At 22 I stand as a young woman, comfortable in her own skin, comfortable with her own body; leading a satisfying sex life, and always having done since losing my virginity at the comfortable age of eighteen.

But how I got here is unknown to me when I look back at the discourses of sexuality that surrounded me. I grew up in a staunchly catholic town where sex was either not spoken about at all or spoken about in purely negative terms. It was a dirty word, always given dirty and awkward connotations, to be reserved for marriage only and never even thought about before then.

In school we were given one night of sex education at the end of primary school, and a few scare mongering STD talks in secondary school. At that first sex education night in fifth class a girl asked a very simple question. She asked what a blow job was. The audience giggled and there was an awkward shuffled response from my teachers and the woman who had been brought in to offer us this ‘education’. When she did speak she made a joke and avoided the question, by talking about how glass is made, those ‘blow jobs’. Later that evening when I asked an adult what a blow job is, it was explained in technical terms, while they also qualified it, by explaining that it was something cheap, dirty girls did.

I learned more from Sex and the City than I ever did from formal and informal sex education. At fourteen I would tape the episodes every night, because I couldn’t watch them with my parents around. I would wait until they weren’t home to do so; as if I was indulging in some dirty, shameful activity.

The first time I even heard the word ‘masturbation’ it was in the advice pages of some tabloid. The first time I masturbated, it was accidental, and I felt dirty and ashamed afterwards, telling myself I wouldn’t do it again. I didn’t even know female oral sex existed until I happened to come across a Valentines Day supplement with the Sunday World. I felt turned on but couldn’t even identify what turned on was. Once again I was constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure nobody caught me reading this supplement, doing for myself what somebody (and not the Sunday World) should have done for me. Educating myself. Actually reading about what it was I had down there. The thing no one talks about. Growing up, the boys on my street would talk about cocks and balls all the time but nobody talked about what I had. I was told not to sit like the boys; to sit with my legs crossed, but never told why. At age 9, when I said the word sexy, after hearing it and repeating it (as kids do) I was told me never to say it again.

As I grew into a teenager I was always given the impression sex was dangerous and something to stay away from. I received very little practical information, and when I did enter into my first sexual relationship, with a guy I was in a long term relationship with, I went on the pill after coming to the conclusion myself that it was the most sensible option. Once again this wasn’t something I was encouraged toward.

Research on discourses on sexuality with children and young people has found that discussing sexuality in purely negative terms only exacerbates problems that already exist surrounding sexuality and discussion of sexuality:

‘when conversations around sex are conceptualised as dangerous, dirty or pathological, the outcome might be more harmful to children than helpful. Children might be less likely to report when sexual exploitation has occurred owing to feelings of shame and they may be less likely to talk to parents or other adults about sexual questions, curiosities or problems’ (Robinson 2005; Krivacska 1992 quoted in Egan and Hawkes 2008).

If this research wasn’t convincing enough, one need only look at this graphic on sex education in The States:

The first time I had sex I was shocked at how I felt. I knew it would feel good in a sexual way, but I thought that would also be accompanied by a certain dirty feeling. That feeling never came. And I had no idea how nice it would feel. I lost my virginity to a guy I loved and aside from all the wonderful sexual feelings, it felt like a huge, extended, thrilling cuddle. I was elated.

Despite all the negative messages I received I somehow managed to always keep myself protected, only ever experiencing one pregnancy scare due to a contraception slip up; and never experiencing an STI. I have never been in an uncomfortable sexual situation; because if I ever felt uncomfortable I felt perfectly ok to just say so; largely due to the fact that although there have been few; I have been very careful with who I chose as sexual partners. I have never been in a sexual situation with someone I didn’t trust. And most importantly of all, I now find myself enjoying my body and my sex life more than ever before. I have gotten over any catholic hang up I ever had, I have distanced myself from the negativity that surrounded me, and I have come to not only accept, but love my body.

But I am lucky. I cannot really tell you how I managed to distance myself from all that, and I am not going to get into my theories on why; but my main point is, not everyone comes out of it as I did. Irish people particularly, use alcohol. They use it to feel more comfortable than they actually feel. Resulting in sex before they’re ready. Sex with people they not only don’t trust, but with people they’re not even really that into. Sex with question marks over consent. Unprotected sex.

And in ways things have gotten even worse since my time. Today children and teenagers are blasted with sex; from everywhere, especially the media. But once again given next to no tools to actually deal with it. No tools to figure out how to feel about it; how to decide what’s right for them or how to protect themselves. Like I did, they turn to the only source of information there seems to be- once again, the media. And the media does not care about these kids and their wellbeing. The media cares about numbers and profit margins. It does not care what kind of damaging messages it needs to send out to get those. Guys are expected to be ‘guys’, meaning always on the prowl for sex, trying to convince women to have sex even if at first they refuse, to boast about sexual exploits to male friends, etc., while girls are expected to be ‘girls’, ie. to ‘hold out’ on sex, to not talk about sex, to behave in a ‘lady-like’ fashion, or on the opposite side of the madonna/whore dichotomy that permeates our society, to merely act as pleasure givers to men. As M.G. Durham discusses in her groundbreaking book, The Lolita Effect these are regressive and oppressive gender politics:

‘Most discussions of oral sex among middle-school children refer to the fact that girls are ‘like a service station for boys’, as Liz Pearle, vice president of Common Sense Media puts it.’ (Durham 2009: 54)

This also all results in all kinds of damaging practical misinformation, received through the media and chinese whispers, to kids who are engaging in sexual activity at younger and younger ages for all the wrong reasons:

‘Here are some things I’ve learned from talking to girls: You can’t get pregnant if you jump up and down after inter-course. You can use a plastic sandwich bag instead of a condom- it works just as well. You don’t need to use contraception if you don’t have sex very often. If you haven’t gotten AIDS after having sex a lot, you are immune to it. Douching with Coke prevents pregnancy. Oral sex isn’t real sex’ (Durham 2009: 44)

What’s the solution? I think it’s pretty clear. The message for sexual health is pretty much the same as the one for mental health: please talk. Talk to your child before profit hungry corporations do. Before they enter into unsafe and unhealthy sexual situations. Research in the United States has revealed that ‘while 58 per cent of students at a middle school were sexually active, 98 per cent of their parents thought otherwise’ (Durham 2009: 48).

Obviously health and safety is the principle fear here but more than anything else, our sexuality is something to be enjoyed. I have lead a really enjoyable sex life, in safe environments, with people and I trust and for that reason I’ve been able to enjoy my sexuality to the full. It upsets me to think of anyone not being able to do the same for reasons that are easily prevented. Open any womens magazine aimed at women in their late twenties/thirties and it talks about how the thirties are great because you start to really enjoy your sex life for all the reasons I already have. Why wait?

References

Durham, M. (2008) The Lolita Effect. New York: The Overlook Press.

Egan, R. and Hawkes, G. (2008) Girls, Sexuality and the strange carnalities of

advertisements. Australian Feminist Studies, 23 (57), p.307-322.