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September 14, 2022 at 2:30pm PM EDT

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“They’re making babies down there,” my brother told my mom after walking in on me and a friend fooling around. Little did I know that he was right. That was the day I conceived my first child. I was only 16 .
My mother was blasting Al Green like she did every Sunday when she cleaned the house. “No, we weren’t,” I tried to assure her, but I doubt she believed me. I was usually pretty open about my sex life with her. She had known for quite some time that I was sexually active. I probably could’ve just told her the truth, like I had many times before, but this time was different from the rest. This time I did it in her house, and my heart was still racing from the excitement.
You’d think the experience of being a teen mom would make me want to keep all boys at least 10 feet away from my daughter, or at least ban boys from her room. Certainly, I don’t want her to go through what I did as a teen mom. I want her to wait until she’s ready to experience motherhood on her own terms, until she’s lived life for herself at least a little bit.
But I know that trying to keep teens from having sex is impossible. If they want to have sex, they’ll find a way. I know this because I remember being a teen. I remember a dark moonlit bedroom not being a requirement for fooling around. I remember taking advantage of my boyfriend’s parents being at work. I remember the sex in parked cars, the park and garages. And I remember not being the exception — almost all of my friends were having sex.
Banning boys from spending the night wouldn’t have prevented my teen pregnancy. It won’t protect my daughter either. Not from pregnancy, or the other potential consequences of unsafe sex. If my daughter were to engage in unsafe sex with a person of any gender, she could contract an STD or STI. It would be completely irresponsible of me to ignore the possibility that my daughter isn’t heterosexual. If I am worried about boys, I should be equally worried about girls. It’s either no one can spend the night, or everyone can.
That’s the logic I used when I asked my mother at 15 to have a good friend who happened to be male sleep over.
“You realize I could be sleeping with my girlfriends when they spend the night, right?” I remember asking her. I identified as bisexual at the time, and she knew it. But I could tell she had never even considered the possibility that my girlfriends were anything more than friends.
“Well, if he’s just a friend and you trust him, I’ll trust you.”
My mom trusted me. After that day, she often let me have boys spend the night. Every male friend I had knew what my bedroom looked like. And although it may seem counterintuitive, this is what she did right. She understood and listened. She never judged or punished me for being sexual. She believed me when I told her that a boy was just a friend and nothing sexual would happen if he spent the night. She created an environment where talking about sex was natural.
But despite her trust in me, she also failed me. She never talked to me about safe sex . I don’t know why. Perhaps she intended to but didn’t know how, or maybe she trusted I was getting accurate information somewhere else. She never once mentioned birth control or condoms; she just vaguely mentioned staying safe a few times.
And it’s not that I didn’t know birth control existed; I did. I just didn’t know how to ask for it. Every time I confessed my sexual activity to her, I hoped she would offer to get me the pill, buy me condoms, and teach me about safe sex with both girls and boys. I wanted her to teach me how to be assertive and insist protection be used. But she never did.
I won’t fail my daughter the same way. She’ll have my trust and guidance. She already knows about my own experiences and that I could never be mad at her for being sexual. I’ll give her support and information. She can have boys and girls spend the night just like I did as a teen, but unlike me, she’ll have access to condoms, birth control and information about STIs and STDs. The conversation about sex will be ongoing and comprehensive.
I know I can’t stop her from having sex, but at least I can help her stay safe.
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What makes for a great sex film? We reveal the best sex scenes ever committed to celluloid, from lesbian dramas to gritty portrayals of sex addiction
Welcome to a countdown of the greatest sex films ever made about the small but preoccupying part of the human experience known as sex - from coming-of-age lesbian dramas to gritty portrayals of sex addiction to, erm, loincloths.
Put simply: these are the sex movies with the most to say about doing it, charting a history of how our attitudes towards sex and nudity on the big screen have shifted through the decades.
So get comfy - well, not too comfy - and enjoy.
Art house movies. We get it. They do sex. That's their thing. From Swedish nudes in 1953 ( Summer with Monika ) to the butter-based penetration of 1972 ( Last Tango in Paris ) to crazy irascible beach-side sessions in 1986 ( Betty Blue ), nothing screams "art house" more than a smartly directed and gamely acted sex scene. Then came Blue is the Warmest Colour .
The film, which won the Palme d'Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 2013, wiped away everything that had gone before it. The hideous rape of Monica Bellucci in Irreversible (2002)? The grimly determined humping from Japanese 1976 classic In the Realm of the Senses ? All gone. Faded in comparison. Plus, it was gay sex. So it made the cutesy girl-on-girl action in Bound (2006) and Mulholland Drive (2001) seem dubious and cheap.
Instead, what it gave us was two young and relatively untested actresses, Léa Seydoux and Adèle Exarchopoulos, deftly describing, in the grim northern French town of Lille, the heady emotional rushes and sudden power shifts of an emerging relationship. Looks are exchanged, picnics are arranged, kisses are traded and then everything grinds to a halt at approximately one hour and 11 minutes into the movie, when director Kechiche and his two lead actresses deliver the type of jaw-to-the-floor sex scene that has subsequently raised the movie-sex bar to insane heights of verisimilitude and has pushed the literal definition of "simulated" to breaking point.
For here, over seven long breathy, sweaty, brightly-lit minutes, we run the unapologetic gamut of licking, sucking, squeezing, fingering, rimming, ramming, slamming, and general slithery, grindy, intercrural mayhem.
The scene has many detractors including the actresses themselves, who famously rounded on their director: Seydoux said making it was "horrible" and she would "never" work with Kechiche again. Once the film began sweeping up during the 2013 awards season, however, they recanted and said that they were "happy" with it. And yet, look at the scene now, within the movie, and away from the hype, and it doesn't play too well. It's crudely lit. It's brazen, and yet also crass. And what it says, in its many nipple shots, arse close-ups, and vaginal teases, is that perhaps all sex scenes, no matter how well-intended, or how groundbreaking and profound, are inherently, well, kind of sleazy.
When it comes to the millennial generation’s defining coming-of-age movies, Clueless has a lot to answer for. The success of the teen-centred Emma adaption inspired a frenzied craze for remaking celebrated centuries-old classics as cheeky modern high-school romps. Twelfth Night became She’s the Man , A Midsummer Night’s Dream became Get Over It , Pygmalion became She’s All That and The Taming of the Shrew became 10 Things I Hate About You . And Dangerous Liaisons became the most excitedly whispered-about pulpy teen sex drama of the decade – the one where Buffy the Vampire Slayer seduces her step-brother with the never-to-be-forgotten offer: “You can put it anywhere”.
If the template’s central attraction lay in the playful contrast between the teen-movie genre and the scholarly source material, then Cruel Intentions mined this for all it was worth: lowering the tone, upping the vulgarity, and telling its steamy story with gleefully frivolous tone. Depending on your age, it appealed as either thrillingly grown-up drama or hilariously guilty-pleasure trash.
But while the film’s promotional material featured its stars in skimpy outfits and the picnic-scene kiss between Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair became an early (and much-parodied) viral sensation, the film’s raunchiest moments were all verbal ones. It’s real turn-on was a screenplay that ran the full gamut from suggestive to risqué to laugh-out-loud outrageous.
For the army of enraptured 12-year-olds who got their hands on a VHS copy, this bawdy verboseness lent the film a sophisticated, adult sensibility. Looking back now, of course, Cruel Intentions is about as openly adolescent as they come (“How are things down under?” our pervy protagonist asks Blair on her return from Australia). The screenplay’s trump card, though, was less its racy content than its sheer unrepentant spirit: it was appealing to randy teenagers via cheap means, and it didn’t mind admitting it.
In many ways this unashamed juvenilia made it an infinitely more mature film than something like Closer, which five years later lured in the same generation of kids via the same brand of smut-tastic dialogue, but this time did so while masquerading as Serious Grown-Up Drama.
"You know what your problem is?" Reece Witherspoon tells a chastened Ryan Philippe in Cruel Intentions . "You take yourself way too seriously." Nothing could be less true of the film itself – and therein lay its brilliance.
A longing romance between human and non-human has been a surprisingly frequent feature of Hollywood cinema since King Kong turned on the charm with Fay Wray back in 1933. Since then we've had romances between human and amphibian ( The Shape of Water ), human and shop-window dummy ( Mannequin ), and human and inflatable sex doll ( Lars and the Real Girl ). And when it comes to human and computer programme, well, Weird Science , Electric Dreams and S1m0ne have all tackled that from one angle or other.
But while all those movie all tended towards the fantastical or comedic, Spike Jonze's 2013 film is notable for playing its central romance – between a depressed divorcee and his Alexa-like virtual assistant – almost totally straight.
Despite sounding like the plot of an unbearably quirky absurdist comedy, Her comes about as close to a genuine romantic drama as its premise permits. The relationship between Joaquin Phoenix’s miserable Theodore and his husky-voiced operating system (Scarlett J
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