Family Nude Sex Stories
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Family Nude Sex Stories
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When You Love Your Partner But Not The Sex
Sealed Section
What's Your Number?
The Prude & The Pornstar
Introducing Lowbrow: Zac Efron & The 2012 Condom Incident
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Having your children catch you having sex is – or indeed should be – every parent’s worst nightmare.
My supersonic hearing apparently didn’t work too well this morning. It was 5:30 am(!!!!). Our bedroom door was closed and we thought we’d enjoy a little adult mud wrestling – without the mud, slutty clothes or actual wrestling.
My mummy superhero hearing knew to listen out for the creaking of floorboards, the little ‘tap tap tap’ on the door, followed by “mummy, daddy – good morning” announcement that we’ve taught them to be overly conspicuous with.
Listen: Holly Wainwright and Andrew Daddo talk about tackling the sex talk with kids, on our podcast for imperfect parents. Post continues after audio.
Out of habit I randomly throw my eyes towards our door, turn my head to the side (which can be incredibly awkward depending on positioning) and listen. Normally it’s a nope, no kids. Door still closed. All good.
I turned my head to look at the door and it’s WIDE OPEN. This is the ONE morning our kids decide to be stealth ninjas. I threw the husband off (and out) and then hear our girls whispering because THEY’RE STANDING ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE OPEN DOOR!
They’ve obviously opened the door , seen Dad’s nude bits on Mum and then quietly retreated to stand on the other side of the open door to work out what to do.
We looked at each other with horrified expressions while yanking the doona up to preserve what little modesty remained. Talk about closing the gate after the horse has bolted.
Yeah well, we did too 30 seconds ago but you just royally screwed the pooch on that one kids. So, hugs and kisses and the kids leave the room. We both just looked at each other with a combo deal of horror and amusement – OK, 99 per cent horror. We both optimistically (and stupidly) hoped there was a chance they didn’t see anything.
My husband went out to see all three kids and was immediately met with our seven-year-old.
“Dad, why weren’t you wearing any clothes?”
“I was just about to get out of bed,” he said.
“And what were you doing to Mummy?”
“Ummm, Mummy was cheeky and I was wrestling with her.”
“But why weren’t you wearing any clothes while you were wrestling her?”
“Um, Daddy, has to go to get ready for work now….”
I lay there mortified but also grateful that he was on the receiving end of these questions. I just lay there praying to the Big Man upstairs that our kids wouldn’t go to their Catholic school with stories of their parents’ nude wrestling.
When I walked out, the first question I received was… “Mum, why were you and Daddy wrestling in the nude this morning?”. As my child asked this, our second (nine years old) smirked and did some weird hip gyration that will unsettle me for the rest of my life.
I responded the only mother way I could think of.
“OK kids, let's get breakfast, help me with the lunches, get dressed, find your shoes etc…”
I must have rambled for two minutes with a list of chores and the avoidance tactic worked.
Next time we’ll barricade the stupid frickin' door.
This post originally appeared on Rock Star Mums Drink Champagne . You can follow Fiona on Facebook here .
There is something called a latch, and it goes on a door.
What... a... missed... opportunity.
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In September 2000 my daughter was nearly 13 and had just started secondary school. She had always got on well with other children and worked hard. But after a couple of months things began to change. She started wearing lots of make-up. The school was a stone's throw away, but friends began calling for her as early as 7.30am. Next my older daughter spotted her hanging about in the local park with some lads from school who introduced the girls they befriended to older boys and men. I was very alarmed. Then she started missing certain lessons, sometimes whole days.
When she started disappearing overnight, I trawled the streets looking for her. I had no control over her. Sometimes she would say she was going to have an early night, then she'd turn on the shower and climb out the bathroom window. Once when she disappeared, I went through the park looking for her and asked a teenage boy if he'd seen her. I was horrified when he said, "Yes, all the prostitutes hang out by the bowling green."
I confronted my daughter. "That's not true," she said. "Those boys are my boyfriends."
As far as she was concerned, she was doing what she wanted to do and I was hindering her. Money didn't seem to be changing hands, but the girls were getting drink and drugs and mobile phones. The men flattered them into believing they loved them as part of a process of grooming them to have sex with lots of different men, some in their 30s and 40s. People ask me why I use the word "grooming" rather than referring to them as paedophiles, but most of these men haven't been convicted.
I felt as if my daughter was sliding away from me and I'd never be able to get her back. Every minute of every day became a nightmare. I couldn't eat, sleep or function properly, and I could see no way back. Every time she disappeared, I thought I'd never see her alive again. If a girl is over 13, she has to be the complainant in a case of sexual assault. Because this was happening outside the house, there was nothing I could do. The worst thing, as a mother, was not being able to prevent my daughter from being abused.
At the end of 2001, a year after her first disappearance, I put her into care. She didn't want to go, but I could no longer cope. My lowest point was the first time I visited her. Seeing her and having to walk away was unbearable. Everything exploded while she was in care, and I had a breakdown.
My nephew killed himself unexpectedly during this time. My daughter and I attended the funeral, and were both extremely upset. Afterwards, I took my daughter firmly by the shoulders and said to her, "You'll never know how many times I thought I'd be going to your funeral."
Then I walked away. She seemed to turn some sort of corner that day, and so did I. She started to realise what she was doing to herself and I could see for the first time that she needed me. I think I had to feel as low as it was possible to feel before I found the strength to fight what was happening to her and other girls.
I started campaigning with Ann Cryer, the MP for Keighley, for a change in the law to make hearsay evidence admissible in grooming cases, a change we secured last year. I'm proud of what I achieved and my daughter is proud of me, too.
After two years in care, she came back to live with me, went back to college, got qualifications. At times she feels down about what happened to her, which she now recognises as abuse. Last year Channel 4 made a programme about the grooming issue in this area and, although some white men were involved, the BNP hijacked it as a race issue: Asians exploiting white girls. I was furious because this is not a race issue.
The men live locally and we see them from time to time. They call my daughter names, and me, too, if I'm with her. I say to them, "I'm not frightened of any of you." My daughter calls out, "I've moved on with my life and it's a shame you can't move on with yours." Our relationship is better than it has ever been. We talk to each other and if she goes out with friends, she leaves a note on the fridge telling me where she's gone and when she'll be back. It's fantastic to get those notes.
· Do you have a story to tell? Email: experience@theguardian.com
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