Tag Archives: boundaries

Teenage sex

Is Teenage Sex Happening Under Your Roof?

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REPOST… All new on Tuesday!

Would you let your teenage daughter, and her boyfriend, sleep together in your house with the potential of teenage sex also happening in your house? Would you even let her boyfriend sleep over?

A few years back, my boyfriend’s teenage daughter asked us if her teenage boyfriend, could spend the night. The first thing I thought of was that they were going to have teenage sex. My boyfriend knew where I stood on the topic. No f’in way!

After a bit of cajoling and guilt, I caved. We set him up in the basement on a futon. We also made it perfectly clear that this was not to become a habit. For me, the issue falls under the broad category of boundaries (mine) and speaks to the idea of respect, and what I’m comfortable with. We’re not running a brothel here people.

When I was a senior in high school, I asked my mens group attendee, consciousness raising meeting host, grass-toking, Kerouac reading, Woodstock foregoing because the traffic was going to be too intense, parents if my boyfriend could sleep over. It was after nine o’clock and he only had his permit. They agreed but I could tell that they weren’t excited about the idea.

He slept in the guest room down the hall. In the middle of the night, my boyfriend tiptoed the 50 feet down to my bedroom, and climbed into bed with me. We thought we’d pulled one over on my folks and felt oh, so grown up.

The next morning, we all met in the kitchen for breakfast. My boyfriend and I looked at each other, and then caught a glimpse of my mother’s face. Her look screamed disrespect, disappointment and two-bit hussy. Under breath but loud enough for me to hear she said, “How dare you.”

What could I say? I was royally embarrassed and I felt like a child. I was a child. Maybe that was the point. I had betrayed their trust in the most sordid and humiliating way. If there was anything that I held near and dear to my heart, and which remains the same today, is my unwavering respect for my parents.

This incident affected me deeply and from that moment on, I have gone out of my way (almost to a fault) to do the right thing and to never put my parents, or anyone that I care about, in an uncompromising or uncomfortable position.

Now, with my boyfriend’s children, I must see to it that it is I who is never put in an uncompromising or uncomfortable position. Ah, the circle of life. I know that the children aren’t mine, in the biblical sense, and I know that, just because I was a disrespectful hussy, it does not mean that the Girlfriend Mom daughter will be. I have my mothers steely look seared into my brain, and that alone ensures that there won’t be any sneaking down hallways, or co-ed sleepovers.

I know that this is a process, like everything else in this relationship. I’m confident that, as I become more comfortable around the kids, that my sphincter will release its grip. images-1

Do You Let Your Teenage Daughter Have Sleepovers with Her Boyfriend?

imagesWould 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.
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Bongs & Sensimilla & One-Hitters, Oh, My!

In my continued struggle with boundaries and appropriate parenting, I found myself at dinner last night with my boyfriend, his daughter and her boyfriend, talking about bongs, sensimilla and one hitters, oh my.

We began our family discussion with a summary of the television show, Breaking Bad, a show which I haven’t seen, but of which I learned was about a high school chemistry teacher, diagnosed with lung cancer, who turns to producing and selling methamphetamine so his family is taken care of when he dies. How noble.

This wasn’t the first time meth came up in a family discussion. I know, how lucky can I get. My boyfriend’s thirteen year old son plays an X-Box game called, Saints Row, that allows him to own shares in a crystal meth lab. We are so proud. What the F’ is going on out there? Whatever happened to Pac-Man, Centipede or the Super Mario Brothers?

I know this is naive of me and the times they have a changed but teaching kids how to invest in a meth lab?! Why not a brothel? A BDSM Dungeon? Crack House? Abortion clinic? Too far? The point is, what the F? But let’s return to last night’s dinner.

After my boyfriend and I were schooled on the profitability of a meth lab, we got on the topic of smoking pot, or as my parents liked to call it, grass. Adorable. My boyfriend’s daughter asked her father if he had ever smoked pot. I sat frozen in anticipation. Was he going to tell her the truth? And if he did, how much was he going to divulge? Oh, he went for it all right.

He told them how he used to smoke a lot before he got married, and how pot back then was so much better than it is today, and how he had a bad trip the last time he smoked, a few years ago. I threw up my hands. After all, if he didn’t have a problem with the subject matter, then why should I?

I regaled the kids with memories of the last time my boyfriend and I got stoned. “We were playing scrabble and then the ‘grass’ kicked in, and we had to stop. (Picture me gesticulating widely and smiling like a mental patient) So then we started eating! Ha! We couldn’t stop laughing. I think we got the pot from my brother’s friend. Oh, we laughed.” I’m not sure how I had the good sense to leave out the part where we hopped into bed and sucked face (and other body parts) until we passed out, but I did. See, boundaries.

Holy shit nuggets, I sounded like a complete ass. I was that 40-year old frat guy who’s still bragging about the time he got so wasted that he fell asleep on a neighbor’s driveway and it poured but he was so wasted that he didn’t even wake up.

I wanted to hurl myself into the french doors. Why were we talking about this with the kids? It wasn’t right. It felt weird. But in some perverse and messed up way, I wanted to share. Maybe it was the moment. Maybe it was the attention. Maybe I wanted to show them that dad and I were way cooler than her mom and her boyfriend. Real mature Girlfriend Mom.

Or maybe I still don’t know what I’m doing.