I wonder if it’s too late to have The Talk with my dad. We never really did have that talk, and I know he’s had sex at least 3 times, so it could be interesting to get his perspective on it all.
I only say this, because when I was your age, son, I never would have asked my dad about sex. I might have asked where babies come from but at that point, for all I knew they came from vending machines or from cashing in 13,243 tickets at the arcade. Actually, 13,243 tickets only got you one of those long-haired plastic trolls, so babies had to be at least 14,000 tickets.
His answer probably would have been this: “Well, you see, son, when a man and a woman really love each other–my, is that the time? We’re going to be late for, um, something, so we’ll have to finish this some other time. Great talk, son.”
It’s a good thing my brother left those raunchy magazines hidden in his closet. Without them, I doubt I’d have known the basic mechanics of it all until I was in the awkward position of having to figure it out while a less-than-impressed partner waited, wishing she were just a bit more drunk.
There were only three magazines and they weren’t exactly “Love and Respect Weekly.” They were helpful, although they didn’t give me a terribly well-balanced perspective on what human intimacy is all about. On the other hand, how many other 12-year-olds could name all 6 positions for sex with a donkey? Needless to say, I learned a lot.
I was mildly confused about the whole donkey/person thing, and I couldn’t quite figure out why people might enjoy being peed on. The fact that the magazines were in Spanish didn’t help and it would have been hard, if ever caught, to say I was reading them just for the thought-provoking articles. Looking back, though, I did better in Spanish than any other class and I can’t help but think I had some motivation to study.
You don’t have a big brother to unwittingly provide you with a sex education, but you have something way better; you have the Internet. Here’s the thing, though: if I was confused about what I was exposed to in three magazines, the Internet must scare the living crap out of you. Honestly, donkeys seem pretty mild compared to what genitals are up to on the Web these days.
This is why, when you came to me seeking additional details about the technicalities of baby-making, I was actually quite pleased. Scared shitless, but pleased. We had already done the usual vague, “Well, son, the man’s penis goes in the woman’s vagina aaaaand thatshowyoumakebabieslet’smoveon” talk. But this time, you wanted details–all the details, including what it feels like, who’s supposed to be on top, what time of day it needs to occur, if kissing is mandatory or just optional, whether it just gets inserted or if you have to do something else with it, why the girl can’t just do it herself if she’s the one making the baby anyway, and so on.
It was a great talk that included some awesome hand-drawn illustrations, simulations, a fair bit of laughing and a lot of reassurance that you were not the only one your age with all the same questions. To be honest, I kind of had fun and I could see you getting more relaxed and relieved to be getting real answers to your real questions.
I think what pleased me the most is that you were willing to talk to me about your fears and concerns, to trust me to tell you the truth and not to judge you. I don’t know if it’s just a generational thing and most kids today talk to their parents about this stuff in a way that I never did with my parents. But whatever it is, I sure hope it lasts.
One thing, though: once you’ve figured out how to get around the parental controls on our web browser, don’t expect me to help you make sense of what you find out there; I come from the old school donkey porn generation.