When I first announced that I was writing a sex column over here on Toy With Me, I was met with a lot more, “well, what are your KIDS going to do when they find out that Mommy wrote about her VAGINA on the INTERENT!!!!” (I find those added exclamation points always add a little touch of class, don’t you?) than I’d expected. Now, if I’d said something like, “Pranksters, today I’m thrilled to announce my brand new PARENTING column at My-Baby-Is-A-Genius-dot-com is up,” I would have expected the flack. But a sex column seemed to me to be the next logical step in my quest for total world domination. After all, the very first blog post I ever wrote was about my vagina, and the very first post I wrote here was also about my vagina, so it seemed like destiny. Or just that I was kind of unoriginal.
You know what, Toy With Me-ers? It is a perfect fit. I’m always happy to talk about my vagina. And you know what? There will come a day when the very act of breathing in the same room as my children will embarrass them, so when they find out that “mommy went sex toy shopping with daddy,” or that “mommy once went to a bondage conference,” well, that’s just going to be another thing they can tell their therapist about. Maybe, after they’ve bought their respective therapists (I have three crotch parasites, er, children) new summer homes in the Hamptons, a yacht and several new sports cars, my children will eventually come to a realization: that having a sexually liberated mother may not actually be the worst thing that could have happened to them. I could have forced them to listen to Jethro Tull, like my own parents forced me, which, I should say, I’m STILL not over that.
But back to The Sex and away from The Tull. I mean, let’s face facts, I don’t have a sex swing installed in my living room so that I can demonstrate precisely how one goes about using it to my kids (which would presume that I knew how to use one anyway)(I don’t). I don’t walk around the house in skimpy lingerie wielding a eight-foot long dildo and assless chaps, and I keep my sexcapades behind locked doors. Just because I am open about The Sex doesn’t mean that my children need to see me engaged in various sexual activities. I’m open, but I’m not trying to scar them for life.
I just refuse to behave as though I don’t have sex or like sex is not a normal part of life. I am not going to tell my children that sex is a bad thing or something that should make them feel anything but good (with the right partner). I’m not going to give them tips on which lube is best (K-Y, obviously) or pass out the Kama Sutra on their eighteenth birthday because let’s face it, we’re really not that kind of family. I don’t think that teaching children that sex is bad – or worse – nothing about sex at all, is a good thing.
Somehow, though, it seems that this is exactly what society does. Like sex is still this weird taboo subject we’re not supposed to talk about because it’s dirty and wrong and gross and ugh! who wants to admit to having it? In 2010, we’re still behaving as though it’s the 1950’s and sex is something that your parents do…but not anyone else. Because sex, that’s awkward, isn’t it?
When I went onto The Twitter and mentioned that I wrote a sex column, it was like a collective gasp was uttered and then everyone jumped all over each other to find out where such an amazing place; a place where people talked about The Sex like adults could be found. I, of course, neglected to mention that I occasionally referred to having The Sex as rubbing a canned ham against a bag of flour, and simply gave them the URL, proudly pointing out that I wrote there! Like a BIG girl!
It got me thinking, which is something I try to do as seldom as possible, about how weird it must be to live in a world where sex isn’t discussed. Since I, of course, do not live in this world, as the contents of my first blog were almost exclusively sexual in nature, it baffled me to imagine how weird it must be to keep sex – all sex – in the closet. It made me hope that some of those people from The Twitter who were so interested and curious about a place where grown-ups could talk about The Sex, might pop on over here and realize that not everything that’s written about The Sex on The Internet is smutty and pornish.
I realized after that Twitter conversation, that I’m really kinda proud to write about sex. Not because it makes me feel particularly sexy when I do it, because Lord knows, writing things like, “I Am Afraid of My Vagina,” (hel-LO troll magnet!) and “The Wet Spot;” well those don’t exactly get the old juices flowing to the crotchal region, but because here at Toy With Me, we’re talking about things that other people don’t. And it’s not because it’s a subject that other people don’t want to talk about, either. Maybe writing about sex isn’t noble as doing cancer public service announcements, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less important.
Sex is a big part of life. Hell, when you think about it, it’s the only reason any of us are even here. Without the sweaty, awkward, humping, bumping and grinding and thrusting of our parents on that one fateful night that egg met sperm, well, you wouldn’t be sitting here reading this and cursing me for putting this horrible picture in your head. But really, there’s nothing shameful about The Sex and there’s nothing wrong with talking about it.
So to those of you who write about The Sex, I’m standing here next to you applauding your bravery. I’ll pass you a double-sided dildo and a waxing kit so we can get our freak on together. And to those of you reading, I’m glad you’re here, too. Without you, I’d be talking to my wall. Which, really, gets pretty lonesome, because trust me, I’ve tried it.
And I’d love your take on this, Toy With Me-ers. Why are people still so closeted about sex? Would you write about The Sex on The Internet? Why or why not? Did you know that Toy With Me accepts submissions?