The question of who to talk to about sex has always been a difficult one for me to answer. I have always been close to my mother. Talking to her about boys, friendship problems and school stresses was never a problem. But the first time her lips ever spoke the word “sex” in front of me, my face became a flaming red orb of embarrassment. Her favorite place to bring up the subject was the car, while I, her captive student, was forced to listen to her wisdom on sex.

“The first time you have sex, it’s not going to be fun,” was her first warning. “It’s awkward, it’s embarrassing and trust me on this, it’s going to hurt.”

Well thanks, Mom.

But my favorite part of her speech was the ending, which was the same every time: “I know you’re going to decide to have sex one day, and before you do, I want you to come talk to me first. Promise me that.”

Sheepishly, I would make a half-hearted promise that I knew I would never keep. How could she ever expect me to do such a thing? How could she bear it herself?

“Mom, I just want you to know that tomorrow, while you’re shopping at Shop-Rite, I’ll be having sex for the first time. Just thought I’d let you know.”

I could talk to my mother about issues, but when it came to my own sexual relationships, I would rather have a root canal.

I did not find much relief at school, either. Our teacher traumatized the class when she attempted to demonstrate how to put a condom on a long light bulb and the entire thing shattered all over the floor. For the second half of the year, we were taught by a middle-aged man who felt the need to give us all the explicit details of his vasectomy, which involved some complications.

I was fortunate enough to have a very comprehensive sex education class. My teachers were effective at giving us the facts about sexually transmitted diseases, contraception, pregnancy and the like. But they were not the people I could go to with my questions: What was the emotional side of sex? Where do I go if I think I’ve been taken advantage of? What if I’m attracted to a girl?

I eventually broke my mother’s promise, and her heart, by telling her that I needed to go to the gynecologist. I had been having sex for a month, without her knowledge, and it was time to go to the doctor. Today I regret the fact that it was my doctor, and not me, who let my mother know the truth. While I was still in the exam room, Dr. Judy entered the waiting room and told my nervous mother that I was going on the Pill.

The car ride home did not involve a speech.

It was dark, cold and very, very quiet. My mother, white-knuckling the steering wheel, looked straight ahead and remained absolutely silent. I tried to play it cool by reaching down and turning on the radio. Within seconds my mother reached down and, without taking her eyes off the road, flicked it off again.

As we pulled into the driveway, I was ready to fling myself from the car before it even stopped moving. But my mother was finally ready to talk. She turned the car off, looked me right in the eye and said, “I just want you to know that I don’t think you’re stupid. You are a smart, beautiful girl, and I love you very much. I trust you entirely. And if you ever need anyone to buy you rubbers, I’m here for you.”

I’m not sure what shocked me more—my mother’s use of the word “rubbers” or her lack of anger and disappointment. It was from that moment on that I knew I could go to her.

While I am her daughter, my mother is aware that I am also a young woman who is constantly discovering new things about herself. By keeping the conversation light-hearted and humorous, I can ask her questions without feeling judged or guilty.

I am so grateful for a mom who lets me ask questions. And while sometimes she has to pause and get her bearings before answering, she always does answer, with the facts and a smile.

Want to read more stories from Sex, Etc. teen editors about talking to parents about sex and what they wish they'd learned in sex ed? Check out Karen, Yannick, and Joshua's stories.