Would you let your teenage daughter, and her boyfriend, share a bed if he slept over your house? Do you let your daughter’s boyfriend sleep over your house?
About a year ago, my boyfriend’s daughter asked us if her boyfriend, whom we like, could spend the night. We were going skiing the following morning and it would be saving him a trip. My boyfriend knew where I stood on the subject. NO FUCKING WAY!
After a some cajoling and guilt, I caved. We put him in the basement on a futon. We made it perfectly clear that this was not to become a habit. For me, this falls under the broad category of boundaries (mine), respect, and good old fashioned values. We’re not running a brothel here people.
When I was a senior in high school, I asked my pot-smoking, Kerouac reading, and consciousness raising attendee parents if my boyfriend could sleep over. It was after nine o’clock and he only had his permit at the time. They agreed but they weren’t excited about the idea.
He slept in the guest room down the hall. And in the middle of the night, he tiptoed 50 feet down to my bedroom, and we had sex. We thought we’d pulled one over on my parents.
The next morning, we sat at the kitchen table with my parents and had breakfast. I looked over at my mother’s face, and her clenched jaw. Something was wrong.
My mother turned to me, her eyes like daggers, pierced through to my very soul. She uttered three little words that would affect me for the rest of my life.
“How dare you.”
There was nowhere to hide. There wasn’t any point in acting like I didn’t know what she was talking about or coming up with some lame excuse.
“What do you mean? He had a hang nail, and was looking for nail clippers and then he accidentally feel on top of me and.
I was royally embarrassed. I had disappointed her, and I had disrespected she and my dad (who never heard a thing, thank god) I had betrayed their trust in the most sordid and humiliating way.
Now, with my boyfriend’s kids, I must see to it that I will never be put in the same position as I’d put my mother in. I have my mothers steely look seared into my brain, to ensure that there won’t be any co-ed sleepovers on my watch.