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Wednesday, April 19, 2017

It's only sex

My pre-pubescent self, shivered dripping wet from the shower cloaked in a bath towel as my mother invited me to sit on the edge of her bed for a conversation.  The sex talk.  At our house sex was simply not fodder for any family type or open discussion.  My dad a rather large man raising three daughters and who still pulled out chairs and held open doors for ladies and reserved any foul language utterances for the back room would redden considerably at any reference to any sexual appendage or act.  I unwittingly said aloud the Vagina word at the dinner table one evening in deference to a woman’s rather large breasts extremely low flung, to emphasize the degree of droop making what I thought to be a rather captivating story.  Glaring, he immediately stood rising to his full six foot 4 inches to tower quite menacingly, without saying a single word. I dared not a breath his shadow imposing as my eyes focused firmly upon my plate.  Fearing the wrath of the leather metal studded belt designed specifically for this type of egregious behavior, my lower lip trembled in trepidation.  He left and did not return that evening skipping his supper altogether.  I had dethroned the King.

With new appreciation for my family dynamics, sitting beside me on the bed my mother very hesitantly began to speak, eyes averted exclaiming a forthcoming transition to womanhood.  Soon I would become a woman.  And notably I had not sprouted a single pubic hair or had my first period this was at best conjecture. She handed me a pamphlet ‘Dear Abby’s Guide to Sex’.  I cried like a newborn.  Stick figured drawings of penises and bathroom wall graffiti were truly my only formal education with perhaps snippets of glorified locker room chatter courtesy of my eldest sister.  This humble trajectory predestined a more conventional early life path. 

Overt sexual conversations, proper body part labels and open admiration for personal pleasure several years later underscored an evolutionary digress from my childhood roots.  A liberation of the libido a revolution if you will freeing the virginal damsel exposing the wanton sex goddess.  Goodbye prudish advice columnist hello Jerry Springer.  Were my father to be even remotely in my life album the swinging chastity belt from the rearview mirror an expression of my sexual freedom would certainly have been his undoing. 

An environmental enthusiast I pander to the tree hugger and forgo the informational leaflet on safe sex for a verbal parry with my own two daughters firmly believing in open and enduring dialogue.  Upping my game I continue to collect from them the most current schoolyard terminology, sex slang lingo comprising my very own unabridged edition.  Deliver me directly into temptation.    

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