Give Me My Cookies

While I was made aware of sex and relationships and the potential consequences, physical and otherwise, from an early age, my parents didn't get too far into the "It can feel really good" portion of the discussion.  (They did like to make us squirm with the "It doesn't really get good til you're 40" comments, but I digress  And gag a little.)
Maybe because it was assumed I had already figured that out at some point between getting a time-out for kissing boys on the playground in kindergarten, getting a time-out for sitting on boys laps in 7th grade, or getting grounded at various points during high school for various boy-related violations.

Laundry Girl's mom apparently filled her in on that part too.  (Please click on that link, especially if you're a straight man.)  Wise, wise, wise words.  It's all about how everyone should get their cookies, and since the encounter usually has a way of winding down after the boy finishes his, that it's only appropriate and polite that he makes sure the girl gets hers first.

This may explain why LG was always one of my few friends who seemed to know the in's and out's (pun  intended) of getting down and dirty, not just the did-you-or-didn't-you technical details.  If I would have prescribed earlier to her Mom's way of thinking maybe I would have put up with much less poor-effort-sex over the last decade, and really, the less of that in the world the better.