Firstly, you folks are delightful. The welcome back I received after my hiatus was thundering, and I have renewed vigor to provide you with a regular dose of slutty blogness. So, uber thanks.
Have you sluts ever heard of purity balls? You know, the fundamentalist Christian way of getting young girls to put on a white dress and swear abstinence to their fathers in front of a whole room full of people? Few things can give me goosebumps like this crock of medieval shit.
My relationship with my dad is way better than it was, say, 2 years ago when I was disowned for being an atheist. It’s had its ups and downs, just like any relationship where you have a vastly different love language than the other party. However, even when I was growing up and my mother prodded him to take my sister and I to the yearly church Father Daughter Dance, he never once gave us purity rings, or encouraged us to save ourselves for the man The Lord had chosen for me.
The only time my father ever mentioned sex to me growing up was shortly after the 1996 election when I saw a Bob Dole commercial for erectile dysfunction. I was intrigued, because I had no earthly clue what Mr. Dole was saying there was no need to be ashamed about. Finally, after much agitation, my father blurted out something along the lines of penis-gets-hard-sticks-it-in-woman-then-babies-come-out.
I am so grateful for this.
I am utterly creeped out by these Purity Balls. And don’t get me wrong, I love balls. Love. Meat balls, Feng Wa balls, donut balls, kegel balls, boiled peanuts, beach balls, teabaggery and even a debutante ball back in the day. But purity balls scare the living shit out of me.
Let’s be real; its absurdly easier to get your 9 year old, whose mental version of “marital behaviour” is on par with Cinderella and Frozen, to agree to keep her legs crossed than it is your 18 year old on a campus full of consenting adults. Duh. I made the same promise at a Catholic youth conference and proudly wore the “true love waits” ring and kept my signed promise card in my wallet. Then, when puberty hit, things started getting hazy.
What does it say about a parent(s) psyche that the thought of their kid one day having sex makes them so uncomfortable they have to throw an entire event to try to create latent guilt for in their kid’s memory? What about kids who are abused? Are they still worthy of their father’s love because someone took their “greatest gift for their husband” away from them?
And what about Mother son or father son or mother daughter dances? Aren’t those relationships important too? I saw so many pictures when I googled “purity balls” of fathers with daughters but none of the others. Hmmm.
In case you needed some visual evidence of the incredible creepy-awkwardness of this whole enchilada, check out these pics:
Probably the best advice I could possibly give an adolescent on sex (when they are old enough to consider it)
a.) Use protection
b.) Never try to fuck someone who wants it any more or less than you do. It will always suck. Always.
For example, a younger sister of a good friend of mine has a high school boyfriend who is utterly grossed out by her vagina and won’t do anything beyond fingering her. However, he likes theatre and penises just fine. She is the only one who doesn’t suspect he is gay.
Sex is a barometer of a relationship. If it isn’t there all of a sudden, or even gradually, it probably means something is afoot between the parties involved. I have seen it in my own relationships and in those of my friends (married or otherwise) enough to pay attention. It’s unrealistically naive to pledge your life to someone in marriage when you don’t know what they’re like naked, vulnerable and inside your precious.
Have any of you had experience with purity balls or the whole “true love waits” tomfoolery?
Thanks for reading!