Well, for the second time in my life I heard a sex talk from my mom recently. I must say that the second time around is a LOT easier to handle. I probably didn't grimace and giggle quite as much.
It all began when, for some reason, I asked my niece if her friends talk about sex much. I guess I have fallen victim to the hype that twelve year olds are having sex. You hear about it on 20/20, I've been warned about it in my education classes, and Maury Povich wouldn't have much of a show if they weren't. Which basically comes down to the realization that while a few kids are sexually active, most probably aren't. As usual.
I still remember first hearing about sex from my mother. She explained everything clearly and intelligently and never made me feel uncomfortable. But I do remember having moments when I was sure she was making things up. He does what? With WHAT?
Even though I knew the basics at twelve years old, I was no more interested in experiencing sex than learning how to change a flat tire. (Hell, even at nineteen years old, I was still clueless about it because I was waiting to fall in love.) We did talk about it as girls. I clearly remember in sixth grade getting a postcard from my friend who went to a beach in Delaware with her family. It had seagulls on it and on the back she wrote, "I thought you would like this card because it has BIRDS all over it!" I remember thinking everyone in the post office thought I was some kind of pervert. Or at least that I associated with vacationing perverts.