GRINGAS & GUACAMOLE
By Gail Nott
I dislike writing stories about sex because I have to rely on memory. When one suffers from CRS, (Can’t Remember Shit), this becomes very tricky. As I recall, sex is supposed to involve passion. I feel passionate about many things, i.e. vodka and tonics, Scottish terriers, airport security, etc. None of which, has anything to do with sex. Consequently, you can anticipate that my ideas on this subject are a bit askew.
As a child, the message was clear: you don’t touch any part of your body or make contact with orifices without explicit parental instructions. A finger up your nose doesn’t seem particularly provocative. Little girls were forced to deal with the issue of “sugar and spice.” Fifty years later, I am still analyzing what baking items have to do with sex. How horrifying for male children who had to constantly experience the threat of blindness.
Children are required to participate in the barbaric ritual of toilet training, which negates the “no touch” rule. “Son, just hold your binky over the toilet bowl and watch what happens.” Imagine the confusion, how do I do this without touching myself and what the hell is a Binky? They are expected to just go along with this process on blind faith?
Adolescents look to their parents for guidance and explanations about body changes and sex. Who told us anything? We were the generation that grew up with “The Brady Bunch,” two adults from failed marriages who obviously know nothing about birth control, hook up and let the housekeeper raise the kids. “Love Boat” was another great example. Through coercion, you get your love interest on a boat, than you stalk them around the ship, hope they panic and give in. We are the generation of “Free Love.” We freely got pregnant, caught venereal disease and spent jail time. Some bargain!
We don’t know how or what to tell our kids about sex. They do what every generation has done; they experiment. Oral sex could be a bit painful; your partner has a pierced tongue, nose and lips. The posts on those earrings could leave some serious scratches. Picture some poor teenage boy getting his tongue caught in his girlfriend’s vulva ring.
Having an acne-pocked, spiked haired, body pierced adolescent male, who holds up his baggy tom jeans with a semi-erection, would be a real turn on for me. Kids today have it tough; people ask them what sex they are and laugh hysterically when they answer.
Isn’t it great to be entering our twilight years? We’ve paid off the mortgage, gotten the kids through college and kept our affairs a secret from our spouse. We can accept that some things will never change. Men still don’t know what turns a woman on and women gave up trying to turn their husbands off. Nature does that for us. As a generation, we’ve learned that regardless how hot and steamy our sex life was; passion fades and there had better be a lot of money to take its place.
“Boomers” are faced with one more major challenge, grandchildren asking about sex. It is cruel to continue passing along inaccurate information or lies. Grandchildren are computer literate. They can check out the crap you tell them.
So, let’s give them truths: a pig’s orgasm lasts for 30 minutes (I’m ready to be reincarnated), humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure (now you know why Flipper was always smiling), some lions mate over 50 times a day (how does he get them to say “Yes”) and the male praying mantis cannot have sex while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male’s head off, (you thought Lorena Bobbit was a bit rough). The final pearl of wisdom you can offer your grandchildren is when someone hassles them, it takes 42 facial muscles to frown, but it only takes four muscles to extend their middle finger.
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