Origins of My Values and Beliefs

Introduction

Sex, whether as a subject of conversation or the actual act, is a topic that everyone has broached or thought about at many stages in their lives. For most of us it is a daily occurrence, we often think of it more often than we do about grocery lists, term paper assignments, rent payments, etc. It is one of the all consuming thoughts that a basic individual cannot shake or disavow, as it will almost always be there. Most of us have found ourselves at some point or another thinking about various sexual aspects, but rarely do we take the time to step back from the situation and ponder why we have the views we have or consider how they came to be. Opinions on sex and the practices and culture involved with the subject matter are as wide and varied as the individuals carrying them out. Self discovery is a hugely under utilized tool in figuring out who you are, especially in the sexual realm. Part of my goal in this is to deconstruct my opinions to figure out why I think the way I do and how it compares to society as a whole.

Discussion of Sexuality Issues

Sex Organs of the opposite gender. Growing up I distinctly remember associating the vagina with anything and everything that was delicate, sacred, etc. Teachers and parents would remind girls to keep their legs closed in school, and when asked why they would explain that it is unladylike thing to do. Girls would be reprimanded for climbing on the monkey bars in elementary school if they were wearing a skirt as it offered up a view to every wandering eye on the playground. While the boys had carte blanche to do and say what they wanted (within reason), the girls were chastised for giving the boys a possible glance between their legs.

All of this alluded to the fact that what they possessed was something that was not to be shown off for the world to see, and if it had been, you were somehow defective or undesirable. I must have been around six years old or so, and had heard for what seemed like forever from my older brother varying “facts” about vaginas ranging from the simple and mundane (they’re scary looking) to downright frightening (they would chop off my penis if I ever had sex). The pictures I had seen in a friend’s Hustler magazine almost confirmed the first one and I was too scared to even approach anyone about the second.

Thus far everything I had heard or seen indicated that the vagina was this mysterious part of a girl that no one should see and if they did there was going to be trouble. It was only while playing doctor with a neighbor (“I have one of these, you don’t…” and vice versa) did I discover that while vaginas were obviously different, they aren’t anything to fret about. After learning about the reproductive process and what it really entails I because infatuated with learning the most I could, wherever I could. The vagina took on a whole new light, it was no longer just something I didn’t have, it was something that could create life (an idea that I think a lot of men still have a hard time getting over). At the end of the day, I have a healthy respect for the vagina (and monkey bars).

Sex organs of your own gender. I’m reminded of a friend who, after a couple of margaritas and a recent breakup, declared that “penises and those…things…balls…are just ugly”. While she is entitled her own opinion, and hers is one held by many, I think men have gotten a bad wrap as a gender. Vaginas cultivate images of soft flowing satin, delicate flowers, chaste and innocence in every shape and form, while men are stuck with “penises…those things…ugh...ugly”.

Dicks come in every size, color, shape, curve, length, etc one could imagine. Having spent a good portion of my life in a locker room I’ve seen things that can only be described as simultaneously shocking and hilarious. That the culture we as a society bred screams that if you look at another man’s unit you’re a “homo” is ridiculous. We all have one, we’ve all seen one before, and we’ll see them again. The only one that should matter is the one attached to you. From the ages of five to eight, like millions of other boys across the world, my hand was down my pants constantly. There wasn’t intent to do anything, there wasn’t any sexual attachment involved (I don’t think), it was simply where I had my hands when I wasn’t using them. I suppose you could say it was the beginning of one of the best relationships I’ll ever have in life.

The best way I could describe my stance on male sex organs is one of apathy and narcissism. The only one I’m concerned with is my own, and I would opine that people who subject themselves to pointless comparisons while worrying about their stance in the world as