(CW for abuse of all sorts of natures)
I love Tumblr, I really do. I stay away from most fandoms of shit I like (I’ve been in the game for 20 years – the drama gets old), I follow a bunch of awesome social justice minded people, and if I ever needed to know if two or more men can actually fuck in a position I’m imagining, I just check my Dashboard.
There was this conversation I was following from the ever awesome Source Du Mal concerning something that was really, REALLY a part of my growing up. And I need to word vomit about it.
Black girls can’t even ASK a damn question about sex without threat of assault by parents who are too busy thinking they are “guilty” of having a sexuality.
Like, sex is fucking everywhere. Are you kidding me? Come the fuck on. And if all you gonna do is beat them for being CURIOUS, then don’t get mad when they find out physically with lil Tyrell behind your back.
I was probably very precocious as a kid, probably because of being raped before I started kindergarten. I had this curiosity about naked bodies and sex and those loud noises Momma made with her boyfriend or Dad with his new wife. I never told an adult about my rape. For some reason, I just KNEW the reaction would be bad. So did my own research, playing doctor, stealing the dirty novels my Momma did a shit job of hiding, and writing my own laughable attempts at erotica (I still have the stories I penned at 10. They are cringeworthy as fuck). When I got a bit older and could go to the library by myself, I dove into the puberty and sexuality books to try to understand my growing body and the strange feelings.
Talk to my parents about sexuality? Are you kidding? If I so much as mentioned a boy that was an actual friend, they would freak the fuck out. “You gotta boyfriend!?!” My stepmother found condoms in one of my sister’s bookbag and proceeded to beat her. While demanding that she answer questions about where babies come from.
“What do girls have?” *WHACK*
“What do your friends call them?” *WHACK*
Worst. “The Talk”. Ever.
If that wasn’t the flashing klaxon that told me my sexuality (and hers) was not ‘safe’ at home, I dunno what was. Between Stepmom’s abuse and our father rejecting our growing bodies, Sister and I lashed out in different ways; she got defiant and wilder, I became more private and sneaky and keep everything in. One boyfriend tried to pressure get me to let him in our house for sex and I couldn’t bring that to any trusted adult. My early explorations online got me exposed to a lot of creepy A/S/L-ness from dudes, couldn’t bring that to anyone. When a boyfriend in high school kissed me, and I liked it and I wanted to share that joy, who would I share that with. My first crush on a girl (or my second, or my third)? My decision to not have sex until college? The inappropriate looks and comments about my growing body? When that happened in earshot of my folks, it was my fault.
For existing or something.
According to my Stepmom, wanting to date made me a whore. My sis started running away and they forced her on Depo shots to make sure she didn’t get knocked up. I asked for the same, because my periods were murder and I read that it could help, was called a whore.
That I made it to 19 and in college before making my sexual debut had fuck all to do with the environment I grew up in.
I don’t get it, parents. Either little girls are worth guiding and loving or they’re not. Either they’re just little THOTs and sluts in training that need that urge beaten out of them (literally or physically or both) or they’re not. Girls have those thoughts, at young ages, and it’s your fucking job as parents to nurture (cause it’s fucking natural, and I dare any of you to deny you were the same as a kid), to help her handle that, to answer her questions or help her find the answers herself. I’m sorry if the fact that your precious little princess having an O-face someday or right now scares you, but this is your fucking job.
It’s a job that should be started when she’s young and should continue until she’s out of your house. But when you cut off that budding sexuality with harsh words and harsh hands, you are destroying her. You are ruining her trust of you. If she can’t ask “where do babies come from?” or “What can I do about the scary man down the street who wants me to hug him?”, then can she come to you with “The person I’m dating is pressuring me to have sex.” later? Not if you fly off the fucking handle the second she hints about having pants feelings.
This shit has wrecked us, and is still wrecking us. When girls act out, we call them nasty names, we humiliate them as punishment, we beat them because how fucking DARE they try to navigate the sexual waves without any fucking guidance. Don’t they know they should just keep shit quiet and never make a peep and never have a single sexual thought, or fall in love, or have a crush, or leave the house, or have friends of whatever gender they’re attracted to until their wedding day? That isn’t for their safety, it’s for your fucking comfort. And when you do this shit, I don’t see “That girl deserved it with her fast ass”, I see, “I suck as a parent. This child will never trust me again, and I’ll probably wonder why.”
“The Talk” isn’t easy. It’s not comfortable. But it’s necessary. And it’s so much more than just “Keep your panties up and don’t bring home anything that has to eat” and “Boys only want one thing.” But it’s your fucking job. Dealing with a diaper blow out isn’t comfortable either, but you don’t beat a baby for it or try to make them not shit so much. You suck it the fuck up, break out the tools and handle that shit.
When your daughter is curious about sexuality, you need to Handle. That. Shit. Love her. Respect her. Give her some privacy. Fucking hug her, Father figures. Just because she’s maturing doesn’t fucking mean your job as a father is done. Mother figures, quit being jealous of the attention your daughter is getting. You think that’s comfortable and fun for a 14 year old to have 20-30-40 year old men panting after her? Get over yourselves and fucking parent already.
(And yes, that counts even after your little girl has discovered her O-face. She’s not soiled or ruined. Hug her. Love her. Guide her to make decisions that work for her. She hasn’t stopped being your daughter.)