For Goodness Sex (5 page)

A few things become apparent just from scanning the lists. There are lots of aggressive or threatening words for
penis
: spear, shaft, snake, rod, pecker, drill, gat (a machine gun). Words for
vulva/vagina
are either floral sounding (“rosebud”) or nasty (“nappy dugout,” “axe wound”)—there’s very little in between. There are lots of words for
breasts
, but how many of them are used to describe men’s breasts? Why are women’s breasts sexualized but not men’s? Likewise, the words and phrases for
masturbation
are almost exclusively male-oriented, although we know people of all genders pleasure themselves. Words for
intercourse
focus on penile-vaginal intercourse; almost no one considers oral sex to be intercourse, even though Merriam-Webster’s definition of intercourse is, “physical sexual contact between individuals that involves the genitalia of at least one person.” The
homosexual
side of the sheet overflows with alternative words and phrases, almost exclusively derogatory or demeaning, while the heterosexual side is largely blank, usually listing only “straight” and “normal.” And then there’s
foot
. Although there are alternate words for foot (“dogs,” “boats,” “wheels,” and “piggies” or “tootsies” for
toes
), students often have a hard time coming up with any of them. Why is that? It’s because no child ever got smacked or scolded for saying
foot
out loud in public. The activity quickly shows the reason for all our euphemisms for sexual terminology: many people think they’re dirty words. That also reveals something important about people’s values around sexuality, doesn’t it?

After that initial process, we spend the rest of the class discovering and differentiating the many languages of sexuality that appear on the lists.

Slang is the first language we discuss. While some people think slang is synonymous with crude or dirty talk, the Merriam-Webster definition is, “language peculiar to a particular group,” or “an informal, nonstandard vocabulary.” Slang varies in its usefulness because it differs according to time, place, culture, orientation, and age—sometimes it needs translation. When I was growing up in South Philadelphia in the 1970s and ’80s, if you said you “dated” someone, that meant you French-kissed them, not that you went out on a date with them (that was called “going out”). “Hook up” is a great example of modern sexual slang. Its definition can vary from “meeting up with someone” to “making out” to “having intercourse with.” If you hear your kids talking about their friends “hooking up,” don’t assume you know what it means—ask them, and realize it may mean different things in different contexts. Slang has its uses, but it isn’t the best language choice for parents who want to have conversations with their kids. Nothing will clear a room of teenagers faster than a parent trying to use sexual slang.

Secret language is pervasive in discussions about sexuality. This is language whose meaning is intentionally kept obscured or unexplained, or something shared only confidentially with a few. While everyone who hears it may not understand slang, it’s not a secret. This language is different because it’s intended to obscure. In every generation, young people create a secret language to talk about sex without adults catching on or butting in. A few years ago, middle schoolers would talk about the “pen15” club. “Pen15” was secret language for penis. It’s great language if you’re in on the secret but can be dicey if you’re not. When I was in eighth grade, a lot of the other boys would ask me if I had “done it” yet. They were asking whether I’d gotten sexual with a girl yet, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t have any idea what “done it” meant, but I knew the right answer to their question. “Sure, I’ve done it!” I said with all the bravado of a preteen boy. “I did it last week and I’m gonna do it again tomorrow.” Of course, that was enough to convince them that I hadn’t done it and that I didn’t know what “done it” meant.

Sometimes secret language is used to cover up the discomfort of the speaker. It’s frequently used this way in discussions about sexuality. When we talk with children about their “private parts” or refer to a girl’s vulva as “down there” or use any of the euphemisms for a girl’s period (“my friend,” “the curse,” “her monthly,” “a visit from auntie”) we’re using secret language and are likely missing out on an opportunity to have an important conversation about sexuality. When my mom wanted to have a “sex talk” with me, her own discomfort with discussing anything sexual led her to use secret language. She sat me down at the kitchen table one day when I was thirteen or fourteen and told me we should have a talk about “the marriage act.” She said as I was growing up I would become more interested in “the marriage act.” It was natural to be curious about it, and she said that “the marriage act” was a beautiful thing when used properly, but it was only for married people—that’s why it was called “the marriage act.” She asked me if I had any questions. The question I most wanted to ask was, “What the hell is the marriage act?” Instead, I shook my head no and got as far away from the kitchen table as I could. Of course, she was referring to sexual intercourse, but it would be a couple of years before I figured that out. I already knew what intercourse was by the time I was thirteen, but there was no way I could connect it to Mom’s “marriage act.” I look back on this encounter with sadness today. My mom was trying to be a good parent, to convey to me information as well as a value framework for sexual intercourse, but because she was uncomfortable, she resorted to secret language. The resulting conversation was awkward, short-lived, and never repeated.

And in the years since then, I’ve learned that even “correct” terminology can be interpreted as secret language if the audience isn’t familiar with the terms used. Years ago I was the Volunteer Coordinator and Trainer for Philadelphia’s largest AIDS-service organization. Part of my job was to conduct AIDS education programs in the community. I had just finished a workshop in which I discussed how HIV is transmitted and how “safer sex practices” could minimize the risk of transmission when a young man approached me with a question. He didn’t want to ask it during the presentation because he was embarrassed, but he didn’t know what I meant when I kept saying “safer sex practices.” He actually thought I was saying “save for sex practices.” He wasn’t sure if he should be saving money or sperm or what. I felt like a complete idiot. There I was, confident that I was providing useful, correct, factual information about HIV, but I was speaking a secret language and this young man missed one of the most important parts of the presentation. When I clarified that by “safer sex practices” I meant things like knowing one’s own HIV-status, using a condom or other barrier protection during sexual activity, and limiting one’s number of sexual partners, he said, “Oh, I’ve been doing all that. So I guess I’ve saved myself with my save for sex practices.” This time I wrote out the phrase “safer sex practices” on a piece of paper and showed it to him. “Oh,” he said, “that makes a lot more sense.” We talked for a few more minutes as I gently tried to figure out if I’d screwed up anything else in the presentation.

There is language we create specifically to talk to small children about sexuality. There are many childlike words for little boys’ and girls’ genitals (
wee-wee,
coochie
,
pee place
). If we talk about sexual activity at all with children, we say things like “making babies” or “mommy and daddy’s special hug” rather than “having sex.” Or we don’t talk about it at all. I remember being in the bathtub around age six and pointing to my testicles.

“What are these?” I asked my mother.

“You’ll need those later,” she responded.

“Then why do I have them now?” I asked. But that was the end of the conversation.

Children pick up on the fact that there are certain body parts we use special language for or don’t talk about at all, and because they don’t understand why, they can develop shame, fear, or confusion about their genitals or about sexuality in general. There’s no reason that a child who knows the words
elbow
,
ear
, and
leg
shouldn’t also know the word
penis
or
vulva
. “But what if they say it
out loud
, in front of other people?” some parents will ask me with a hint of horror in their voice. What
is
wrong with that besides being potentially embarrassing for the adults in the room? I’ve also seen adult children talking to their parents about sexuality and still using childhood language. They never found a way to replace that language with something else around their parents. Believe me, that sounds far more ridiculous than a three-year-old saying
penis
. My professional and personal opinion is that there’s no need for childhood language. It only leads to more difficult conversations down the road.

A very important and often ignored sexual language is romance language. The best example that comes up in the classroom exercise is “make love” for
intercourse
. Do we ever intentionally teach young people how to talk about sex or about their sweethearts in a loving, romantic way? Early in the year I introduce the term
sweetheart
as my regular term for a romantic (and possibly sexual) partner. I say things like, “When you and your sweetheart are trying to figure out what to do on the weekend . . .” or “What do you suppose a sweetheart might think about that?” Of course the term sweetheart doesn’t apply in every instance, and that’s an important lesson too. A hookup is not a sweetheart. Here’s another example of romance language. There’s a big difference between saying something “arouses” you versus something “gets you wet.” Calling someone your “lover” is certainly a different message than referring to your “lay.” We need to help young people think and speak in ways that convey the passion, love, intimacy, and commitment that can exist in a relationship.

There’s also some very old sexual language that still hangs on in our vocabulary today. Words like
wedlock
,
maidenhead
(for hymen), and
deflower
(for losing one’s virginity) are just a couple of examples. This archaic language is often sexist, heterosexist, and sex-negative. Can’t you just imagine a character on
Downton Abbey
talking about performing her “wifely duties” (a common Victorian euphemism for sex)? We might find archaic language interesting from a historical perspective, but it doesn’t have any place in contemporary discussions about sexuality.

Finally, there’s medical or biological language. These are the words printed on the top of the large paper sheets in my classroom. This is the standard language for classroom sexuality education, medicine, academia, and formal discussions of sexuality. Just like all the other languages, though, it isn’t appropriate in every situation. I’m not sure a sweetheart is longing to hear, “Let’s have sexual intercourse tonight, darling.” And friends chatting casually about sex may find it more appropriate to use slang or shared secret language. But the biological language can be a great one for parents and children to use together, with two caveats. First, although perfectly appropriate, a lot of people feel ashamed to use even these words. They need to be deshamed if you’re going to use them with your kids. If they pick up on your embarrassment or hesitancy in using the language, they might also feel that you’re ashamed of sex. We need to be empowered to use this language and to empower others to use it as well.

In preparation for your talk with your child or teen, why not practice saying the words out loud in front of a mirror? You can also practice the words with a friend or your spouse before springing them on the kids. The second caveat is to make sure you actually know the proper words and their usage. I’ve met too many people who call a vulva (a woman’s external genitals) a vagina (which is an internal organ). When my dad gave me his version of the “sex talk,” he had a problem with the words. He called me into my parents’ bedroom one evening when I was about fifteen. I thought I was in trouble or that someone had died; those were the typical reasons for being summoned there. Instead my dad said, “It’s time we had a talk about . . . mastication.” I thought I had misheard him. I was sure he was talking about masturbation and not chewing, but he continued. “Lots of boys your age masticate—that’s normal. But you can’t masticate too much. And you don’t want to think dirty things about girls when you masticate. You have to respect women.” I sat there biting the insides of my cheeks so I wouldn’t laugh at Pop, who was really trying his best. Should I have used that as a teachable moment to gently and lovingly let him know the difference between the words
masticate
and
masturbate
? I was fifteen, grossly embarrassed, and still not sure I wasn’t in trouble, so I did what most teenagers did. I said “OK, Pop. Thanks,” and got the hell out of there. I must admit that, although hilarious, this was not a bizarre moment in our house; Pop was famous for mixing up words. My favorite was when he called the gas pedal in the car the “exhilarator” instead of the accelerator. “Get your foot off the damn exhilarator!” he would yell at me when I was learning to drive. “You trying to kill us?”

We must be fluent in all of these languages of sexuality in order to be the most effective communicators we can be. The key is using the language that will be most appropriate for a given situation. None of these languages are wrong all of the time, and none of them are right all of the time.

A Few Conversation Starters

I
f you haven’t yet had a conversation with your kids about values, language, or sexuality, you’re probably feeling a little anxious about approaching the topic. That’s normal; your kids are nervous too, although probably less than you are. It’s natural for the first conversation to be a little bumpy. After all, you’re trying something new. You can’t expect to be an expert right out of the box. Isn’t that what you’d tell your child if she or he was about to try something new? It’s a good idea to practice ahead of time, visualize how you want the conversation to go, and maybe even test drive it with your adult children or a close friend.