I was twenty-one when I finally lost my virginity…can you believe that? ….Twenty-one. And on cue, you are supposed to say “Why in the hell did you wait so damn long?” Or you might just contort your facial muscles in a severe spasm locked somewhere between an overtly suspicious who-do-you-think-you are-lying-to-silly-boy-and-why?-mask of flesh and the Spock archetypal unilateral raised eyebrow glance of utter astonishment at “that” being obviously and extremely illogical, no matter what alien ancestry and or culture you hailed from….. Why would you even remotely consider such a thing Captain Kirk?
My parents never sat me down for the sex talk. I don’t believe they ever even sincerely made the attempt. Once or twice, I may have been told in some form that “If you ever have any questions, you can come to me (us).” by one parent or the other, but in the manner and posture with which that statement was delivered to me, it simply and ludicrously translated as “I have fulfilled my duty as a parent in the sexual education of you my child and I really have no desire whatsoever to actually sit down in front of you and explain or at least try to explain sex to you in all of its lascivious details and inevitable social interactions. Quite honestly, I fear the topic myself and I am not even sure I really have a good grasp on all of the mechanics, morality, and philosophy that might be relevant to you, me or anyone else having sex, so maybe we should say nothing to one another and just pretend everything is hunky-dory. Let your uninformed and ignorant friends, who have probably only been erroneously educated in the matter of sex as a dirty, degrading, and secretive guilty pleasure that everyone somehow sinfully craves in secluded privacy and no one should ever mention or contemplate in company of any sort, do the job. Let them draw obscene pictures of genitalia and scribble fuck, fuck, fuck or dick, dick, dick, or pussy, pussy, pussy on the bathroom walls, so you can learn a thing or two from those diagrams and figure out what goes where. You shouldn’t even be curious about the subject anyway. That just means you are a dirty, heathen, pagan, sinner whose mind dwells eternally in the gutter. Christ would be ashamed of you for any thoughts of that nature… so ashamed… and I probably should be too.”
Well, at some point during middle school and or junior high, I know Sex-Ed classes were offered. I don’t remember them ever being mandatory and somehow I never attended even one such class. Honestly I would have been very interested in learning something about the matter, even if as a boy, I had to feign the utmost disinterest along with a comprehensive and above average knowledge of this subject that I knew nothing about. My fear and insecurity of the guilty subject, instilled primarily by my parent’s avoidance, somehow still spurred my own avoidance despite my opposing sincere interest. The excuse of a sports practice or an optional advanced class of some sort was enough of an excuse to satisfy my avoidance versus non-avoidance fear irrationality quandary schizophrenic thought process by conveniently creating a “duty” that “forced” me into further avoidance of my own sexual education. At this time, the apple had fallen off the tree and then rolled back against the trunk and away from the rest of the world.
To be continued…