were just a new discovery, as worthy of sharing as an ant strolling down the sidewalk or a new book to read.
There will be plenty of time in the future for body-based shame. I wasn’t going to be the one to set it in motion when she was barely past babyhood.
–Submitted by Anonymous
I was given porn magazines at the age of twelve by my grandmother (she raised me) who thought that if I had porn as a kid I wouldn’t want it as an adult. No other kids talked much about it to me as I was pretty shy. I sent away and faked my age to get more porn. I had at one time half a foot locker full of it, and didn’t feel all that good about it.
I feel as though it took two decades to learn about sex. Porn didn’t instill me with a bad feeling about it, since with my first sexual experience with my first girlfriend, I was so interested in understanding how to please I went to the library and looked up books on sex, especially cunnilingus.
This pattern continued after I left a marriage and I had to start dating; I started studying social dynamics and sex techniques. I still give a lot during sex. I made sure that when my son was old enough, that I gave him a good foundation on what it was, and a bit (as much as his seven-year-old mind could handle) about psychology between men and women.
Even though it’s been a long road, it’s been a joyous adventure to continue learning about sex, keeping it varied, and always a good dance together. The joke is on my grandmother, though, as I started an erotic publishing house, not at all like what I had as a kid though; much more artistic. Oh the irony!
Ever since my nephew was a little boy, I’ve watched him so my sister could do many of her daily chores, work and go to class. As his daily companion, I’ve answered hundreds of questions regarding everything from the nature of existence to the actions of the birds and the bees. My family has always been very open in its discussion of sexuality, though my parents used euphemistic terms.
When D was ready for preschool, he became very aware of babies, daddies, mommies, and all their differences. My brother’s wife was having a baby, and suddenly D had to know where they came from. Turning to me, he asked with beaming curiosity, “Where will Uncle H and Aunt J get their baby?
I don’t believe in lying about these things–I feel sure that demystifying sex leads to a healthier understanding of it and healthier practices later. So I explained to the best of my ability in terms this bright child could understand.
Several months passed, and I had agreed to substitute in D’s school for the day; his teacher was a friend of mine, and I was pleased to have a day with children, my favorite of all people. During nap time, D asked if I could read to him, and I happily nestled into his cot to read a book he had chosen from the shelf.
The theme of the week was Knowing Our Bodies, and the book he brought to me was filled with transparencies and rather graphic descriptions of intercourse. I read quietly to him, but when a little group began to gather around us, I said, “D, perhaps we should choose another book.” My feeling was that parents have the right to decide for themselves how much their three-year-olds know about sexuality. I’d be open to tell them all about it, in metered terms, but for a serious respect for others beliefs and approaches.
When I said this, one little girl, the one whose parents I most worried about insulting chimed, “Oh, don’t worry, D has already told us all about how a man uses his penis to put the sperm in the woman’s vagina, and when the sperm finds an egg there it fights its way in to make a baby.” I just about choked, but all the children just smiled at me.
Later in the week, I bumped into the little girl’s mother, a colleague of mine. She said sweetly, “Don’t worry about a thing. We’re so glad she understands. It just isn’t a problem at all, and we never would have known how to tell her.”
My seventeen year old had her first sex with a male while she was camping. No, I am not going to tell her story, as it’s not mine to tell.
But I am going to give a few reasons why talking about sex with your kids is necessary and important. And I am going to pat myself on the back again for being a good mom.
Reason #1: She has been on birth control for a few years. Her choice. Because she talked to me about a boyfriend she had at the time, and if she wanted to go that far, she wanted the option to say yes. And she asked to be put on birth control, just in case. So we talked about birth control options and she chose what she thought would be best for her. It has worked so far.
Reason #2: She was able to have sex with someone she considers a friend (what I think of him doesn’t matter). And with someone who was able to make it memorable – even if it wasn’t all she thought it was going to be. And she was able to do this without fear from her parents. And she was able to tell her parents about her decision without fear about what they would think or do. And she was able to talk about what was good and bad and what she can/will do to make it better next time – whenever that happens.
Reason #3: She insisted on using a condom – every time she had sex while camping (three nights). Her chosen partner tried to convince her that they didn’t have to – for reasons I will not go into here – it is her story. She insisted on the condom. She didn’t want to take the chance of getting pregnant and ruining her plans for her immediate future. He complied and everything continued to be fine.
I have to admit, I was worried about how she would handle this camping trip. It was full of firsts for her – she has never camped before, never had s’mores before, and never had penis-in-vagina sex before. I wasn’t sure she would even think about the convos we had had about the importance of protection. She doesn’t always think ahead, you know.
If I hadn’t insisted she listen every time I talked about sex, would she have been this responsible? If I hadn’t been so open about sex and birth control and STD’s, would she have insisted a condom be used? Would she have thought it through and chose someone who she was absolutely comfortable with? Would she have made sure she was in a safe environment?
I don’t know. But I’m so glad I have the conversations I do with my children. This is just one more thing that proves I am doing the right thing by talking to them. By answering every single question they have.
Talk to your kids. It’s important. They really listen, even when they act like they don’t want to hear what you are saying.
I don’t know if it’s this way at your house, but with two pre-teen girls, dinner table discussions at our house more frequently than not involve reproductive organs, sexuality and (these days) marriage equality discussions.
Take for example, this interaction between myself and my eleven year old:
A: Me and Friend X and Friend Y were wondering about how lesbians have sex.
Me: Do you mean since neither person has a penis?
A: Yeah.
Me: Well, there are lots of ways to be intimate that don’t involve a penis. They could use their hands and fingers. They could use their mouths…
A: You mean they kiss?
Me: Well, that and they use their mouths on one another’s vagina or breasts and other parts of the body that feel good when they’re touched.
A: Oh…(takes a few minutes to ponder). How about gay men?
Me: Well, the same thing. They can use their hands and mouths and anus.
A: What’s an anus?
Me: Their butts.
A: Oh. (Another quiet moment.)
Me (imagining the phone calls I would get the next day): You know how we’ve talked about that parents usually like to be the ones to teach their children about sex? This is probably one of those things that you should tell Friend X and Friend Y to talk to their parents about rather than explaining it yourself.
A: Yeah, good idea. They would never believe me anyway.
–Submitted by D.
In 1994, my parents divorced. I was nine.
It was winter, and we were in the middle of the biggest ice storm my town had ever seen. My mother packed my sister and I up, and we left to go stay with my Aunt and Uncle in the next town. I had always enjoyed visiting with my aunt and uncle. They lived in the country and let me roam around freely.
One afternoon my sister and I were home alone with my aunt. We both both followed her into the bathroom when she had to pee. My sister, four at the time, pointed at my aunt’s vagina when she sat down on the toilet. My aunt tickled my sister’s vagina and laughed.
I was standing by the sink. My Aunt leaned over and tickled my vagina. I remember it making me feel really uncomfortable that she had done that. When I finally returned home, I told my grandparents what my Aunt had done to my sister and me. They recorded my story.
My parents fought a lot about the situation, and one day I was told that my sister and I were not allowed to visit my Aunt and Uncle’s house anymore. We never discussed what happened again.
I had nightmares. My mother never believed my story. She said I had made it up. I didn’t make it up. It really happened, but thinking back on that day, 15 years later, I have to wonder if what I thought was wrong, if she was just playing. My grandmother had drilled into my head from a young age that if anybody ever touched me between the legs that was not her or my mom, that I should tell somebody.
It haunts me. Did I accuse my aunt of doing some horrible thing that was really an innocent action? I have not seen her since we left her house that February. I’ve often thought about going to see her. I’m afraid though; afraid to find out if I was wrong, afraid to find out that I was right, afraid of facing my past and letting in demons I had hoped would disappear.
–Submitted by C
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