Last month I was snooping around the internet looking for interesting sex blogs and came across a fascinating duo of sex-advice columnists who recently published a new book. The book, called Mother/Daughter Sex Advice, was co-authored by Susie and Aretha Bright, and is a short collection of their articles. The title alone was enough to convince me that I needed to read this book.
I fell in love the moment the two of them started candidly discussing whether to spit or swallow. And not because I have a mother/daughter lesbian fetish. With so many parents afraid to even broach the subject of sex with their children and children doing everything they can to pretend that their parents don’t fuck, it’s refreshing to see that some parents and children can actually talk about their experiences with each other without feeling awkward. From having sex for the first time to anal sex, from shooting loads of cum to being in porn, these two tackle everything that comes their way.
And they do it in a way that had me laughing my ass off. They frankly talk about safety and all the important issues, at the same time lacing their articles with humor so that you have a good laugh and are left with some great information. There is, however, one thing missing from their articles: the sense of shame that many of us correlate to sex discussions with our parents.
Growing up, I had a bit of both worlds. At my mom’s house, we were allowed to watch films with sex scenes from an early age; in this medium, her attitude toward sex was more lenient. But we didn’t talk about the scenes in the films, that was a big no-no. I don’t recall ever hearing my mom and stepdad having sex, and there were only a handful of times that sex came up in conversation, albeit briefly: when my stepdad tried to explain that he couldn’t talk about it and I would just have to wait until I was married to find out about it; when my mom and stepdad were going through a divorce because of infidelity; and when my mom told me I needed to talk to the bishop about the evils of gay sex.
In contrast, at my dad’s house people walked around butt-ass naked (I wonder how that got to be both “butt” and “ass” naked rather than just one or the other…) and talking about sex was like talking about anything else: a story to share with the people around you. I remember my dad and my stepmom telling me about a time that he fucked her on her period. She hadn’t told him, and at some point he noticed blood on the sheets and lost his shit. She had a good laugh, and then they laughed together, and then I laughed with them when they shared the story with me.
Years before that, when I had just turned 14 and before my dad was remarried, he was living in a small flat with only one bedroom. Rather than making me sleep on the couch, we would both crash in his humongous bed. One on occasion I woke up from a sexually charged dream with a hard-on. Wanting to get back to my dream, I rolled over and went back to sleep, unaware that I had draped my arm over my dad and pulled up behind on—with my dick standing at full attention.
The next morning I woke up oblivious, but my dad was quick to bring it up casually. He told me it wasn’t a big deal that I had cuddled up to him, but being held up at gunpoint by his son wasn’t something that made him comfortable. I rushed to tell him what I had been dreaming about (at the time I was fantasizing about Stacey a lot) and that I didn’t remember drawing near to him. Once the laundry had been aired out, we shrugged it off with a smile and went about our day. As simple as that. If the same situation had occurred with my mom, I probably would have been shut up in a monastery without ever actually discussing with her what had happened.
The first time I came home with a hickey, I told my mom some recockulous story about tripping over something and catching myself against the wall on the wheel of my rollerblade, but when I drove out to my dad’s that weekend I told him about the jock who had sucked the shit out of my neck (and himself bore a similar war wound). After the story he gave me some advice, shared a story of his own, and the conversation moved on.
Having an open dad was definitely a strong support. In fact, I’m not sure if I could have survived the sexual pitfalls of high school with only the information coming from my mom’s side. The thing that drives me crazy about the whole issue of parents being too embarrassed to talk to their kids about sex is that the head-in-the-sand approach in no way changes the fact that kids go through puberty. We all still have to deal with our newly discovered sexual urges, and one of our primary sources of information dries up like great-grandma’s cunt at a time when we could really use it.
I shit you not, when some other teenager at church told me that hair would start to grow on the palm of your hand if you jerked off, I started worrying when my hand would turn into a wooly mammoth. Until I was able to discuss it with my dad, who assuaged my fears and probably laughed his ass off about it later.
Perhaps not every guy falls for that one (fuck off if you didn’t), but at some point we all had questions we needed to ask. What does it bring to make people feel ashamed to bring these topics up with the family and by extension in society in general? I’m not saying we should necessarily share all of the details of our sex lives, but we should definitely tend more in the direction of having open conversations rather than completely shutting them down or calling everything sinful.
Which is why it’s cool to see the Bright duo not only talking about sex with each other but also jointly offering advice to their readers. Or I really do have a mother/daughter lesbian fetish. But my money is on the former.