Plan A should have been to use a condom. Obviously, right? However, when there is a situation where power is usurped by the other partner, how can a form of healthy sexuality be present- including condom use? If one party is exerting control upon the other, why should they use protection? They’re in charge. The repercussions don’t matter to them. They may never see the other person again.

I always knew about sexual safety. I completed comprehensive sexuality education in school. My parents had open discussions with me about sex. I voraciously read through all the sexual education books my mother bought for me. Therefore, I am impervious to sexual violence and shame about sexuality, right? So I thought.

The evening began as a girls’ night out in Florence, Italy. We went to a dance club and enjoyed ourselves. I met an attractive Italian man and made a coherent decision to go back with him to his place. I wanted to get laid. This part was in my control and was a planned event. So was I really raped if I had decided to go to his apartment with the intention of having sex? The gray area only lies with those who do not understand what rape truly is. Rape is nonconsensual sex. Period. That night had begun with consent, but ended in rape.

He did not have a condom. I did not have a condom. (Side note- I always carry condoms on me after that night). I refused to have sex with him and wanted to go back to my hostel. He forced himself upon me and ejaculated inside me twice over the course of the night. I couldn’t do anything; I couldn’t move; I couldn’t think, nor did I know where I was. No power or control was in my hands; no neurotransmitters made it from my brain to my body to move myself. It still astonishes me how I transformed so quickly from an educated, headstrong woman to just a body.

This is not the shameful part. This was between me and this man. I knew that when I told my friends what happened, they would support me, and I would move on from this event. The part that was truly shameful, that I can remember extremely clearly, were the events of next day.

I traversed the city of Florence, looking for a pharmacy in order to get emergency contraception. After entering a small pharmacy, with one older woman standing at the desk, hoping that she understood English, I calmly asked her for Plan B. Not understood. I tried “emergency contraception”, and “the morning after pill”, and she returned a disparaging look that felt as if she instantly labeled me as an American slut. She simply said “ospidale” (hospital). I walked out of the pharmacy into the bright sunshine and came to face with the famous Duomo. I never since have been able to appreciate the beauty of the Duomo due to the deep shame she instilled in me, which forced me to associate fear and negativity with this stunning historic structure.

The self castigation and shame only worsened at my visit to the hospital. I didn’t understand why getting Plan B warranted a visit with a doctor. Did I have to be judged for the ability to receive this medication? I sat in the waiting room with the other patients who were sneezing, wheezing, and coughing. I felt as if I was also being viewed as having an illness by placing me with these physically sick people. The doctor called me in and talked to me for about two minutes about when I had had sex and wrote me a prescription. He hardly looked at me. I had to shell out 50 Euros for this brief, and in my opinion, unnecessary, visit.

Shame had morphed into anger. On the trek to another pharmacy, I didn’t notice the beautiful weather, architecture, language, or wafting smells of food from cafes on the way. I simply felt judged and irritated with the system, as well as increasingly angry at myself for putting myself in this situation. For the first time, I felt so alone and coated in shame for being a sexual being taking care of myself. As I handed the prescription over to the pharmacist, I got the same judgmental look as I did from the first pharmacist. He took his time filling the prescription, and handed the Plan B over disapprovingly, without exercising discretion by putting it in a bag in a full store. “Everyone look at the American whore buying Plan B”, the act denoted.

You may assume that all of this judgment is based on the fact that I was in a foreign country, rather than in the United States. I didn’t find it to be much different here. I had to buy Plan B with a partner of mine once. We discussed it first and planned to split the cost. Yet, when we arrived at the local CVS, my partner disappeared somewhere in the store, leaving me by myself at the counter. There was no shared responsibility for contraception in this situation, or in the situation in Italy in taking care of the repercussions of unprotected sex. I was alone with the pharmacist’s judgment. Again. Buying Plan B by myself. Again. The pharmacist gave me the exact same look as had the pharmacist in Italy. I knew I was doing the responsible thing, and was relieved to be able to buy Plan B over the counter. What right did she have, as a medical provider, to make any judgment on the medication I picked up? Would she give the same look to someone buying cigarettes or even prescription hemorrhoid cream? I doubt it.

This situation involves sex. It defines me as a sexual person. As a slut. Just the fact that I was sexually active somehow offended these people. What did they know about my story? When I never had shame of being a sexual being before, I now felt embarrassed and insecure.

Now I work at Planned Parenthood. We give out emergency contraception with a smile, instructions, and a hefty discount. No judgment. I can feel each person’s discomfort ease as we happily answer, “Sure! I’ll grab that for you right now!” I don’t think they were expecting a smile and sincere friendliness when purchasing something that implied a mistake on their part. When someone comes in for emergency contraception, I remember my negative, shameful experiences and try to make a supposedly embarrassing purchase as easy and quick as possible. And all with a smile.

By: brazenbonbon

“Never have I ever had a mirror above my bed,” my sister says as she glances at our father and smirks, referencing his sex, drugs, and rock and roll period during the Seventies.
My sister’s friends laugh as they spoon more rice and chicken onto their plates.
“Come on Dad, I know you have; Grandpa told us at Thanksgiving!” I say. Everyone cracks up and my dad puts one of his fingers down.
Not a typical Friday night Shabbat dinner for most families. Especially playing “Never Have I Ever” (“Ten Fingers”).
My mother begins each Shabbat discussion by saying, “no sex talk, no bathroom talk, and no swearing,” though she knows all three parameters will be violated by the end of the hour. We’ll dive into a political discussion in which I always, somehow bring up the topic of prostitution, condom use, STD facts, etc. As an aspiring sex educator, I read articles about sexuality all the time because the subject fascinates me. It would be impossible for me not to bring up these topics at dinnertime to educate and discuss with those closest to me- my family.

Mine has always been extremely open about sexuality. Though my sister and brother resisted the sex talks and books my parents offered, I voraciously read through “Our Bodies, Ourselves” and “Asking about Sex and Growing Up” (Cole, 1988) that my parents gave me. Though they didn’t know I masturbated to many of the articles and educational illustrations in those books. My parents always asked if we had any questions about sex or our bodies as we were going through puberty and horny teenager-hood. Luckily for me, they never insinuated that sex was bad, or dirty. Once, my mother walked in on me masturbating when I was fourteen. Even though it was one of the most embarrassing moments of my teenaged life, she handled it well; saying sorry and walking out. The next day, she asked me if I had any questions as I shook my head “no” and pretended it never happened.

I thrive on the opportunity to educate them. When they found out my 13 year old brother had looked up porn on the computer, I was able to tell them not to chastise him and that it is normal for a teenager to want to explore their sexuality and to be curious. When I first discovered internet porn (what an amazing thing!) at 12, my parents made me feel embarrassed and that it was wrong to look at porn by grounding me and taking away my computer privileges. I didn’t want my brother to ever feel that way.

My mother has only ever been judgmental about the fact that I’m “promiscuous” but it only gives me more of a chance to educate her about modern relationships and how women should not be judged for their number of partners because men aren’t.
One morning, my mother, sister, and I had brunch. Together, my sister and I explained to my mother how now, there are so many gray areas in relationships. It could be anywhere from “fuck buddies” (not that we could use the word fuck in front of her) to “boyfriends”. Because of our honest and open relationship that many don’t have, we were able to bring our mother up to date on modern society and how freeing yet confusing it is.
My father, on the other hand, never judges me for my sexuality, nor brings it up, because he knows he has no right to when he was “promiscuous” himself as a young man.

Being the oldest sibling of a 14 year old brother and a 16 year old sister has put me in the position of talking and joking with them about sex. They are both extremely uncomfortable discussing these things in a non-joking manner with my parents. I am always more than happy to answer their questions or their friends’ questions about sex. They in turn, have grown comfortable and know they can come to me about these things.
That Shabbat night, as I walk through the room as my sister and her friends sit on the couch, one says, “Can I ask you a sex question?”
I grin and answer ecstatically, “Of course you can; I love sex questions!” They know this, and forever after launch immediately into the questions.
“If a guy has a big penis when he’s soft, will he be huge when he’s hard?” (Short answer- no.)
“Have you ever had a threesome?” (Yes.)
“Can your hymen be broken by dry humping?” (Probably not, and it has potentially already been broken by bike riding, exercising, masturbating, etc.)
And after a joke about my brother masturbating into a sock, I reassure them that EVERYONE masturbates and that is normal and healthy to.
Each of these questions that these teenagers are asking and not learning in sex-ed or learning incorrect information from their friends reaffirms my aspiration to go into sex education.

I see the direct repercussions of families not discussing sex with their children through my friends. J’s parents never talked about sex with her growing up, or even now as an adult. Every time my other friends laugh and joke about sex around her, J is quiet and uncomfortable (that’s changed now that she’s been friends with me for so long). Sex intimidates her, and she is not in touch at all with her own sexuality, nor has she ever masturbated. I explain to her that masturbation is normal, and she can’t have a healthy sex life without knowing her own body and how it works.
Because one of my goals in life is to help people have great sex, I can’t help but wonder how many people don’t because their parents were never open about sex. How they feel shame when they touch themselves because their parents told them it was sinful or wrong. How young women will get pregnant because they don’t know to use condoms because their parents didn’t stress safe sex or only taught abstinence. How they never learn to communicate about sex with their partner because it was never ingrained in them when they were young. How sex is embarrassing to them. For sure, it’s never embarrassing for my siblings and me. At night, once my parents have gone to sleep, one of us always notices if their door is closed. “Mom and dad are having sex,” we’ll say, and we’ll all laugh.