“Lookit, Ama!”
“What, baby?”
“My penis comes out.”
“Oh yeah?”
“And it goes back in.”
“That’s awesome.”
These are the things one learns from their three-year-old boys in a clothing-optional household. Or in a house that doesn’t cut the penii of the children in it. Or in a house that lets the children explore their bodies with an innocent freedom. Or in a house that allows the children to masturbate to shows such as SpongeBob, Phineas and Ferb, Cars – or whatever else happens to be on and the penis is in reach. Or in a house that — well, you get the idea.
I love raising my boys. I love staying home with them. I love the freedom they have to discover their bodies — to explore them. I love that I have the opportunity to raise them without shame.
This was not the case when I was growing up. Bodies were hidden by clothing at all times, unless when bathing. And even then, doors were closed, boys and girls bathed separately, and one made sure the towel completely covered all parts that should never be seen by the opposite sex. I never saw my mother in anything less than a full-length slip. I never saw my father without an undershirt on — with sleeves, never without — and certainly not without pants of some kind or other. And with the exception of being very young (under three) and bathing with my brother who was one year younger than I, I never saw my brothers without a fair amount of clothing.
I would say it was because my parents believed that our bodies were sacred and special. But it was because of the version of Christianity that they believed in, and still follow. Our bodies were sacred alright, and should not be shared with anyone — ourselves included — until we were married. Really.
Which meant that I didn’t see what the opposite sex looked like. While I knew that boys were different than girls (because one needed both boy and girl parts to have a baby), I didn’t know that the outside sex parts came in different shapes and sizes. I didn’t know that it was normal to feel desire, or to want to touch myself, or to explore other bodies, or to have tingly sensations every now and then. I didn’t know because I wasn’t allowed to know. Not from my parents and not from a class in school. Remember, not until I was married.
I was in my teens when I discovered the books that my mother and older sister read and tried to hide in their closets. I learned a little then. I was an older teen when I was asked if I was a virgin — and then had to ask my best friend what that meant, because I didn’t know. And I was sixteen when I let a boy touch me in the seat of the school bus — and I got to touch him back. Yeah, I learned a lot then. And I learned that I craved that touching.
I don’t know how much of the freedom I allow myself and my children can be attributed to the denial I grew up with. But I do know that I couldn’t raise my kids with the thought that their bodies were something to be ashamed of. I couldn’t put the restriction of “not until you are married” on them. I couldn’t expect that they would adhere to that, and not try anything else. And I really wanted them to be ok with what their body looked like, felt like, and did.
And they are.
My baby boy, at three year old, is excited to share with me what he has learned about his penis. My six year old is not ashamed to change in and out of his suit at the side of the pool. I can only hope that this openness will continue as they get older. Not that they should share with me the latest and greatest trick their penis can do, but that they are able to come to me with questions or share what they have learned in general.
And yes, I hope their confidence about their bodies that they have now, continues to grow and be strong as they get older. I hope their freedom to just be who they are, does not get hindered by restrictions that make no sense at all.
I knew before my children were born that I wanted to be the kind of mother that they could trust would tell them the truth. I never talked “baby talk” to them and always tried to judge what age appropriate information for them was. I also never would assume that, “Not MY child! My daughter/son would NEVER do that!” Parents like that are just fooling themselves. Why do they think their kids won’t do the same or worse than they did?
Sometimes my philosophy worked very well. When my daughter was about the age when she was figuring out Santa and the Easter Bunny weren’t real guys, I told her that when children become a certain age that Santa and the Easter Bunny let mom, dad, older brothers and sisters, take over the duties that they performed for the smaller children. I further told her that was the way we could always keep the magic of Christmas and the fun of Easter going forever. Now that she was getting older it was a big responsibility to keep the secret going and help Santa and company. She LOVED it! She talks about it to this day. I was Queen Mom with that pearl of wisdom.
I treated my son the same way. I did request that his father take over the actual “sex” talks with him. My son became aware of his penis very early in his life and like all men, it became his BEST friend. Since my son was five years old, he has never let me see him naked. I sent his father in a couple times over the years to question him and make sure his junk was okay, in proper order, etc. His father did this with much anguish and I think the last time I did this, my son was about fifteen. After his father had asked him the torturous questions, my son stormed out of his room and told me that his plumbing was fine, did what it was supposed to, and worked correctly and to STOP HAVING HIS FATHER CHECK ON HIM!!! He further informed me he knew about sex and how to protect himself and any future girlfriends. “Jeez, MOM!” Those were his last words on the subject.
So, I let them come to me with questions. I answered honestly and as the years went by, the questions about sex became less and less. They still come to me with questions about a variety of subjects but never sex. My job on that topic was over. They both had been told about birth control, pre-marital sex, virginity, oral sex and so on. Whew!
Now that you know I was always up-front with my children about everything. And I do mean everything, imagine my surprise when I found out *I* didn’t want to know EVERYTHING about them!
On a recent evening, his father and I were going out to dinner. My son was in his room. He usually has the door closed and locked. I went out to the car while his father went to ask him if he wanted to join us. When his father came out, he was laughing. I wanted to know what was so funny. His father, bless his sick little heart, told me. Apparently our son, my sweet little baby boy, was jerking off to internet porn! His door was locked but not closed tightly and when he knocked, the door opened. His father (I would have paid money to see the look on his face) was confronted by the sight of wild monkey sex on the computer and his son wanking away blissfully.
My appetite was gone. Some things a mother doesn’t want or need to know.
I grew up in a home that sexuality was often on the far ends of the scales. It was nothing for my Mom to walk around nude. And for my parents to very affectionate in front of us kids – kissing and groping in the kitchen wasn’t uncommon. I of course giggled at it as a little girl. But growing up I now appreciate that they could be so open with their affection and sexual attraction in front of us.
But at the same time we were told that sex wasn’t something we needed to know about until we were grown up. And they really didn’t want to talk about it.
I am not sure when it happened but eventually I figured it out that my Mom and Dad had to get married because they got pregnant with me. And as soon as I became aware the lectures came to not do the same thing. I heard all about the things my Mom and Dad had to give up because they had sex. But still it wasn’t talked about what sex was or how it worked. And it did create a message for me that sex was bad – forbidden because it made you give up things that sounded like they were better and good.
All the while though still my parents still were very open with their affection for each other so it made me want to have that but just not tell them. So I learned about sex on my own, from girly magazines my Dad had stuffed in the back of his closet and from friends.
“How big is your bladder?” my dear son asked me one night a few weeks back.
I told him it all depended on how much urine the bladder was holding. “It’s like a balloon. If there’s a lot of fluid in it, it gets big. If there’s not a lot in there, it’s smaller.”
“So, if it’s empty, how big?” he asked.
I made a circle with my thumb and index finger. “About this big most likely. Why?”
He looked at me with all the seriousness an 8-year old can muster. “Well, I have these two things that are like balls down here…” patting his groin.
I had to keep myself from laughing as I moved his hand up just a little higher. “This is where your bladder is. Those ‘balls’ are your testicles, sweetie. And, guess what? Some people do call them balls.”
“They do?”
“Yes, they do.” Mr. Wide Eyes then asked what testicles are for. “Your testicles produce sperm when you get a little older. Sperm is half of what is needed to make a baby.”
I figured I’d offer up a little more information because I knew he’d ask. “How does the sperm get from your testicles to where the baby is made?” Little Dude asked.
“Inside your body are these little tiny tubes that are all coiled up. They go from your testicles, meet up just below your penis, and then there’s just one tube. It takes the sperm from there to the end of your penis. It comes out there.”
LD didn’t believe me. He started to ask another question and stopped. Several times. I asked him if he wanted to know more. He looked at me and frowned. “Is this the part where girls are involved?”
“Yes.”
“No, thanks. I’m done for now. I just really wanted to know if these balls were where all my pee is stored.”
“Nope, not there, buddy.”
“Okay, good. I don’t think I want to be playing with these if that’s where the urine is. I didn’t want to squeeze them and end up peeing my pants because of it.”
“Oh, okay.” What else could I say? “Um, just make sure, if you’re going to play with them that you do it at home and not out in public, okay?”
“No way, Mom! I wouldn’t do that. These are mine. I don’t want anyone else to see them.”
Yeah, yeah. He says that now. In a couple of years it’ll be a different story. And I’ll be ready to deal with that when it’s time.
–Submitted by DaGoddess (A warning: most people who come to my site aren’t always looking for this sort of tale, preferring, it seems, transgendered experience, which is okay, but is nowhere near what my son and I discussed. On the other hand, it’s a great way to bring in new readers! Especially those who are sex positive.)
I was raised in a weird combination of conservative Christian values and comfortable honesty. I was never ashamed of my body.
Growing up I spent more time naked than I did clothed. My parents never told me to cover up. I didn’t start wearing shirts around the house until my breasts grew in. I developed quickly though. I was tall and curvy before I ever hit high school.
I was really slow, almost backward with sex stuff, even though it fascinated me. I can remember at six years old rubbing myself against the hard button nose of a teddy bear. But I was afraid to try anything. My grandparents punished me for playing doctor. They said I would go to hell if I had premarital sex.
I was sixteen before I kissed someone. I’d never been afraid of physical affection. In my family, we hugged and kissed and held hands. But my grandparents made sex into something so scary. My mom had always said that sex was a gift from God to share with someone you loved. I didn’t love my first boyfriend but I sure thought I did.
I lost my virginity to him three months after we first kissed. It wasn’t very good sex and I never had an orgasm. That came later with a new boyfriend from oral sex in the front seat of his Dodge Neon. I’m 21 now and I’ve shared my gift with more people than I’ve loved. But I love my mom for never making me ashamed of it the way her parents did.
I told my boyfriend the other day, “I went really slow to my first kiss. I was almost seventeen.”
He laughed and said, “And then you went really fast.”
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