Dirty Little Secret

This is a top search on my blog these days.

Even ignoring the weird Google statistical gymnastics that cause people searching for this to wind up here, what the hell, people?

I don’t know whether people want me to explain Playboy’s attractions or to commiserate about that weird attraction some people have for Playboy.

I hope it’s the former. So here’s my explanation:

Playboy has pictures and videos of pretty, naked girls. They are naughty without being smutty. They do not get mad, go on the rag or make guys hold their purses while they try on clothes. They are FANTASY women. And men like fantasies.

(Probably some lesbians do too. But I’ve never met a lesbian who’s told me that she liked Playboy. But I would really, really, love to and I would totally go out drinking with her even though I don’t really drink anymore. . .wait, my drinking fantasies aren’t the point here. . .)

Oh yeah, men are also visually stimulated. So, you know, Playboy. That’s the point. And let me tell you, Playboy is the cleanest, sweetest porn there is. So if your guy is all about Playboy? Be happy.

Anyone looking for commiseration has obviously gotten lost. My feelings on porn should make it clear.

I don’t know whether to blame my very, very, very late ’30′s or my children, but something around here has turned what used to be pretty normal periods into weeks from HELL. Add in the fact that said weeks are unpredictable (in fact, this week started LATE and I was imagining myself as one of the few women whose bodies overcome tubal ligation. As in, pregnant again. As in, mother of 4. As in, no semblance of sanity left.) and you have a recipe for various disasters.

Like having to ask your 5 year old to go up and get you a tampon.

Because I have kept my daughter ignorant of such things, I had to describe what they looked like.

(Generally, we’re pretty open around here – correct names for body parts, explaining that touching yourself is fine in private, daddies plant seeds in mommies to make babies – but periods are a lot of detail. My own mother was very, very open about hers and it freaked me out so much that I dreaded it for years. I even ignored my first one for a day or two. So I see no reason to depress Ironflower ahead of time with details of blood, bloating and bitching.)

So my description was clear enough, apparently, because she found me one easily. She brought it to the downstairs bathroom, where I had discovered my desperate need a few minutes earlier. But naturally she wanted to hang out, not hand over the tampon and get away.

“What’s it for, anyway?” she asked. This is the problem with encouraging your children to ask questions and to always providing them with an over-abundance of information.

Naturally, ChunkMonkey came toddling in at that moment. And because I was busy trying to think of an explanation that would not freak her out while, um – let’s say “covering my shame”, shall we? – I was not prepared. And because I was not prepared, ChunkyMonkey proceeded to grab the tampon and throw it into the sink.

“Nice job, ChunkyMonkey, ” I said sarcastically. Ironflower asked if the tampon was supposed to go in the sink. Ironflower still misses a lot of my sarcasm. For which I am grateful.

“Does it help with clogs?” she asked hopefully. We have a sink clogging issue at our house, possibly because everyone except ChunkyMonkey had SO MUCH FREAKING HAIR. Anyway, I pondered the clog question with a slight smirk.

In the end, I said that mommies’ bodies had to get rid of stuff each month and that tampons helped. I waited for follow up questions (nervously), but there were none. “Will you make lunch when you’re done?” she asked cheerfully.

I nodded and asked her to shut the door. The whole situation could have been avoided, of course, if I just kept a stash in the downstairs bathroom.

How do you handle those kinds of situations? Uh, you do have those kinds of situations, right? I’m not the only person whose had her 5 year old grab a tampon for her, am I?

So today another preschool mom mentioned that I should blog about the red character on Yo Gabba Gabba because, (whispered) “He looks like a giant dildo.”

He totally does, doesn't he?

I really love that when people think of children’s TV characters looking like sex toys, they think of me. It shows that they get the real me, because I’ve hardly ever seen a children’s show without having dirty thoughts.

Hell, I had questions about Bert and Ernie when I was a child myself. (Like that never occurred to you).

Anyway, I hadn’t really made the Yo Gabba Gabba/dildo connection because I hate Yo Gabba Gabba and hardly ever let my kids watch it. But it reminded that I’m pretty sure everyone who creates children’s television is drunk, high, hates their parents and/or has weird sexual fetishes.  (Except for whoever made Olivia. I love that show. And I’ve never had a perverse thought while watching it.)

There’s a dildo shaped character on Oswald too. And there are background dildo shapes all over Wow Wow Wubbzy. I wonder if Nick Jr. has an interest in a sex toy company?

I also have questions about Mr. Noodle from Sesame Street. I’m not sure what they are, but I know I have them. I would also like to talk to whoever  created Oobi, which is the one with the creepy talking hands (Hands. Not puppets, but decorated hands.) Then there’s LazyTown. I think the relationship between Stephanie and Sportacus is weird. Plus, you know, almost all the other characters are puppets with plastic-faced masks that make me think of bank robbers and that creepy movie V is for Vendetta.

And what about all the shows that have virtually no parents? They don’t even talk about Max and Ruby’s parents. . .maybe “Grandma” is really their foster mom and Ruby mothers Max so much because she is actually his mom and that’s why they’re in foster care? And how many episodes of Dora and Diego show their parents? And what about Blue’s Clues? If Steve and Joe are brothers, where are their parents?

I’d like to rest my case with this: listen to a kid’s show when the characters are excited about something. Don’t look, just listen and let your mind wander. If hearing those, “Oh oh ohs” without kid context doesn’t make you think about sex, you need to get laid.

I totally should have gone into children’s television programming, don’t you think?

Disclaimer: If reading about my sex life makes you uncomfortable (hi Mom and Dad!) you should probably stop reading now.

I am not a fan of the unexpected guest. Even before children, when my house was generally clean (except for the spare room, but that’s what is was for,right?) I didn’t enjoy people just dropping by unannounced. Now that my house is pretty much always a mess (and we do not have such a thing as a “spare” room) I kind of dread people stopping by.

Sometimes I do a quick declutter of the hallway before the pizza guy comes.

Sometimes I swear to my children’s preschool teacher, who came by to drop off their Christmas stuff, that the pile of boxes is an anomaly (they were) and am relieved when she doesn’t venture as far as the kitchen.

Sometimes I step out onto the front porch, even if it’s 15 degrees out and I’m not wearing shoes.

And sometimes, like today, the unexpected visitor has to come all the way in. Today’s visitor was the not unattractive guy changing the water meter, and (as the woman patiently explained on the phone when I called because I’m all paranoid cautious like that) he was stopping by because he’d finished another appointment early. I vaguely remembered that they are, in fact, changing all the water meters in the entire town. Since our water meter is in the basement, I had to let the dude in.

Now, our house is fairly clean at the moment. And even better, the fabulous Hot Guy just spent yesterday cleaning out the basement. The boys were dressed and not trying to kill each other and my shirt didn’t even have too many stains on it.

There was absolutely no reason to be embarrassed.

Except that this morning I received my brand new vibrator. (other people read before bed, I take care of business. More relaxing.) My children believe that vibrators are actually back massagers (what? You can use them for that too), so I had casually placed it on the stairs. So I could remember to bring it to my bedroom.

Did I mention that you have to walk past the stairs to get to the basement?

Did I mention that my new toy is bright blue?

Did I mention that water meter guy smirked as we stood by the stairs while he gave me the receipt?

Yeah. A whole bunch of people are going to be laughing at this during happy hour tonight, I bet.

Anyone else have any embarrassing sex toy stories? I really want to read them in the comments or on your blogs. Because there are very few things funnier than an embarrassing sex toy story.

The other day I was watching an episode of Mercy (because I am addicted to watching TV on Hulu and I ran out of shows I normally watch and it’s kind of like Grey’s Anatomy but with nurses) and I had a flashback to my single years.

In the episode, one of the nurses thinks she’s found this wonderful guy. But it turns out that he’s married, which she discovers when his wife and her two friends humiliate her at a restaurant (worth noting: one of the trashy, loudmouthed friends was played by one of the Real Housewives of New Jersey. . .typecasting, yes?).

You see, once upon a time, I too met this great guy. He was gorgeous, rich, smart, funny, charming and kind. And he thought I was awesome.

Would you like to know why?

It wasn’t really my own looks, smarts or charm (not that I was a loser or anything, but this guy. . .WOW). It was because I already knew he was married.

So I wouldn’t date him. We’d run into each other, we’d flirt, he’d buy me drinks and then I would go home. And he thought that made me the greatest thing since sliced bread. I thought it made me . . . .not an idiot. So I’m not saying I was in the position of the girl on the show – I was not dating the guy and I knew he was married – but if his wife had been bothered by the unknowing women he WAS dating (yeah, that’s a euphemism) or by his friendship with me. . .who do you think she would have gotten pissed at?

That just seems so wrong to me. HE was the one betraying the marriage (or not, to hear him tell it she was off doing her own thing as well but I never ran into her) like the guy on Mercy. . . . and Brad Pitt. (C’mon, we all know he cheated with Angelina. We may have gotten over it, but I will always be on Team Aniston.)

What do you think? When a guy cheats, is it really because of some seductive woman? Or is it because he’s a cheater?

Levi Johnston.

Deflowerer of a former governor’s daughter. Teenage father. Hunter.

That’s about all I know about Levi, despite having read several lengthy interviews with him. Oh, and he’s going to be appearing in Playgirl soon (did you know that magazine was still being published online? I didn’t). I really want to see that Playgirl. Because I think he’s hot.

Sure, he pretty much stands for everything I hate – fame for nothing, ignorance, Palin Republicans – and sure, he seems pretty dumb (I’ve  read the interviews, remember). And yes, I think he’s somewhere around half my age (which I find icky, even if most men don’t). But it doesn’t matter. I still want to see the Playgirl.

He’s not on my list because, well, it’s embarrassing. Plus, the list is not just about hot. It’s about like. And I do NOT like Levi Johnston. I just want to see him in his underwear.

Is that really weird? Do you have anyone you’re ashamed to find attractive?

(This post is intended for somewhat mature audiences and people who are not related to me. Mom and Dad, please delete this post NOW, thank you.)

Sometimes when I am falling asleep (or rather, NOT falling asleep) I envision future situations with my children and how I’ll handle them. Apparently in the future I will remain calm and loving in the face of all kinds of transgressions. The only trouble “Idealized Me” is having with her teenagers is discussing masturbation with them.

I believe in masturbation the way some people believe in religious doctrines.

I believe that girls and women who can make themselves come (with their fingers, shower heads and battery-operated boyfriends) are happier in their sexual relationships and are more likely to be emotionally secure. I believe relationships where both partners masturbate (and are comfortable discussing it or even sharing it) are healthier. I believe you can’t be truly comfortable with someone else’s body until you are comfortable with your own.

Plus, masturbating always helps me fall asleep. (I can’t believe I just threw that out there, internets. You all had better share some good stuff in the comments.)

But I can’t imagine sharing how I learned any of this while I encourage a teenaged Ironflower to masturbate. At the same time, I don’t want her to be like a woman I knew who finally learned how to masturbate (and still could only do it with a vibrator, as she was still afraid to touch herself “down there) at the age of 38.

Thirty-eight is way too long to wait for an orgasm, people.

I would prefer that Ironflower know how to give herself an orgasm long before she has to explain it to anyone else. Because it’ll a lot easier to explain it (not to mention have it) if she knows all about it. I also think it will help not rush into physical stuff too fast – I can remember more than one time in high school that I stopped my horny little self from going too far by knowing that I could go home and take care of things perfectly (sadly, this same skill abandoned me a few times in adulthood) well by myself.

Notice I haven’t mentioned Lovebug much. Boys seem to figure the whole thing out a lot better, don’t they? I just don’t want him to be ashamed. Or to whine to some girl about blue balls when all he has to do is wait until he gets home.

So, any suggestions for how to talk to my kids about masturbation? Any experiences and/or opinions you want to share? Do you think I’m over-emphasizing the importance of female masturbatory skills?

(Today’s post contains adult topics. If you are prude or related to me, you may want to skip this post.)

Last week Hubby helped film a documentary. One of the places he filmed was at an AIDS day party (at a church filled with drag queens. How come nothing like that ever happens to me?). Naturally, he grabbed the swag they were handing out.

After he got home, he left me alone with the swag. I eagerly went through it, nodding at the colorful condoms and AIDS ribbon. The tiny tubes of lube reminded me of samples from the make-up counter. They were so cute. Then I pulled out something I didn’t recognize. It looked like plastic wrapping and I looked for what must have fallen out of it. But there was nothing else in the bag. Confused, I called to Hubby and showed him the wrapping. “What’s this?” I asked.

“You don’t know?” he asked incredulously. So incredulously, in fact, that I thought he was messing with me. I shook my head, waiting for the punch line. “It’s a dental dam,” he explained. “You do know what a dental dam is, right?”

And it occurred to me, for all my purported sophistication and knowledge, that I had never actually seen a dental dam. They don’t show them on HBO’s Real Sex or G-String Divas. “I know what one is,” I replied, “but I’ve never actually seen one.” Hubby put it over his mouth to indicate how it’s used. “Oh,” I said while thinking, “Ick.”

I know that’s a terrible thing to say. I really AM a firm believer is safe sex and all that. But when Hubby showed me how a dental dam is used, I suddenly understood why some men have such an aversion to condoms. Not that I don’t think everyone having sex, of whatever persuasion, should be safe. But the idea of the using the dental dam over my vajayjay (as Oprah would say) . . . .not the least bit appealing. No wonder my old friend Beth had been in no hurry to lose her virginity to her girlfriend.

But, um, what I’d really like to know is – am I the only straight woman in her thirties who had no idea what a dental dam looked like?

When I saw the True Colors tour the other night, something Rosie O’Donnell said made me think. She mentioned that one of Trump’s insults for her was that he wasn’t attracted to her and would never sleep with her. Apparently, this was supposed to hurt her feelings.

Because we all know how much lesbians are into having men find them sexually attractive.

I started to wonder, as a straight woman, would this “insult” work on me? As a teenager, it definitely would have. I wanted everyone to think I was pretty and back then I equated sexual attraction with prettiness. So at 15, hearing someone say that he didn’t want me or find me attractive would have been devastating.

But I’m thirty-five now (well, for a couple more weeks) and while I find it flattering when someone finds me attractive, it doesn’t make or break my self-esteem. I think Donald Trump is ugly, so therefore I care a lot less about what he thinks. But I’ve heard many men use their lack of sexual interest in a woman as an insult.

On the one hand it is a kind of insult: a horny, drunk man will sleep with a log if the holes are in the right places. But on the other hand it’s kind of ridiculous. Attraction is only partially based on looks and it is quite possible to find someone attractive but not think s/he’s good looking (and vice versa). For example, I appreciate that Brad Pitt is good looking. But I would rather sleep with Axl Rose – I have this weird attraction to him. So whether a particular man wants to sleep with you has little bearing on your overall attractiveness level.

But Trump and his ilk continue to see us all as insecure tenth graders, more worried about men’s opinions than about our own thoughts and feelings. And what really hurts me is that there are a LOT of adult women just like that. How sad.

My daughter uses anatomically correct language. She calls eyes “eyes”, toes “toes” and her vulva, “vulva”. According to some people, this makes me a bad parent. My two year old should not know the proper names for all of her parts, goes the thinking. “Hoo-ha” is a much more appropriate term for female genitalia. Or “down there” (a term I have heard shame-faced grown women use, I’m sorry to say). But my daughter definitely shouldn’t know the names of THOSE body parts. I’ve been told it will make her sexually active.

Yes, it’s 2007 and female genitalia (come to think of it, Zoe doesn’t know the word genitalia, I’ll have to work on that) is still dirty and scary. Especially when a two year old acknowledges it calmly and shamelessly. How depressing.

My mother was way more open about sexuality than her mother was, but I still didn’t understand my own anatomy until somewhere in college. And it took having children to be truly comfortable saying “vulva”,”vagina” and even “penis”. And while I admit that Zoe’s (brief) fascination with her brother’s penis (which led to demands of watching me change his diaper and announcements that “Zach doesn’t have a vulva, he has a penis”) freaked me out, I hid it.

I don’t think any of us need to be ashamed of our body parts. I’m sorry, but calling something by a stupid nickname indicates a certain level of shame. But that shame doesn’t prevent people from having sex, does it? All it does is make them too embarassed to go buy condoms. Or to describe exactly what they want it bed.

The people who are uncomfortable with my daughter’s terminology tell me that teachers will be appalled by her language. If that’s what appalls them about her behavior, then she needs new teachers. These same people claim that it will make her think about sex earlier. Frankly, I think TV, music and hormones will set her down that path – regardless of what she calls her genitalia.

sexuality
parenting