Ancient History #1 - What do you do with a boy?

Well, with this cold just getting more and more miserable, I don't imagine I'll have much to say about dating for a bit. I mean, if I'm too sick to go to work, I shouldn't be out there spreading the disease. Besides, I gave myself a week to mope over the London trip (turned out to be totally unnecessary), and have nothing lined up.

It had never occurred to me when I started this blog that total strangers would actually make a regular effort to see what I had to say. Suddenly, I feel compelled to write something...I'd hate to let the six of you down...

So, I thought I'd dust off the ancient history.



I was raised in a lesbian household. In my world, there was Mom and Mom #2, and Dad was a rather distant, shady character, as he lived in another city entirely, and had twice-a month weekend visitation, when he had time for it. I was five when my biological parents divorced, and seven when my moms moved in together.

Mom has lived consistently with women for the majority of the last 25 years, but does not consider herself a lesbian. She dated a man for about two months when I was a teenager, and I have to say her taste in women is MUCH BETTER than her taste in men. However, I suppose in her mind, two months in 25 years is enough to qualify her as 'not a lesbian'. Of course, she doesn't think she's bisexual, either. I usually quit asking nosy questions at that point, lest I get some evasive hippy answer like 'love makes the world go round' or 'everyone deserves to be loved'. Personally, I think Mom hasn't figured out that it's the New Millenium now, and nobody really cares if she's gay.

Mom #2, Mom's first long-term girlfriend, was as dyke-y as a dyke can possibly get. Her main hobby (after man-bashing) was woodworking. She ALWAYS showed up at the Take Back The Night marches (usually with my sister and I in tow, chanting slogans and pumping our little fists in the air). Mom #2 even had the army boots and the classic leather bull-dyke hat. She was butch with a capital 'B". And feminist with a capital 'F'. She probably would have scratched her crotch in public, if it weren't so reminicent of The Patriarchy. She thought that sex with men was sleeping with the enemy.

I was never confused about whether or not I liked boys. Ever. It was never in question. Mom probably realised that early on, but Mom #2 held out hope until about my third boyfriend, at which point she gave up and recognised that I really was (unfortunately) straight.

Being raised by lesbians in an all-female household really does not equip you for dating boys. I learned to dance in an environment where the taller person leads...and I was 5'8 by the age of 16. I STILL expect my partner to WANT to talk about his feelings, all the time. When two girls move in together, they immediately go shopping for curtains and matching throw-pillows. When a girl and a boy move in together, you're lucky if he agrees to restrict his dirty-sock pile to the bedroom floor intead of the whole house. Dating boys was just FULL of nasty suprises.

I had some idea of how straight sex was supposed to work - we were a Liberal, Progressive family, and had books about these sorts of things (but no TV). As a child, I had a illustrated book about bodily functions, which included a section about what a man and a woman do when they really, really love each other, and want to make a baby. Unfortunately, there wasn't much elaboration, and the Joy of Sex that was hidden in MY parents' bedroom was the one that was strictly girly action. Our Bodies Our Selves is not terribly educational about penises, either (though I must admit it is VERY educational about g-spots and clitorises, and I got REALLY good at masturbation...) My moms were pretty open about things like bodies and sexuality, but much of that simply didn't pertain to straight sex, just by virtue of their own preferences.

Mom did buy a big box of condoms when I had my first period, and put them in the basement bathroom. She told me that she didn't care if I used them, handed them out to my friends, or blew them up as balloons, and that she would never ask where they had gone, but would replace the box when it got empty. I got The Talk about the mechanics of preventing pregnancy and STD's, but no real details about actually having sex. To be honest, the first few boxes wound up being inflated and stuck to my friends' lockers as pranks...

Despite being raised in an all-girl home, I knew about penises, in an academic sort of way. They were the Instruments Of Oppression. Symbols of The Patriarchy. I had no idea that they were so...funny-looking. Really, you expect Instruments Of Oppression to be so much more...impressive. I probably ruined my first chance of a serious sexual adventure by snickering when I had my first glimpse of the Symbol Of The Patriarchy...something referred to in Capital Letters really has no right to be so pink and cute.

Most of my education about girl-boy action was based on hints I had gleaned from reading the Clan of the Cave Bear series and a few of Mom's romance novels. I still have a much-loved and carefully bookmarked copy of the Valley of the Horses. When I finally got around to Sleeping With The Enemy, however, I discovered that BOYS don't read those sorts of books, and have NO IDEA what to do with GIRLS, except for what THEY gleaned from reading their fathers' Penthouse Letters. Up until the age of 25 or so, most guys seem to think 'clitoris' is Latin for The Holy Grail, and don't seem to understand that it's ALSO a REAL BODY PART. You'd NEVER have that problem dating girls.

Thankfully, guys do get better at that sort of thing as they age, and I've never wavered about my preferences...bring on The Instruments Of Oppression, baby!