"Don't do it, or God cries."That was the entire sex ed curriculum at my private Christian school.My sister Jane went there too.
So when Jane and her three best friends, Mila, and the twins Sara and Sam, came over for a girls' night at my parents' house, I assumed it'd be innocent fun. Junk food. Board games. Maybe a sleepover rom-com.
We had snacks. Laughed until we snorted soda. Played a cursed game of Uno that nearly ended friendships.
Then we went downstairs to start a movie.
Except… we never made it to the movie.
Somewhere between choosing The Princess Diaries and fluffing pillows, the air shifted. One of the twins, probably Sam, the bolder of the two, side-eyed me and said:
"Hey, uh… can I ask you something kinda weird?"
I said, "Sure."
Sam glanced at the others. They gave her the "do it" nod.
"Like… what does it actually feel like?"
The room went silent.
Sara gasped. Mila turned red. Jane pretended to die.
And then I blinked. "You mean…?"
"IT it," Sam clarified.
"THE it," Sara echoed.
Mila covered her face with a pillow. "Oh my gosh we're going to hell."
"No, you're not," I said, trying to be the calm, cool big sister while my own eyebrows were trying to escape my forehead.
Thus began The Talk™.
They asked everything.
Mila, the quietest and oldest of the group, finally piped up: "I don't have sisters. No one's ever explained… any of this. Like, do people actually like it? Or is that just… pretend?"
Sara nodded. "Yeah, is it like in books? Or more like… ow?"
I shrugged. "Depends on the person. Depends on the day. Depends on the guy. First time? Usually a little ow. Sometimes a lot. Sometimes it's magical. Sometimes it's like, 'Wow, that's what everyone's obsessed with?'"
Jane chimed in: "I've been wondering that since seventh grade."
"Same," Sam said. "Also… what's the deal with butt stuff?"
"OH MY GOSH," Mila squealed. "Samantha!"
"What!?" Sam threw her arms up.
"Okay," I said, holding up my hands like a coach about to give a weird halftime speech. "Butt stuff, pain, self-play, toys… we're going there? Cool. Let's do it. Rule number one: Google responsibly. Rule number two: Know your body before you let someone else touch it."
Mila blinked. "Wait— what toys?"
Cue stunned silence. Cue me pulling out my phone to show them links from actual sex ed resources and not whatever haunted corners of the internet they'd find on their own.
We talked about pleasure. Safety. Pressure. Pain. Positions. Prep. Toys. Consent. I explained what lube was and why it's not optional. I used the phrase "clitoral mapping" and watched four heads explode.
Sara asked, "So like… you use things on yourself?"
"Yes."
"And you enjoy that?"
"Uh. Yes."
"But how do you—"
"Google exists, my child."
Sam raised her hand like we were in class. "Follow-up question. Do you need to do that before you sleep with someone?"
"No," I said. "But it helps. Think of it like test-driving your own brain. It's easier to say what you want when you actually know what that is."
Jane, scandalized but also intrigued, said, "Wait, so I'm not just supposed to lay there and hope for the best?"
I nearly choked on my popcorn. "Girl, no. Walk out. Or kick him. Or both."
The twins were taking notes at this point, mentally, but I wouldn't have been surprised if a whiteboard appeared.
Mila, suddenly serious, asked, "But like… how do you know when you're ready?"
I looked at her for a second. "You're ready when you feel like you get to decide. Not when someone pressures you. Not when it feels expected. When it feels safe, right, and like you're in control."
They nodded. Slowly. Quietly.
At one point, I paused the conversation and got real serious.
"Look. Sex should be enjoyable. If it's not, something's off. You don't owe your body to anyone, boyfriend, girlfriend, husband, whoever. It's not a favor. It's not a currency. It's yours."
The room went quiet, which told me they were really listening.
"And if you want to wait until marriage?" I added, looking around the group. "Good. That's beautiful. I'm proud of you. If you don't? Still proud. But you better be smart about it."
Jane gave me a knowing smirk. "So, like… double bag it?"
"No," I said, holding up a finger like a professor. "Absolutely not. One condom. Plus birth control if you can. The pill. IUD. Something. Condoms break, and people lie. Trust is great. Pregnancy and chlamydia are not."
Sam squinted. "Do guys actually ask for… butt stuff?"
"Yeah," I said without missing a beat.
"Ew!" Sara said, covering her face with a pillow.
"It's not for everyone," I said, grinning. "But yeah, they ask. Sometimes too soon. Sometimes way too soon."
Mila, wide-eyed: "Does it hurt?"
"The first time?" I nodded. "Usually, yeah. That's why if you're curious, try it alone first. Figure out what you like. Use lube. Breathe. Don't go from zero to sixty with someone else if you haven't even driven the car solo."
Jane just stared at me. "You're horrifying."
"And yet," I said, "here you are, learning the gospel according to me"
We ended up talking about vibrators. Positions. Pain. Power. What arousal actually feels like versus what books make it sound like. The myth of "popping your cherry." All of it.
Later, after that night, I bought Jane her first vibrator.
She screamed when she opened the package and nearly threw it at my head. But she kept it. Still thanks me for it, actually.
Because here's the thing: no one taught us this. We had to unlearn shame just to find the questions, let alone the answers.
That night in the basement? I gave those girls what I wish someone had given me.
Permission.
To ask. To explore. To own their bodies.
And years later, they still bring it up.
Not with embarrassment. Not with trauma. With gratitude.
Mila told me, almost a decade later, after she was married, that I was the first adult who ever made her feel like her questions weren't shameful. That her curiosity wasn't dirty. That her body belonged to her.
Apparently, I didn't traumatize them.
I helped them start healing.
I wasn't just the cool big sister. I was their first safe space.And you never forget your first.