Coming Face to *Ahem* Face with Teen Sex
It was almost a year ago that I came face to face, almost literally, with teen sex. Oh, not my girls, but the son of the guy I was dating at the time. He was newly 16, man of the world with a newly minted drivers license and a car. His girlfriend was 15, and was dating a boy who had a car. Ahh young love, or as we adults know now, hormones.
For whatever reason that summer day, the two of them had been left alone in the house while grandma ran to the store, and before I could get there. I’m sure they had been left alone upstairs for hours that morning, but I can’t know that for sure. Regardless of how long; they were alone, and upstairs, in his room, when I got there.
And found them. Not in bed, on the bed, not completely naked, but that’s because I got there and interrupted them. I found them, down to boxers and panties, him being ridden like a bronco. When I walked in and saw them, I was stunned. Once I could recover my voice, and my common sense, all I could think to say was “Really????” Without missing a beat she looked at me and said “Yeah, really”.
At this point I would like to submit my application for best self-control exhibited by a parent when faced with a half-naked mouthy teenager riding her ‘son’ like a bronco. What I wanted to do was grab two handfuls of her long brown hair and hurl her butt over the balcony. What I actually did was tell her to get her clothes and get the hell out. Instead of being mad at me, that little hussy should have thanked me she still had teeth in her head.
As she gathered her clothes (and pretended to find some sort of shame) she cried, “I’m not that kind of girl, I don’t want to be that kind of girl. You have to believe me, I’m not that girl!” But see, in my mind, she was that kind of girl, she became that girl the second her clothes hit the floor and she mounted him, and she cinched it when she never missed a beat when I walked in and caught them.
The explanations came pouring out of their mouths, once they were dressed. “We weren’t thinking”, “We couldn’t help ourselves” followed by emphatic “We weren’t going to have sex!” because clearly seconds before penetration, after all the clothes are off, is the exact moment teenagers finally come to their senses and find a modicum of self-control which they had lacked up to that point. Clearly that was where the line was to be drawn.
I was just the girlfriend, so the parenting was left to, well, the parents. I wish I could say I was able to walk away that day. The son claimed I called his girlfriend a slut. At which point I explained I couldn’t call her a slut, because that would be slander since I didn’t know her sexual history. It was kind of obvious this wasn’t her first rodeo, but I had no way of knowing that for sure. I couldn’t call her ‘whore’ because well, that would imply she was being paid, and like father like son he would never pay for something he could talk her into giving him for free. Besides he never met a dime he was willing to part with. So, that left me very little choice beyond ‘skank’ but I didn’t call her that either. I had a little more decorum and respect than they did that day.
To this day, the son refuses to talk to me, or have anything to do with me. Probably because I’m not as easily fooled or manipulated as his family. Grandma is already going through her jewelry to find the perfect diamond to give to him to use as an engagement ring. He’ll be 17 this month. Maybe she figures he better put a ring on it, you know, before he puts a baby in it.
I had the pleasure of walking away from that fiasco that day. Looking back, I’m glad I did. The parents (all of them) not only saw nothing wrong with them having sex, they now condone it by allowing them to spend the night at each other’s houses, in each other’s beds.
“But I’m not that girl!” Oh honey, yes you are. That’s why he picked you.
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