The Talk

Olga Wolstenholme's picture

Sex Education

When I was eleven, my brother (who is five years older than I am) told our Mom that it was time for her to give me the talk. The walls in our house were rather thin and I could hear them having this conversation in the kitchen from my bedroom. To be fair, I might have been eavesdropping (I wanted to be a detective at the time).

I was rather mortified at the prospect of having this conversation with my mother and  besides at age eleven I was pretty familiar with the subject, not from personal experience mind you, but I had a firm grasp of how babies were made. My best friend and I had already seen our first porno: an orgy of hippies fornicating in a meadow, a tape we had found in her Dad’s closet. So when, my mother called me down into the kitchen, I was happy to tell her she didn’t need to put either of us through this, since I already knew all about it. She wanted to have the talk just as much as I did, so she let the subject drop.

My parents were separated and weren’t the best communicators in the world, which meant that my Dad also took it upon himself to have the sex talk with me. His version was to awkwardly knock on my bedroom door and hand me a book about puberty and sex, at which point he immediately left. That was it, not a word was spoken. Still at least I had access to some information and he didn’t just hand me a box of condoms like he had done with my brother.

Syndicate content
Powered by Drupal, an open source content management system