Early Sexual Memories

One of the things I pondered on the weekend as I rode the bus to avoid getting drenched on my scooter, was early sexual memories.
I’m not talking about first kisses, first fondles, that sort of thing. I’m talking about a few particular memories I have that sort of crystallized some of the really stupid hang-ups I’ve worked hard to overcome over the years that have since passed. There are two I’ll share here tonight. I sometimes wonder how those early moments shape who we are in the decades to come, so I suspect I might take a look at this theme more in the future.
The first was when I was seven or eight, standing in the bushes behind Tyler & Devin’s house, with a round of “you show me yours, and I’ll show you mine.” After proposing the afternoon’s antics, Tyler got things rolling and tugged his jeans down around his ankles. I dropped my little shorts. He pulled down his Y-fronts. I dropped my little pink panties. We looked at each others bits and parts. But then…
The woods served as a shortcut to most of us kids in the neighbourhood, particularly en route to the Holy Land – 7-11 and Dad’s Ice Cream Shop. Except, of course, the portion with the haunted house. We all avoided that, of course, its broken windows and battered wooden siding, that constant smell of mold and must, all of it warding us off before we’d land foot in that unkempt yard.
It was just when we had revealed our bits and parts that a few kids in the ‘hood came crunching through the forest and discovered us in our exhibitionist glory.
“You’re a dirty girl!”
“Ew!”
“Ha-ha! I’m gonna tell!”
“Oh, I hate girls. Gross, Tyler!”
We shimmied our pants back up, blood rushing to our faces. Tyler started grinning, wandered over to the other kids, and me, I scurried out of the forest, ran under their treefort, and raced that half-block on home.
That lesson taught me that showing your body was something to be ashamed of, something I’ve kind of gone through the motions of explaining how I’ve gotten in touch with it since.
The second “profound” moment was a Friday night when I was about 12 and my friend Meghan was sleeping over. We were in the kitchen, popping popcorn the old-fashioned kettle-on-the-stove way, never a quiet venture, when I had to run upstairs to ask my parents a question that has long since escaped me. I barged into their bedroom only to discover my hefty 300-lb father rolling back and forth on top of my mother, naked, in bed, like a beached whale trying to will itself back into the wet folds of the ocean.
The light streamed in from the hall, illuminating the horror on my mother’s face and the amusement on my father’s.
“Oh… shit.” I muttered, slammed the door, and bounded down the oak staircase to the kitchen. “Forget it,” I told Meghan. “Let’s watch TV.”
About three minutes later, my dad rather unsubtly wandered into the kitchen in his robe and nothing but. “Popcorn ready?”
Unbeknownst to him, Meghan was far more savvy about sex than I was then. I didn’t have to tell her what I’d just witnessed, but we’d exchange horrified tales in the dark of my bedroom as the night progressed.
This was the first time it’d ever occurred to me that I wasn’t a test-tube child or a present from a stork. The notion of my parents fucking wasn’t something I couldn’t comprehend, but instead one of those thoughts I never wanted to entertain. Meghan, though, had no choice. Her parents never realized the amount of noise that came from their bedroom when they’d fuck, nor how thin their walls were, and every Friday night, without fail, they’d go at it. Which, of course, was part of the reason Meghan began staying over at my house, every Friday night, without fail.
There were more formative memories… many, many more. When you’re raised Catholic, I assure you, they come in droves. But that’s all you get, for now.
I’m having a rare moment: I have no idea how to wrap this up. But there it is. Funny now, but psychologically-scarring then. Part of the reason for this sudden “I don’t know where to go” is that I’ve just remembered something my mother once said to me about sex with my father, something that fucked me up and made me dread ever having sex, something that left me angry at her for a time. There can be issues with becoming friends with a parent, and this was one of them. It’s incongruous with the above, so I won’t share it tonight, but it’s fodder for another time.

12 thoughts on “Early Sexual Memories

  1. Rachel - Wicked Ink

    They keep so much from you – and then when they do spill – it almost seems inappropriate. They are trying to help, but forget that the person they are talking about is still our parent. Not sure what your mum told you – know the shit mine told me. Ears are still burning…

  2. AlwaysArousedGirl

    Yeah, I can think of some things along that line that my parents told me. Yikes. Will look forward to hearing your story.

  3. scribe called steff

    Yeah, the one particular thing I’m thinking of might unleash a pretty intense writing experience in an excavating-the-soul kind of way for me, though, so I might find it hard to force myself to take a seat and delve into that. But that’s the sort of thing I’m wanting to work towards, from time to time, in light of some of my new year’s goals.

    (*Setting goals instead of resolutions is a hell of a lot more positive. “Resolving” to be a certain way or do a certain thing is kind of a defeatist approach, don’tcha think? Silliness.)

  4. Laura

    I used to hear my father and his wife all the time, which was something I’ve never told them, but I guess they could hear me too. 😀

    My forst encounter was when I saw my father’s condoms hidden between some books by the bed. I was shocked and horrified. I though “EEEEEWWWWWWWWWWW”. And then I heard my mother and her boyfriend (who was abusing me sexually at the time), which was also horrible. I felt disgusted by sex for long. And especially penises. I remember I walked into the bathroom while my mother’s boyfriend was getting dressed after a shower. I was maybe 12, and I had never seen a man naked before. It was probably the most disgusting thing I had ever seen, lol. This purple THING hanging down there…

    I also remember playing “if you show me yours, I’ll show you mine”, but no one came and caught us, so that was ok. I actually just thought of it because you mentioned it…

  5. mhorts

    No real comment today Steff. I just want you to know that your writing still keeps me interested and I’m glad I found your blog.

    Today’s word: “dolra”.

  6. Cyber Erotic

    OH my God, I suddenly have the urge to test the sound proof ablities of my walls ……

    ……. no wonder the kids have been looking at me funny lately.

    HAHAHA

    hummm, ya know, tomorrow night’s show is on foreplay, wonder if show me yours and I’ll show you mine would count ??

    xxx Grumps xxx

  7. scribe called steff

    Grumps– I need a new bed, mine’s sounding like a percussion section when I get lucky. I did move it to another wall, though, so I’d at least not be waking my annoyingly lonely next-door neighbour. But I have no kids and want none, and that’s just one small reason to support that choice. ‘course, working in a toy store for 3 years was a reality check, too.

    Mhorts — Thanks. 🙂 PS: The book isn’t new, it’s 12 yrs old. Apparently was made into a move, Frankie Starlight, with Gabriel Byrnes, Matt Dillon, and a few others in 1995. Ain’t seen it.

    Laura — The naked thing was never really an issue. We weren’t too repressed that way at home, and I’d seen my dad and my brother on rare occasions, and my mom often enough. I was disturbed finding my now-63-yr-old dad’s Viagra a year or so ago, since the image of him and his wife makes me shudder with horror, really, but hey. That’s life.

  8. scribe called steff

    And Grumps — Show me yours, I’ll show you mine works as foreplay if it’s maybe both partners doing mutual masturbation and watching each other. That can get pretty hot.

  9. Laura

    “I was disturbed finding my now-63-yr-old dad’s Viagra a year or so ago” EEEEEWWWW! lol 😀 I know, that’s life. But still…

  10. mhorts

    The “you show me yours…I’ll show you mine” talk reminded me of the following lines in the movie “Big” (from IMDB):

    Susan: I want to spend the night with you.
    Josh: Do you mean sleep over?
    Susan: Well… yeah.
    Josh: Well, okay… but I get to be on top.

  11. Bob

    I have had probems posting comments here because Blogger is not accepting my word verification. I will try again. My mother told me when I was just begining to have an interest in girls that she did not understand the big deal with sex because , “it just hurts!” Imagine how I entered my young adult life with that understanding of a woman’s perception of having sex. It took me many mnay years before I finaly truly understood that she was wrong.

  12. Laura

    My ex-boyfriend always thought women just had sex because they felt they had to. Of course, he knew in his mind that it wasn’t like that, but that’s what he felt. He had some pretty major sexual problems for some time.

    Parents who tell their kids stuff like “sex hurts” or “sex is sinful, and women hate it” should be shot.Fucking up their children’s minds like that? same as abusing them, if you ask me.

    (Not trying to be mean, this is just imho)

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