60, Sex & Tango, Confessions of a Beatnik Boomer
Excerpt Chapter 5
DON’T CALL ME GRANDMA!
I never thought much about my sons’ reproductive activities. If I had given birth to a girl, I might have been more interested. Females have the same plumbing as I do; and we relate on the level of PMS, urinary tract infections, bladder infections, yeast infections, birth control, vaginal versus C-section births, lumps in the breast, belly fat, menopause, hormone replacement therapy versus homeopathic therapy, hot flashes and night sweats. What else is there? Oh yes, we all fall madly in love.
But I produced boys and the closest we ever came to talking abut sex concerned the use of condoms. When Jonathan was in the eighth grade, I took him to a drugstore in Beverly Hills and bought him a box of condoms. “Don’t forget to use them,” I prompted when we got home. I have no idea what he did with them, but I knew he was not a virgin, hence the box of condoms. I knew that because he told me he got laid in the seventh grade while living with his father in Las vegas during his bar mitzvah year. He also was introduced to porno fils, pot and poker. I guess there were no boundaries that year. Prior to that, when Jonathan was in the fifth grade, he asked me about boo jobs, as in, “Did you give Dad blow jobs?” I was utterly speechless as I continued to fold clothes from the dryer. I told him we’d talk about it later, much later when he was about sixteen. By that age, he would have gotten his own blow job(s), and we would need no further discourse on the subject.