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We didn't have classes in sex education when I attended a Catholic senior high school in the 1950s. We learned all about it from more knowledgeable boys. Not only was there no sex education, there is almost no consummated sex.
That is not really to say we didn't discuss sex, or dream of it, or plan means of getting it.
We Catholic boys operated under strict guidelines and prohibitions trained by the priests and nuns: We had been strictly to avoid "occasions of sin." Those were entertainments and areas where you understood you could be tempted to consider sexual sin as something pleasurable.
Movies with suggestive moments, of course, could possibly be an occasion of sin. Pinup photos of scantly clad women were not to be ogled. BUT if you accidentally saw a girl in a bra in a magazine, no sin. HOWEVER, if having turned the page, you should flip back again it to be able to lecherously gaze on that picture, you had been guilty of the sordid sin of lust.
That was just the preliminaries. Intercourse beyond marriage had not been only an extremely serious sin, a little brief of premeditated murder, but if you seduced a girl and awakened her sexual desires, you were responsible for all the sexual sins She'd commit thereafter. We'd a lot of obligations and guilt.
It had been a common belief among we males that females had little interest in sex and recognized it in marriage only out of a feeling of duty and a desire to have got children. The majority of the ladies we knew did little to disabuse us of this misconception.
Teachings about sex weren't much different than they are today. We were trained that sex was intended only for marriage. In the event that you truly loved a woman you waited until after that and you stayed with her and cared for her the rest of your life. After the wedding, not only was the stain of sin and guilt removed, but it became a way of getting grace in the sight of God. Sex wasn't as free then as it is now, but I'm uncertain we missed all that much.
Our classes never went into information on what intercourse was. Matter of fact, a few of the nuns didn't appear to know very well what intercourse was, at least not in the sense we lewdly think of it. A female friend of mine told of going to senior high school at a boarding college run by nuns for the reason that period. If you liked this write-up and you would like to get a lot more facts pertaining to Jenna Ross kindly stop by our web-page. The nuns, she said, thought of intercourse in its lesser used meaning of discussion between two individuals. So, a posted register the lounge of the woman's dorm mentioned: "Intercourse between men and women will be permitted in this lounge just between 7 and 10 p.m."
At a higher school reunion a few years ago, one of my female classmates, by then a grandmother, told me that when she was in senior high school "virgin" to her designed only the Virgin Mary. So, whenever a raunchy boy from a open public high school asked her "Are you a virgin?" she shook her mind, puzzled. "Of course not. Do you think I'm the Mom of God?"
F--k was used as an expletive by boys and men, since it is today, also before we knew what it meant. But it was rarely found in public or in an excellent home. It was a word found in men's' bars, in the plant and in the army and navy. It had been never applied to the stage or in movies and hardly ever in books. It had been never used by a gentleman before young ladies or women.
Given that history, the next story, told if you ask me by a gray-haired Catholic senior high school graduate, is credible:
As a teenager, she gave a far more sexual smart acquaintance - a public school girl - a lift in her car.
"You know what I want at this time? An excellent f--k," said the girl.
My friend wasn't sure what she intended but she tried to be generous.
"We're coming to a drug store. I'll stop and buy you one."

Many of high school companions were uncertain and highly imaginative about sexual matters. For instance, there have been many arguments and wagers made about where babies came out. Many of us kept to the idea that it arrived of a woman's stomach button, that burst open up on delivery time expelling the baby. The button was then sterilized and taped or sewn back again together by doctors or midwives - that was why, in the movies, females assisting at births generally needed buckets of warm water.
That theory was especially believable because my mother was shocked when ladies in the films exposed their belly key. It was incorrect, she said, because that's where infants were attached if they were born.
Those were the times before sex was perfected. (That didn't happened before past due 1960s - in a workshop at Berkeley.) Since sex was still in its early, primitive stages, it's not surprising that people were similarly ignorant about the technology behind conception.

The basic matter of sex, whether a girl "released" was the major focus of our thoughts and conversations. Smoking cigarettes was an nearly certain indication. If a woman smoked, she had been rebellious and was likely to be liberal in sexual matters. Unfortunately, several Catholic young ladies we knew smoked.
Dillworth, our professional on commercial sex, held that girls got muscular hip and legs by screwing. A girl with muscular legs was either a devoted bicyclist or a whore.
In senior high school my interest in young ladies was intense. I was aroused looking at partly clothed feminine bodies.
The local newspaper regularly printed photos of well-endowed females in swim suits or shorts and restricted fitting sweaters.
I was denied leading portion of the paper where all the war information was printed. My mother believed it would be as well upsetting for a young boy.
Being denied a look at the war news was not that very much of a concern to me. I was pleased with the back sections. That's where Ernie Pyle and the girly photos had been. I cut the images out along with sizzling photos from the magazine ads so I could commit the sin of lust within my leisure.
I hid the photos behind a large picture of the Virgin Mary hanging on the wall of my space. I saved so many that the back bulged.
One day my mother came in my room to dust and search. She bumped the Virgin's picture and the erotic clippings exploded from the back of portrait and cascaded down the wall structure onto the floor.
My mother was horrified. She offered me a few hard slaps, forbade me to visit a movie or listen to the radio for per month and insisted that I make an Act of Contrition aloud immediately and go to confession as soon as possible.
"We didn't teach you immoral things such as this," she observed.
True enough. Wickedness came naturally if you ask me. The devil experienced me in his power.

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