Do you remember when you were little and you might catch your mam and dad having a little peck on the lips? “Ewwwwwww!” And they’d laugh and either do it again or move away? Even if they held hands – gross.
When I was in sixth class and we were all passing around the heavily thumbed, loose-leaved copy of Judy Blume’s Forever, one of my buddies – the youngest of three – brazenly asked her parents when was the last time they had sex. She bounded in to school to tell us that they answered (it was last week) and we were all suitably appalled. A-ppalled!
When last week did they do that? Where was she? We wanted to picture it but didn’t know what sex looks like, but thought it might look like that black and white pencil drawing in the period book, and also it’s her parents. Gross!
Don’t even get me started on the teenage years. The idea of your parents having sex or even worse “making love” would actually send some people into an angry rage. It was just inconceivable to imagine your parents as sexual beings. How dare they? It’s disgusting.
I don’t know about you, but my parents only had sex exactly four times. I have three siblings. Lalalalalala.
The funny thing is, we’re all terribly sexy though aren’t we? Sure why wouldn’t we be? – we’re hot, our other halves are hot. We have sexy thoughts and tingles. We talk about sex – having it, not having it, wanting it, dreading it – ALL OF THE TIME.
I am presuming we’re going to continue like this for many more years to come, in all its dips and weaves: What happens when the kids start bursting in the bedroom door? What if they can hear us? The whoops of delight when they have a sleepover somewhere once in a blue moon? Looking forward to them heading off to college when there’s the teeniest of chances the untethered freedom of our pre-children sex life might make a comeback. We’ve talked about the cockblocking before…
Who knew our parents were at this? Living, breathing, passionate, sweaty, hungry, sexual beings with needs and desires who just happened to have kids too. Feckin hell. Respect.
We just won’t be talking about it at Sunday dinner.
Sex? Parents? Thoughts?