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A    W E E K    L A T E R

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When my parents taught me about sex, the reproductive system and whatever, I was seven. They told me in very loose and age-appropriate terms what sex was: when a man and woman produce a child, or when same-sex couples want to be closer, Brookey. They didn't go into too much detail, but when I was ten, they got down to 'the nitty gritty' and told me what a penis was, what it did and how if I ever loved a man, or woman, that it was acceptable to do that, but only legally when I was sixteen. When I was eleven and about to start secondary school, they got a little more graphic.

They told me once about how the sexual revolution (or liberation) was a social movement in the 1960s until the eighties throughout the developed world. It started the acceptance of sex outside of 'normal' marriage between a man and a woman, with an increased acceptance of contraception, sex for fun, masturbation, porn, homosexuality, and abortion all becoming more spoken about and widely accepted. It was my mum who told me about how the Industrial Revolution in the nineteenth century brought about better contraception. It also brought about the development in technology and science which in turn led to a decline in religion, which led to modernisation and sexual freedoms and an increase in divorce.

Because of those conversations, I always grew up with a wide knowledge about contraception options, a non-judgemental and open approach to sex. I always knew that while my peers were learning that you couldn't have sex because it would always get you pregnant, or that condoms were always needed, I was learning that consent was always ambiguous and ever-changing, and sex was always best when you had a mutually beneficial respect.

They call it 'making love' but they only ever call it 'sex' when it's done casually, or between people who don't necessarily love each other. While love and passion can go hand in hand, my parents always taught me that sex can be fun and when both parties (or all parties in other cases) are clear. Love doesn't necessarily mean passion and vice versa.

When I turn around in bed and find myself cuddled up to Adam after our first night together ever, I realise that my parents weren't just trying to put me off sex, they meant something. Whenever I'd had sex before, be it casual or what I thought was love, it can make you feel happier and closer to someone. Now Adam and I have crossed that proverbial line, it makes me realise that we're now closer to each other than we have been since, well, since we met. It's love and passion rolled into one, though I loathe the saying making love, it's as close as I'll ever allow it to be.

"Are you still awake?" Adam whispers.

I glance at the clock: one in the morning.

"I am, but we've both got to be up for work—"

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