By the time I entered my junior year of college, I was convinced that Binghamton University had only three kinds of guys. There were the players. There were the boys who were saving themselves for marriage. And there were the ones who learned about sex from my mother.
A biological anthropologist, my mom taught Intro to Sex and Evolution, which focused on everything from mating systems in the Animal Kingdom to why women go through menopause. Pretty much every student in the life sciences took it. Those who didn’t heard stories of the professor with the sign in her office that read: My biggest fear is that there is no PMS and this is my personality.
Thus, at the age of 19, I could flawlessly explain the mechanics of seahorse sex, but had only a vague notion of how it might work between two humans. I feared getting into an intimate situation only to have word of it get back to her, or worse, hearing her clinical scientific explanation of it in my head. And if a guy ever mentioned sex and my mother in the same sentence, forget about it. Keep reading »