How did I learn about sex? I lived near animals. That’s a guarandamntee that you’ll see a peni part before you even know what it is. Cows and horses mounting and dogs doing it on the front lawn, cat mating rituals, and of course Oregon Bunny Sex were all things I saw from the time I could walk.
Bunnies copulate really quickly. The Buck sniffs for a second and without even a bouquet of flowers or kind word he hops on the girl bunny’s back, wiggles a bit, and is done before she has even finished a mouthful of clover. She sort of looks behind her like, “Did I feel something?” and then she goes on about her business. The buck spends most of his day looking for other bunnies to bang and the girl bunnies just eat clover and wonder why their back fur is so sticky. I don’t think they feel a thing. If a Buck bunny tried to mount me, I’d probably not notice either. Horses, on the other hand, now that’s some pretty wild sex. The long part gets coated with flies and is sort of disgusting if you look too close, but it is impressive.
Cows are filthy and disgusting and usually the heifers are just irritated. I’ve never heard of bovine orgasms from the heifers, just the bulls. I think to be a heifer must be a lot like being an LDS woman.
Cat sex is bizarre. The female will tempt and taunt and tease and coo and sway and sachet in front of the bevy of tomcats, but then when one comes near, she slaps the shit out of him. Then the tomcats fight, sometimes to the death. The fur flies, the screams fill the night air, and eventually the female sort of lays her hips down and the favored tom (or often several who are in it for sloppy seconds) mounts her, bites her ears, and then goes off to lick his wounds. Cats are bitches and very very slutty. No wonder there are so many sexual terms about them.
Dog sex is sort of freaky. I don’t think the female dogs really enjoy it, and instead seem bewildered that every cur in town is breaking down the fence and scratching through the front door while she sits there in her pretty white living room with a diaper on. It lasts longer than bunny sex but I’ve never seen a really contented JBF look on a female dog. She’s in it for the puppies. Sort of like some LDS women.
In the 1960’s and 1970’s when I was a young girl it was considered quite taboo, especially among my LDS family and friends, to discuss sex or body parts or anything related to body functions. I was in the third grade before I knew that human boys had a penis, but my LDS mother didn’t call it a penis. She referred to it as a “Kickstand” so I imagined it as a slanty thing that stuck out the front and held the poor kid up should he topple over. Then when I was in high school and encountered a real one, it was pointing in the other direction, ALL THE TIME, so I thought they were like this ALL THE TIME and with something that insistent it was no wonder boys were so consumed with sexual thoughts.
We weren’t even allowed to say the word “pregnant.” We had to say “with child” as if a woman was without child one day and suddenly some little fetus just crawled right up her skirt and now she was “with child.” I actually believed my own mother was a virgin until I was in the fifth grade, even though I was the seventh of eight kids.
When my Irish twin sister and I were in the fifth grade we were sent home with a permission slip to go to a maturation program and my mother, being a very proper and naive LDS woman, decided that such a program was going to be laden with porn and wild 1970’s hippie free love influences so she would not allow us to go. I was a tomboy and didn’t care much anyway and hadn’t given a thought to the idea that I would someday have woman parts and woman issues. So when my sister turned twelve and started her period she was equally naive and ill-prepared for what her body was experiencing. She was in the bathroom and saw the blood, felt the cramps and suddenly started screaming because she thought she had crotch cancer. My mother came running in and then in her Victorian way she told my sister to just bear it in silence, never discuss it with anyone (way to build the shame Mom!!), and to always wear dark skirts in case there was an accident. Then she showed her how to put on those nasty humongous Kotex pads with the belt (à la SNLKotexClassic).
My father overheard some of what was going on and teased my sister. Soon my brothers joined in and she was mortified. I promised myself that if and when I finally started I’d never ask for help, never let anyone know, and never, ever suffer the humiliation she went through. When I didn’t start at twelve, thirteen, fourteen, I decided maybe I was off the hook and wouldn’t have to suffer such degrading humiliation, but then the Spring of my fifteenth year Aunt Flo came with a vengeance and hung around for five weeks. I actually thought once you started you just bled and bled forever. Still, I never told my mother. It just wasn’t something that was discussed. I suspect a lot of LDS girls have similar experiences or did in that era.
I didn’t get girl bosoms until I was 15 but then they just suddenly appeared one summer morning and kept growing and growing, like a chia pet for my chest. Previously I’d been known as “Chet’s little brother” or the Pirate’s Treasure but then I got boobies, and in my vindication at the cruel jibes from Jr. High boys I proclaimed, “I’ll show them!”
I named them when they first made their perky, pink-nosed appearance. I was so proud of them back then and so named them after two famous Norwegian twins, Ano and Tano. I’d had a school reader that had a story about these two kids who had snuck the nation’s gold on their sleds right under the noses of the Germans during WWII. The picture in the book showed these two round-faced, whiter-than-white kids with little red noses, swooping full-faced down the mountain. So Ano and Tano were born, here to save the gold from the Nazi’s.
Later when I was experimenting with necking and petting, I had no idea what to expect regarding a young man’s body nor my own. While dancing with some kid from another town, I noticed his breathe was warm on my neck. Suddenly I realized how good it all felt and was purring like a kitten in short order. I had no idea what was going on with my southern hemisphere since all it had ever done before was expel fluids but now they were coming from a place I’d never imagined had a dispensary. I wanted nothing more than to experience that thrill as often as possible. Yet still I was conditioned to believe that any such feelings were dangerous, bad, evil, and would only lead me to the depths of Hell. Guilt, shame, and thrills. What a roller coaster!
By the time I met my first husband I was so hungry for completion that I had little will power. Birth control was never discussed and my knowledge of how to use or even where to purchase such things was close to nil. So of course I got pregnant the first time, which indicated that I should marry this guy I barely knew and didn’t really like, which resulted in an eighteen-year farce. In the meantime, I still hadn’t figured out what all the good parts were for and had little in the way of full satisfaction. He was as much a naive virgin as myself and seemed to have even more guilt and shame over his body and the procreative acts, so we really didn’t explore all the fun stuff that is quite possible and should be encouraged in marital relations.
I was 21 years old before I knew that women could experience orgasms. Tom Cruise and I did IT on the couch by ourselves; he was wearing the same underpants and button-down shirt he wore in Risky Business. After Tom Cruise, it was several large Samoans from a group called the Nono Seno Dancers, who performed at the Tiki Lounge in Disneyland. They were very, very good. There was a Nordic God named Thor. He took me in every which way.
My mother’s advise when I first got married (she still hadn’t figured out that I was two months pregnant) was, “Well, Sister (she always calls us “Sister” so she doesn’t have to remember which one of us she’s talking to), just think about IT as if you’re canning peaches. By the time you’ve scalded the skins and peeled them it’s over and you can just go clean up the sticky mess and go back to sleep. It’s your duty and a chore, but usually over very quickly. I’m so sorry for you, Sister.” She once admitted that she wasn’t sure if she’d ever had an orgasm. That’s a guarantee you haven’t. If the back of your head doesn’t explode, lightning shoot out the tips of your toes and fingertips, and stars rotate around the ceiling, leaving you spent and trembling, it’s a good sign that you haven’t yet experienced a good orgasm.
And that’s where my second husband comes in—thank you, BABB, for finally showing this naive farm girl the real joy of sex. You are my hero.