When I was around twelve, my mother sat me down and said, “Sam, we have to talk.” Instantly, I knew it was coming: the incredibly awkward, I-had-only-heard-stories-as-of-yet sex talk that I so desperately didn’t want to have. She continued.
“I know you’re getting older, and you’re becoming more of an adult.” Oh good god. ”I want you to know we trust you and we think you’re responsible, so I think we should talk about–”
Being certain I could take no more, as I was a preteen and desperately did not want to have such a remarkably uncomfortable discussion with my mother, I blurted out: “ARE WE GETTING A DOG?”
She stared at me for a few moments, confused and clearly trying to find the words to say.
“Sure… yeah, we–we’re getting a dog.”
The result of our talk.
And get a dog, we did! We never discussed sex again, not even a little bit, until I was in college, by which time I had been sexually active for years and knew the ins and outs of most sex-related topics relevant to a teenager. I knew about various types of birth control, as I had been on it since I was 13 anyway due to having appendicitis-like symptoms during my 2-week long periods. I knew about
But it wasn’t always like that. In fact, between the almost-talk and college, I had a considerable amount of very confused ideas on what sex was supposed to be like, as well as what it could result in.
