November 22, 2011

A Guest Post by HLBB

I should be a lot more confused about sex and sexuality considering my mother’s conflicted approach to it. But for some reason, I’m…not?

Mama HLBB was raised in the Caribbean during the 50’s and 60’s, which was a time when no one talked about sex. She thought if a man and woman’s underwear was washed together, babies were made. When she got her first period, she thought she was dying of internal injuries. So, she promised herself that should she have daughters, she would be a lot more open than her mother was about “that stuff”.

It definitely started out that way. My parents separated when I was an infant, leaving me to grow up in a house of women. I never had to cover myself up; I knew what maxi pads were for by the time I was 4 and I knew what my body was going  to do when it started to change.

By the time this tomboy reached her tween years, my girlie girl of a mother had started to feminize me. Hair salons at nine; hair removal techniques at 12; training bras and yes, my first trip to the makeup counter at 13. Each lesson had the underlying message: this is what we do to be women…that men will find attractive.

But…

I was also told repeatedly to never let a boy touch me until I was married.

Hello, high school…

Suddenly the boys this tomboy played with regularly were “off limits”. Calls were screened – and by “screened” I mean, “hung up on”. My mom, who had spoken in a “Our Bodies, Ourselves” manner for the first 16 years of my life had now developed a series of euphemisms for that same body. She alternately called “that area” a “vagina” (when speaking in clinical terms); my “front” (when discussing hygiene); and “down there” (when discussing all things sex). Our “sex talk” was basically me telling her what I learned in health class and her saying, “you better not come home pregnant and embarrass me.”

Now, you might think that I had a growth spurt that gave me a 36x24x36 figure, but no…I was a stick figure…with glasses…and still wearing training bras. Maybe you’re thinking that Mama HLBB had a religious epiphany and became ultra conservative? Nope. Was I sexually promiscuous? Staying out all night? Nope…my curfew was sundown and I was a virgin.

Granted, a lot of my girlfriends had become mothers in those years, and even though their pregnancies had scared me straight, it scared her silent and restrictive. For example, when three – yes, three – doctors all said I needed birth control pills for a medical condition, she protested vehemently and stated she’d rather I deal with the pain than have an excuse to run out and have sex.

But…

There was that one time, my best friend H (a guy) came over dinner. H smoked about a half pack a day, and had already developed the “cigarette after dinner” habit. Post meal, H politely said to my mother that he was going to go out to the balcony to smoke. As he headed out, Mama HLBB shouted after him “you know smoking lowers your sperm count, right?

(Insert stares of mortification here…)

Another time, she asked if he was buying condoms since he had a girlfriend. After all, he was a “good looking young man, but shouldn’t have any pretty babies just yet…”

Wait, I was destined to become a wanton slut because I was taking estrogen pills? My sex talk was one sentence long? But she was giving H reminders to buy condoms and asking if he loved the girl?

Fast forward to university…

Mama HLBB’s tone had changed yet again. Boys had gone from being my friends, to being disease-riddled baby makers, to potential husbands. My poor university boyfriend had to go through that second transition. I wasn’t allowed to sleep over at his place (although I’m pretty sure she knew what we were doing until 4 a.m.) but one night I did and everything changed…

That Christmas, my boyfriend came over for our gift exchange.  For my mom, he bought wine. I bought him a cashmere sweater. My mom bought him a gift card to HMV. For me…she bought a black negligee and a couple of champagne flutes. Then said, “well, I guess that gift’s for both of you…(giggle).”

(Insert stares of mortification here…)

Hello adulthood…

I’m 35, and I’ve still never spoken to my mom about my sex life. She, on the other hand views me having sex as a gateway to providing her with a grandchild and recently suggested that I go to grocery stores to meet her future grandbaby maker.

Should I have a girl, I have vowed to be more…clear about all “that stuff”.

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