Which is timely for me because I was JUST thinking how squeaky clean this blog has become and how there MUST be a way to dirty it up a bit! Ah, sweet relief. Before I go anything farther I want to note that this is NOT a family blog yet a good majority of my family read it. Unlucky for them I have no shame and an uncontrollable desire to share my embarrassing stories from my past.
It’s ironic that I’m so forthcoming considering The Mother never did give me “The Talk” growing up and when I went to her complaining of random woman troubles she’d tell me, “Oh yea, that’s perfectly normal.” OH REALLY? IT’S NORMAL? Why didn’t you pass that jewel of wisdom down to this generation, HUH??
But I digress, back to the topic at hand. I want to talk about two things, periods and hand jobs. Because you can’t very well discuss sex ed without talking about periods. And for the latter, well, I fear I may have unleashed the world’s worst way to get 13-year-olds clicking on and discovering my blog, but it’s something I wish I had been more informed about, so unfortunately it fits this week’s theme and it stays. (Oh dear is right.)
The one thing I remember about sex ed is that the teacher who gave all of us girls the “Your Changing Bodies” lecture was quite old and told us how embarrassed she was that Aunt Flo didn’t make an appearance in her life until the ripe old age of 18! She described grabbing tampons at sleepovers and making a big show of having to use the bathroom even though she was a complete menstruating fraud. I felt really bad for this teacher; it’s clear time had not healed that wound. I decided right then to expect the worst.
Then I got my period at age 11 and it’s all been downhill since. I soon figured out having a period was more painful than cool, and I vividly remember many a day of deliriously walking in circles in attempts to alleviate the turmoil in my stomach. The Sister, close on my heels, and not about to let me do anything alone for too long, quickly joined me at menstruation station within a year. Together we proceeded to torture ourselves and those around us for the next five years in what I like to call
puberty teenage hell.
There were anti-depressants (not making light of that) and tears. Oh the tears! Suddenly cramps looked really good when compared to the non-stop deluge of adolescent hormones. Somehow we managed to survive and here I am using my period as a humorous anecdote in my blog.
The only good thing about having a period at a young age was it became like an instant out at gym class. My period decided she owed me and I got to skip lots of swimming class one semester. I don’t think the teachers were allowed to say anything but I’m sure they got suspicious when so many of us girls had periods for three weeks in a row. 🙂
Moving on to the topic that will most likely ruin my credibility as a writer and make many of you blush… hand jobs.
I wish they had been covered in sex ed because I was terrible at them. I didn’t want to bother asking my first and previously experienced boyfriend (because embarrassing!), so I decided to seek out help at the lunch table during school. It soon became clear to me that this was the most elusive of the heavy petting options when none of my close girl friends wanted to discuss it with me. Maybe they were just as inexperienced or maybe they were too embarrassed, either way I was out of luck.
Later, a trusted adult in my life once told me at an event (how vague can I be!?!) that there was no need for me to go too far with my boyfriend. I could just “get him off with my hand,” she advised. OH sure, I nodded along, but WHAT DID THAT MEAN? How did it work? Was there a correct way to go about these things? It seemed like I was destined to not know forever.
Eventually I overcame my fears of said task and dove right in, because there was only one way I was going to find out.
I also vowed then and there to be an open book and willing to discuss personal issues with my close friends if they needed someone to talk to, and that is what’s gotten us in today’s
Do you remember anything from your sex ed classes? Was Drama Happens ever a squeaky clean blog? I doubt it…