Rites of Passage: The Talk

So for a laugh, my friends and I usually like to discuss two things: dating or sex. Or both. And in regards to me, the funnier parts are either my dates gone wrong, or my introduction to sex.

Not how I lost my virginity. (Though I think that’s up for debate. It too is rather laughable, and can be argued I threw it at his head rather than “lost it.” I lost my flash drive; I did not lose my virginity.)

No, no, I’m talking about “The Talk.” How old were you when your parents had the talk with you? I was fourteen. And it wasn’t so much a talk as a book was handed to me, a 64 page little handbook called, “Almost Twelve.” (Do you see the irony with giving a fourteen year old a book called “Almost Twelve”?)

My father was in no way involved in this talk; and my mother said, “Read this. It explains everything. And if you have any questions….” Here she looked a bit frightened. “Well, the book explains everything.” Meanwhile I’d already been having a crappy week. I’ve gotten my first period; I’m even more bitchy than usual (and considering what A First-Class Bitch I was then, that’s saying something); and I’ve been handed this sex book that had more to do with morals than actual sex. In fact the whole thing was rather clinical—drawn pictures of what everything looked like. Nice. Then a clinical explanation of what makes you pregnant. Nice. (This crap had already been covered for me in 5th grade during the “Julia’s Story” seminar, but whatever.)

Then the actual sex. (I’m pretty sure it mentioned NOTHING about oral sex. Or anything remotely fun in that realm. Mostly it was “sex is for marriage, and if you have sex before you’re married, you won’t be that special to your husband because you didn’t save yourself for him.”) Of course, come to think of it, the author was a man—and maybe his wife didn’t save herself for him specifically. Maybe he was just pissy. Maybe he was writing this specifically for his daughters so they’d never have sex…yeah, that sounds like the guy thing to do.

Anyway, this just summed up yet another crappy teenage Christmas—I got my period (gee, thanks) and I got this book on why I could never have sex unless I wanted to go to hell for it. I assure you, every other page talked about sex and sin. Blah, blah, blah. Ugh. And you know if they didn’t talk about oral sex, you can guess their views on masturbation.

Which I believe masturbation and virginity and religion is how I got to thinking again about HOW I found about sex. (Amazing the topics that come up when you’re working out on the elliptical machine at the gym. I never know how exactly I arrived at this conversation, but I always enjoy it. I’m so going to hell.) Anyway, my friend T thought it was particularly hysterical how I got the talk—and I thought I’d share it for the rest of the world.

You’re not nearly as warped from your childhood as I am. Rest assured.

And I’ll have you know the way I learned about sex was from a romance novel called “First Love, Wild Love” by Janelle Taylor. It was about a Texas Ranger who deflowers a rancher’s daughter who he mistakes for a lady of the night. She of course orgasmed right way, on her first try. Talented bitch. I’d read it the year before I even got the “Almost Twelve” book, thank you very much, and my mother nearly had kittens when she realized the kinds of books I was reading. *evil laugh*

And let’s not even discuss what happened when my father found my George Michael cassette tape when I was 15. “I Want Your Sex” in bold vivid lettering. Lord. I got a talk then, I assure you, and one I never wanted again. So I hid all my dirty rock and roll songs after that. And I ignored my mother when she told me that wearing tampons would make me not a virgin. Seriously. Yes, she said that.