A mother teaching her son about sex

When I was eight or nine, my mother thought it was time to teach me about sex, specifically how bad it was. Her first attempt to educate me about fornication was to have me sit with her while she watched The Bold and the Beautiful, anticipating a steamy love scene between Ridge and Brooke or Ridge and Taylor or Brooke and Dominic, or whoever was sleeping with who/what. Inevitably, a scene occurred.

"What is that?" she asked me.

"Kissing," I said.

"NO!" she shouted. "That’s sex!"

"Kissing like that is sex?" I don’t remember who the members of the couple were, but they were in bed, moaning and slobbering all over each other.

"They’re in bed. It’s different." I thought of how the girl downstairs and I would lay in her bed and do things we pinky-swore never to tell our parents and wondered if that was sex.

After her initial stab at sex-ed, my mother went to the shady video store on the boulevard and bought one of the advertised pornographic videos, Rocco’s Private Fantasies 2, for $3.99. “You’re going to learn what sex is,” she told me as she pressed play on the VCR. “What do you think?”

"Why is she yelling so much?" Sylvia Saint was having sex with who I assumed was Rocco.

"Because it hurts. Sex hurts." Sylvia Saint let out a gasp, shuddered, and yelled out again. "It’s only to make babies. You should never have sex."

"Ok," I said, promising her that I would never have sex before I married, half-believing myself at the time. She watched a couple more minutes of the movie with me, but decided it was enough when Rocco started to prepare for his money shot.

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