Day One.

One particular subject I am very interested in is, well, sex.
I won't be talking dirty or even titillatingly. I just have a rather unique point of view. I'm pretty liberal and free thinking. My own mother became more and more of a prude as she aged. She became religious and totally lost her sense of humor.  But, at the same time, she was one of the randiest women I ever met.  I had to take care of her in her late 80's and recall having to remove books that would kind of get her juiced up. No one wants to deal with that.

The relationship between children and parents regarding sex gets very cloudy.
Neither wants to know anything about the others experience.
NO! Don't want to hear it.

For example, I am quite certain, that my mother believed I was a virgin when I married. She wanted to believe that anyway. I was 29 damn years old when I got married. I had dated several guys not to mention all the one night stands.
When I returned home from a wedding trip to St. Louis, I was sitting alone with Mom in her living room. She developed a strange smirk on her face and asked, "Well, did the earth move? Did you see fireworks and shooting stars?" I just stared at her. 
Oh dear God, you're not going to go there, was my thought.
I just smiled and tried to avoid eye contact
 I also recall her trying to inquire as to whether I experienced an orgasm. Dear God. She was the last person I ever intended to share this conversation with.


It makes me recall being a Freshman in college and the girls in my dorm were sitting up late sharing all the information we could about sex. I was a virgin then. Many of the girls were not. We novices listened eagerly to the "Older" more "Experienced" girls. In truth, it scared me.
One weekend another "Innocent" friend named, Jeanne, gave in. She traveled off to Purdue University to spend the weekend with her boyfriend. Upon her return, she ran to my room to give me a blow by blow account of her memorable weekend. The only part I remember was when she told me that boys liked to, as she put it, "Kiss you...." Jeanne then silently mouthed the words, "down there" as she pointed at her crotch. My face expressed my shock. I had never imagined this. I knew boys like blow jobs and had the relative idea of how that worked. But, boys doing it to girls had never entered my limited imagination. We both contemplated on the subject, speculating about urine and vaginal odor and now we had another hygienic concern to be prepared for. Much less, birth control.

Birth Control. Boy, that another issue. It was 1976. Doctors could slut shame you to tears. Planned Parenthood was the way to go. Jeanne was Catholic. What a pain in the ass. Every damn month after that first weekend. She would dissolve into mild hysteria over her period being a day late. She would come to me, crying, red-eyed, snotty nosed. "What will I do? I could never face my Dad."  I would repeatedly tell her, "You really need to start taking the pill." Her response was always, "But, I'm Catholic." Oddly enough, she always started contemplating abortion. I found this rather extreme. She was too Catholic to take a pill, but she would terminate a pregnancy? I also suggested this was a problem she should share with her boyfriend. Wasn't he a part of this mess. I finally reached my limit and said,  "Jeanne, The Pope doesn't want you screwing that guy every weekend either." She kind of quit hanging around with me and dropped out of school the next quarter. She married that guy the next summer. So she got her MRS degree.

During all this dormitory drama, I was having my own experiences. My first date in college was with a very tall Fraternity boy named John. He was tall, okay looking, funny and asked me to a party at his frat house. The Delta Chi. He came to my dorm and walked me across campus to his house. It was loud, lots of people and lively. John introduced me to his friends, we got a red plastic cup full of beer and danced in the basement to Boz Scaggs and Journey. As the evening progressed, he took to calling me, Pretty Girl. As in, "Hey, Pretty Girl, this is my favorite song." or "Wow, you sure are soft and sweet, Pretty Girl." I kind of wonder if he forgot my name during the night.
Finally, as the night grew late, he showed me to a living room sort of spot. There was a fire in the fireplace and a long white sofa in front it.  He led me into the room and closed a beautiful pair of French doors behind us. We sat down on the sofa and we drew closer to one another. He put his arm around me and whispered something to me. He kissed me very sweetly. I kissed back. I expected this to be much like my high school experiences. Kissing, the boy trying to feel me up. I wouldn't let him and then we all went home. Well, it was cozy and warm. He was even romantic, still calling me Pretty Girl. I wasn't giving him any hints. Finally, in one swift and stealthy move, John stood up and dropped his pants and sat back down beside me. He didn't even fumble with a belt buckle or his zipper.
I had never seen an adult man with a full erection.
I was horrified. My first silent response was that there was no way that would fit in my vagina. It was enormous. Now, realistically, he was not a mutant or anything. I suppose he was normal to average in size. I just had no idea that a penis got so large. We had seen animated versions in Home-Ec.and some attempts at Sex Ed. in public school.  But, I thought what was flacid just got stiff and engorged. I had no idea that they became much larger. The other thing that stuck with me and I definitely found distasteful, was his hand pushing the back of my head toward it. I knew what he wanted and I was having a very hard time taking all this in.
 I walked out those french doors, to the front door and out onto Riverside Drive. I walked the length of Fraternity Row, across campus and back to my dorm. I imagined him flailing about, tangled in his pants looking like a fool in front of the people outside the french doors.
 I arrived in my room. Luckily, my roommate was not home. I cried. All those dumb girls and I had no one to talk to. Jeanne was off getting her "down there" kissed at Purdue. 
There were a few more awkward and clumsy encounters with John. But, he just wasn't going to be the one. My virginity was intact until I met a Sailor in New Orleans.