I (wish I didn’t) Remember Mama: Everything I Know about Sex I Learned in All the Wrong Places

WARNING: Looking at the images accompanying this article will result in eternal damnation…i.e., hell forever…and ever.

When I was eleven-years-old, Fleas felt obliged to give me “the talk.” You know the one…about S-E-X. So she invited me into her bedroom, sat on her bed (I guess I sat on a chair—I know I was opposite her), and brought out a booklet put out by the Catholic Church, ironically titled “Now You Are Ten.” It was the kind of literature that tells you all you need to know about sex: if you do it, you’ll go to hell.

My mother read the book out loud, cover to cover, a feat that even a stupid kid like me could have accomplished on her own. I will always remember one phrase in the book, “marital embrace.” For those who don’t know, by engaging in the “marital embrace” you make babies. Well, I knew an embrace was a hug, so I was convinced that one could be impregnated by hugging or being hugged. That was the sum of my sex education at home. That might also be why I felt mortified every time I saw a pregnant woman—I knew she had been embracing!

This is dancing, NOT
a "marital embrace"

When I was nine and attending Catholic School (is it any wonder I’m a Methodist?), we had a combination hygiene/sex ed moment when Sister Julia Michael told us not to wash under our arms because it could lead to “impure thoughts.”  At that time, nine-year-olds were incapable of having “impure thoughts,” and would probably have gone into catatonic shock if they knew what those thoughts entailed.

That sums up my sex education until I was fifteen. A group of us hormonally-charged kids were put in a classroom with a teacher and a projector. We were to watch a film about (shhhhh….) venereal disease. I don’t know if my mother’s church would approve of such pornography, but I was untainted by it. When the boy walked up to the girl’s house to pick her up for a date, they shook hands and I passed out.

Preparation for a "Marital Embrace"

Why did they shake hands? I don’t know; maybe it was a blind date. Why did I faint? It sounds like an extreme case of sexual repression, but the truth is that I was wearing a new outfit: camel-colored wool-skirt, a turtleneck, and a camel mohair sweater. It was unseasonably warm for September, and I was standing at the back of the room with my back to the blackboard. There was no air conditioning, of course (it was the sixties—kids didn’t need a/c back then). All I remember is that the couple shook hands, my head went thump-thump-thump as I apparently slid down the blackboard and wall, and when I woke up there were a whole bunch of kids looking at me rather than learning how to avoid getting VD by shaking hands.

I’m pretty sure that was the end of my formal sex education. Being scientifically inclined (I failed both Science and Biology), I eventually resorted to a scientific method—experimentation.

I'm not positive, but
I'm pretty sure this is
related to marital embracing.

Sex was definitely an unspoken word in our house, and—at least as far as my parents were concerned—it was a rare practice. One day Aunt M. told me that she and Fleas should exchange husbands, because Fleas hated sex and Uncle G. was unable due to illness. That was really a whole lot more info than I could handle, but it did leave me with the impression that 1) sex wasn’t entirely revolting, and 2) I knew at least two people who enjoyed it—Aunt M. and my father—although I sincerely doubt they enjoyed it mutually (if you know what I mean, and I know you do).

Fleas’ attitude about sex, unexpressed as it was, pretty much sealed my fate. To this day I am uncomfortable discussing the subject with anyone and avoid it. When my children were old enough to be told what was happening to their bodies and what sex was all about, I bought two books, What's Happening to Me? and Where Did I Come From? (BTW, if you can get your hands on these, I highly recommend them. Very highly.) I did not repeat the famous bedroom scene my mother staged. Instead, I gave each one the appropriate book, told them to read them, and then we’d discuss them. That worked. And that’s how I found out that an orgasm is just like a sneeze.

   

I would offer more resources on sex, but the book Your Child and Sex: A Guide for Catholic Parents, although listed on Amazon, has no photo image available nor description of its contents. See? Sex must be a sin!