My parents never gave me "the talk." Based on the awkward stories I've heard and knowing my own parents, I think I'm pretty lucky. The fallopian tubes scene from the Amanda Bynes movie "Sydney White" never happened, nor did the tennis conversation from "American Pie." I would probably have locked myself in my room with Fall Out Boy's "7 Minutes in Heaven" blaring if they had tried.
I found out almost everything I know about sex from books and magazines. It might not have been the best system, but I'm not pregnant or dead, so I think it worked out OK.
First was "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." No one has the ability to write about young girls' issues like Judy Blume. I couldn't help but relate to the novel. I knew about periods before reading the book-and had even picked up from my sister and other relatives how much they sucked-but I discovered new details from the novel. Margaret's fear of never growing boobs was something I also worried about through most of high school.
I was in third grade and probably a little young for the novel's topics, which were directed more toward preteens. I read about another girl liking a boy, just like I did. She wanted to dance with him, just like I did. I thought my crush was a lot more important than Margaret's though, since I had liked the same boy since kindergarten. Of course, he's a huge asshole now. It seems to always happen that way.
The book had some pretty scandalous things for a third grader. Margaret thought about kissing. A lot. Smooching was something I did not understand. How could touching lips be fun? It just looked, well, wet. My grade wasn't one of those classes where everyone goes around chasing each other and kissing. Boys and girls stayed separated. We all feared a cootie epidemic.
Once I moved past the cooties stage, I learned a lot more from books that weren't implicitly about sex or relationships. These featured some racy scenes, like the king and his mistress having sex-in very descriptive terms-in "The Other Boleyn Girl." We're talking Cosmo's "Red Hot Read." In another Philippa Gregory novel, I found out about fingering. All I knew before was what I was taught in school-basically, penis plus vagina. Now there are fingers and tongues involved? Mind blown.
The book I learned most from was "Anatomy of a Boyfriend" by Daria Snadowsky. It's not exactly a Pulitzer Prize winner, but it has tons of information you don't learn in health class.
I was 14 and had never kissed a boy. To a dorky girl with no experience whatsoever, this book was gold. There's the first kiss, which is awkward, as first kisses usually are. When a boy started making out with a friend of mine (OK, me), I freaked out and pulled away, saying I didn't know how. He then used the super cheesy line "I'll show you how." That embarrassing story aside, the book pretty much told me all there is to know about making out-where to put your hands, how to initiate-all the things that are actually natural but teenagers freak out about.
Then there were the much more graphic descriptions of handjobs and blowjobs. None of my friends were experienced, so I couldn't find out about these things from them, and "Seventeen" doesn't exactly give tips. Where else would I have found out about lube or how annoying giving a handjob could be?
No one wants to have the sex talk with Eugene Levy or ask their mom for tips on giving a good blowjob. My sister and my mom talking about losing their virginity was awkward enough. I'll take my trashy novels over that disturbing car ride any day.
Did you have to ask mom for blowjob tips? We hope not, but if you'd like to share that awkward story with Sara, send it to slschumach2@wisc.edu.
