Friday, June 17, 2011

Oh Dear... Do We Need To Have the Sex Talk Already?

Imagine my surprise when I received a call from the mom of one of my son's friends at school telling me, in sheepish tones, that she wanted me to know that while her son had been at our house for a playdate, Destructo had been talking about sex. And that he had told his friend that there were different kinds of sex and that one of the ways was when a girl sucked on a boy's willy.

No. He. Didn't.

I mean: Yes. He. Did.

I mean: Oh! My! God!

In fact, I'd heard Destructo announcing earlier that he knew what sex was and I had just pooh-poohed him and told him not to talk about things that he was too young to understand. Apparently I had gravely misjudged the young man. Clearly he knew plenty.

So, I thanked her for telling me and then went to have a little talk with my nine-year-old about what had happened.

First I grilled him about why he would say such a thing, did he see it on YouTube or the internet? Did his brother tell him? Did he see it somewhere else? Did someone else tell him about it? He insisted that it was his "head" at fault, that the idea had just popped into his brain. I wondered how such a young mind could think of doing that. I mean it took the English hundreds of years and baiting by the French to finally figure it out, right? I also did a bit of ranting about how he should not be talking about sex with his friends, particularly his friend who is only eight! And then rattled off that parental gem: If you'd be embarrassed to have your mom hear what you say, then you ought not to say it.

I sent him off to bed with a stern warning that he was going to get his mouth washed out with soap if it happened again. And that I was going to have to share this information with his father when he got home.  About five minutes passed and an audible wailing starting upstairs. I tried to harden myself against his mournful crying, but couldn't. I also started to worry that maybe I had been too harsh, not understanding enough, and that I had possibly started a dreadful sex=shame spiral that would haunt the child for life. So I went up to talk to him a bit more.

This time I took the approach of understanding mother and expressed my concern about why he was talking with his younger friend about sex. He said, rather eloquently for a lad so young, that he didn't have anyone else to talk to about it. CC wouldn't tell him what sex was. He didn't want to ask me or Daddy-007 because he was too embarrassed. He just wanted to know what it was and he had just thought of the whole mouth/willy thing on his own.


So, I started to tell him that I'd be happy to get a book for him that explains the basics... and then realized that was so totally lame that I actually rolled my eyes at myself. I started again, this time almost gleefully, because I thought of the perfect answer: his DAD was the perfect person to talk about sex with. You know, because he's a guy. He's been through it all and can better understand what Destructo is going through.

Eh? Brilliant, right?

Except that Destructo abashedly told me that he did not want to talk to dad about it.  Because I was clearly the better person to discuss it with because I "have more experience with sex." 

His words, people, NOT MINE.

Naturally, I quizzed him as to why he thought I was more experienced and his explanation was not only adequate, but downright delightful:  Of course, I have more experience with sex because I had all the babies. I grew three babies inside me (italics all his) so I must know more.

I agreed with him that carrying and delivering him and his brothers does demand respect, but also assured him that I couldn't have done it without dad and that he really should talk to pops about what sex means to boys.  And then trotted downstairs to brag to 007 about how much more experienced I was in the sex department... And that he better get upstairs to set his son straight. Immediately.

UPDATED:  I still didn't believe that Destructo thought up fellatio all on his own, so I racked my brain to try and figure out how he thought of it.  And, in a roundabout fashion, I fear that @TwoBusy is to blame. He gave me the brilliant idea to show our kids Ace Ventura: Pet Detective (via a random tweet) and there is a scene at the beginning that involves Ace receiving a b.j. instead of money as payment for finding some woman's dog.  It wasn't explicit, but at the same time it didn't leave much to the imagination. Thanks, TwoBusy, it's all your fault.

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