Teenager Jerk
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Teenager Jerk
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Having never been a boy, I had no idea about all the weird shit boys do to get off. Even though I had a big brother, I wasn’t privy to the vast array of strange self-satisfying tools and tricks teenage boys have up their sleeves. That is, until I met my husband and he told me a hilarious story about why he loved climbing the pole at school.
“At first,” he explained, “I just climbed because I liked to see how fast I could get to the top. But one day when I climbed something weird happened. It felt really good. Like, so good I would make sure to climb that pole every morning and every lunch.”
Even as my own sons grew, I didn’t understand just how resourceful boys could be, until I questioned my then-12-year-old about why he had a giant box of condoms in his bedroom.
His hesitation should have been my first clue.
“Well, umm,” he said. “I use them to, uh, you know…”
“To what?” I asked. I had no idea what he was trying to say.
“Oh. Oh, well, OK,” was all I managed to say.
A week later, while out for drinks with my girlfriends, who also had teen boys, I asked if that was normal.
“I don’t know about condoms,” my friend Tammy said, “but I found out my son Charlie was using socks.”
“Socks?” I had never heard of boys sexualizing slippers.
“Yeah, socks. Your boys don’t do that?” Tammy asked. “Well, Charlie does. I swear I won’t even touch his laundry anymore. All it took was one time grabbing a sock that was hard as a rock and I was done. It was nasty!”
Learning about socks, and laughing my ass off watching the Bridesmaids scene where a mom describes cracking her son’s comforter, made me curious about what other means boys employ to get their (pun intended) socks off.
Naturally, I first turned to my husband and sons to learn more. I was in for a surprise with their answers.
Like machine gun fire, my eldest son listed his favorite masturbation props.
“Let’s see, there’s good old wadded-up toilet paper, towels, even shirts. Heck, I’ll use dirty laundry if it’s there. Whatever is within reach, really,” he shared. As he spoke, my younger son nodded his head emphatically.
“Anything else?” I asked. I was all business. Hey, who was I to judge? As a teen, I’d had an amorous moment or two with my favorite bottle of perfume, Love’s Baby Soft, which, if anyone remembers, was totally shaped like a dildo.
“OK, don’t laugh, but one time I put my penis in the vacuum hose,” my youngest said.
“While it was on?” I asked. I’d lost my deadpan expression the moment I picture my son losing his penis in a vacuuming accident.
“Yeah, but it was on low, don’t worry,” he reassured me. “It didn’t feel that good, so I only did it once.”
“Oh, what about paper towel rolls?” my oldest added. “And that time I used the cantaloupe?”
Even my husband was shocked at the cantaloupe revelation. Fruit. Really? I thought that was only a thing women in prison did.
“And the trash can,” my youngest said. Was nothing sacred?
By the end of our conversation, I had the idea that my sons, and probably all teenage boys, used anything and everything at their disposal to masturbate.
With my curiosity quelled, I had to wonder if my quest for knowledge was a worthy endeavor. Honestly, I’ll probably never look at a cantaloupe the same way again, but I am grateful I had this awkward, yet illuminating, discussion with my kids.
They felt confident enough to be real, knowing full well I would write this information and share it with the world. It may seem like too much for some parents, but talks like these let me know that my sons can truly be open with me about any subject, no matter how uncomfortable. Like, penis-in-a-vacuum uncomfortable. Ouch.
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Having never been a boy, I had no idea about all the weird shit boys do to get off. Even though I had a big brother, I wasn’t privy to the vast array of strange self-satisfying tools and tricks teenage boys have up their sleeves. That is, until I met my husband and he told me a hilarious story about why he loved climbing the pole at school.
“At first,” he explained, “I just climbed because I liked to see how fast I could get to the top. But one day when I climbed something weird happened. It felt really good. Like, so good I would make sure to climb that pole every morning and every lunch.”
Even as my own sons grew, I didn’t understand just how resourceful boys could be, until I questioned my then-12-year-old about why he had a giant box of condoms in his bedroom.
His hesitation should have been my first clue.
“Well, umm,” he said. “I use them to, uh, you know…”
“To what?” I asked. I had no idea what he was trying to say.
“Oh. Oh, well, OK,” was all I managed to say.
A week later, while out for drinks with my girlfriends, who also had teen boys, I asked if that was normal.
“I don’t know about condoms,” my friend Tammy said, “but I found out my son Charlie was using socks.”
“Socks?” I had never heard of boys sexualizing slippers.
“Yeah, socks. Your boys don’t do that?” Tammy asked. “Well, Charlie does. I swear I won’t even touch his laundry anymore. All it took was one time grabbing a sock that was hard as a rock and I was done. It was nasty!”
Learning about socks, and laughing my ass off watching the Bridesmaids scene where a mom describes cracking her son’s comforter, made me curious about what other means boys employ to get their (pun intended) socks off.
Naturally, I first turned to my husband and sons to learn more. I was in for a surprise with their answers.
Like machine gun fire, my eldest son listed his favorite masturbation props.
“Let’s see, there’s good old wadded-up toilet paper, towels, even shirts. Heck, I’ll use dirty laundry if it’s there. Whatever is within reach, really,” he shared. As he spoke, my younger son nodded his head emphatically.
“Anything else?” I asked. I was all business. Hey, who was I to judge? As a teen, I’d had an amorous moment or two with my favorite bottle of perfume, Love’s Baby Soft, which, if anyone remembers, was totally shaped like a dildo.
“OK, don’t laugh, but one time I put my penis in the vacuum hose,” my youngest said.
“While it was on?” I asked. I’d lost my deadpan expression the moment I picture my son losing his penis in a vacuuming accident.
“Yeah, but it was on low, don’t worry,” he reassured me. “It didn’t feel that good, so I only did it once.”
“Oh, what about paper towel rolls?” my oldest added. “And that time I used the cantaloupe?”
Even my husband was shocked at the cantaloupe revelation. Fruit. Really? I thought that was only a thing women in prison did.
“And the trash can,” my youngest said. Was nothing sacred?
By the end of our conversation, I had the idea that my sons, and probably all teenage boys, used anything and everything at their disposal to masturbate.
With my curiosity quelled, I had to wonder if my quest for knowledge was a worthy endeavor. Honestly, I’ll probably never look at a cantaloupe the same way again, but I am grateful I had this awkward, yet illuminating, discussion with my kids.
They felt confident enough to be real, knowing full well I would write this information and share it with the world. It may seem like too much for some parents, but talks like these let me know that my sons can truly be open with me about any subject, no matter how uncomfortable. Like, penis-in-a-vacuum uncomfortable. Ouch.
Before you go, check out our slideshow below:
The stories you care about, delivered daily.
SheKnows is a part of Penske Media Corporation. © 2022 SheMedia, LLC. All Rights Reserved.
Originally Published: Oct. 2, 2016
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Recently, I found myself thumbing through my son’s baby pictures in an effort to remind myself that, at one point in his life, he wasn’t a grumpy teenager. There used to be a time where he promised he’d marry me and build us a home right next to our actual house so I could visit his father whenever I wanted. There was a time when I was the moon to his stars, the Luke to his Leia, the peanut butter to his jelly. And, there was a time when his gym clothes didn’t make me gag into the garbage can.
But nowadays, my son, in all his teenage glory, can be a bit of an asshole. An eye-rolling, opinionated, “Mom is the village idiot” teenage asshole, to be specific. Almost overnight, he’s become an authority on everything, announces loudly in public that I’m embarrassing him, and hogs the entire couch when playing his video games. He has exactly zero patience with his little sister, and there are days when I can barely remember his squishy baby cheeks and toothless grin. And, for the record, if his toddler tantrums were any indication of how his teen years will go, I’m in for a bumpy ride.
Don’t get me wrong; he’s a great kid. Really. But, in those moments when he sets his acned jaw, crosses his arms, and rolls his eyes, his teenaged assholery makes me want to lose my mind. And, if I have any hope of surviving his attitude, his epic eye-rolling and his “know it all” mindset, I had to come up with some coping strategies.
Admittedly, this strategy is the least effective, but it’s definitely the most satisfying. When my teens are copping major ‘tudes, I mimic their behavior right back to them. Eye rolls? Mom can do that, too. Foot stomping? Oh, fun! I’ll play along! Storming out of the room with a door slam flourish? Yes, please, I’ll have another! When I’m employing this strategy, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t flip the bird to their backs as they storm up the stairs. Acting like a teenager is fun, dammit.
I save this method for the real asshole behavior — the situations in which my teen crosses so far over the line that I can envision her standing before a judge some day. In those moments, the gloves come off and I come out swinging (not actual swinging, relax everyone). I match them wit for wit, tone for tone, and I unleash the fires of mom hell from all angles. I hand out punishments and consequences faster than Rocky knocked out Apollo Creed and, by the time I’m done, even the referee is quaking in his boots.
In the last year, I’ve apparently become the most embarrassing mother on the entire planet, and it’s a role I wear with pride. If I’m friendly to my son’s buddies (and by “friendly” I mean “say hi”), I get an eyeroll and a “Stop it! You’re embarrassing me!” face. Whether I am volunteering at his school or just simply breathing, I cause him daily mortification. And unfortunately for him, I use it to my advantage. I turn the music up loudly in the car, sing ’80s songs when his friends are in the car, and I yell “I love you, sweetie” in a sing-song voice as he’s getting out of the car at drop off. And the time I broke it down to “Baby Got Back” at a neighborhood party in front of his friends as he died a thousand deaths from humiliation? Well, suffice it to say he knows I mean business when I tell him to shape up or I’ll break out my dance moves.
This method is self-explanatory. Because wine. Duh.
Sometimes, you gotta know when to fold ’em and just walk away. Yes, your teen may have been disrespectful, and yes, you may want to wring his neck, but you aren’t letting them win by walking away to regroup. Rather, you are giving yourself some much-needed time to restrain yourself from saying something you’ll regret like, “No electronics for a month!” or “You are grounded for a week!” Because a teen without his phone and social media is the assholiest of the assholes, amiright?
When all else fails, sometimes you have to force a smile and put on your best “Grin and Bear It” face. There are days when my teen’s asshole behavior threatens to get the best of me but I force myself to remember that the asshole years won’t last forever. My son won’t always be annoyed by my presence and my daughter won’t always look at me and spit out “Whatever” when I ask her to fold her laundry. And, though I may be gritting my teeth as I force my smile, I find that it’s actually quite effective in scaring my teens just the tiniest bit. I call it my “Mom Might Lose Her Shit At Any Minute” smile. It keeps them on their toes.
When all else fails, when you don’t have the patience to grin and bear it, or when you can’t find the strength to go Rocky Balboa on your teen, just be quiet. Stop what you are doing and listen to what your teen is saying. Really hear their angst and take yourself back to the time when you were convinced that your parents were the dumbest bricks on the planet. Let yourself be reminded that what your teen is feeling is not only valid bu
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