First, sex was something to be afraid of.

It was big and complicated and hush hush. If I was watching a movie with my parents and the PG rating went just a little too far, my mom would start talking loudly – signaling that whatever was happening onscreen wasn’t for my eyes. My Catholic priest would stand on the pulpit every Sunday, telling me that God was always watching, and every time I did something (or thought something) not good, He would know. Sex was probably bad – why else would my mom get so nervous? – and so if I even thought about it by accident, I was gonna have God to deal with.

Then, sex was something to be in awe of.

Junior high whispers. High school high-fives. I would listen to friends and friends of friends talk about it like it was Vegas and Heaven combined. Those who had it were admired. Those who didn’t were ignored. I so desperately wanted to know what all the giggling was about.

After that, sex was something to be good at. Read More »