My first home was a small apartment in Iowa City, crammed full of books and study materials. My parents were enrolled in graduate programs at the University of Iowa - dad in biology, and mom in English. We lived in student housing.

In their free time, my parents played us camcorder recordings of Sesame Street and other educational programs. My dad brought home caterpillars from the lab for me to play with.

When I learned to read, it was in this type of environment, surrounded by books and other resources. I enjoyed paging through the beautiful illustrations in my mom’s favorite book on gnomes, and leafing through a hardcover which described the mummification process of ancient Egyptians.

And then there was the book on babies… Being Born by Sheila Kitzinger is 64 pages of mind-altering medical images which document a baby’s journey from conception to birth. Each image is simultaneously captivating and terrifying to a 7-year-old, but the book’s most traumatizing element was its overly descriptive narration. Here is the passage that taught me about sex, and that it was definitely gross:

“Millions of sperm, much smaller than the ovum, were in the testicles behind your father’s penis. When your mother and father felt very loving, they kissed and cuddled each other. Your father’s penis became hard so that it could slide into your mother’s vagina, the soft opening between her legs which leads to her uterus.”

I feel ill.

As disturbing as the content was, once I’d begun I couldn’t look away. Later pages detailed the process of birth, while showcasing graphic images of the labor in question. And there it was; my loss of innocence.

Later that year, my mom became pregnant with my youngest brother. When my parents were ready to tell us, they gathered us around the dining table to talk it out. Stupidly, I asked, “But… How did this happen?”

I was confused, because my parents seemed way too old to be doing what I’d read about. To my horror, however, my mom misunderstood and launched into an uninterruptible monologue about how she’d had sex with my dad. Oh my god, if I could never hear about sex ever again it’d be way too soon.

By the time they separated us into “boys” and “girls” groups in elementary school to go over the talk, this stuff felt like old, but still disgusting, news. Instead of learning, I spent my time correcting our teacher about misinformation like, “your hair grows back thicker after you shave.” Clearly, she’d never explored the biology library that was my house. I was, by far, the most annoying child in that class.

My distrust of educational authority on the subject blossomed into contempt in 9th grade when my health teacher informed the class, “Girls, I just want to set your expectations: you will not have an orgasm the first time you have sex.”

Challenge accepted, strangely misogynistic health class instructor.

It turns out, it’s actually not a tough challenge. With more education come more orgasms, so let’s spread the word together. ;)


- Story