When I was living with my parents, my little brother turned 18.
For his birthday, I had a plan.
I took him to a titty restaurant.
Specifically, Twin Peaks.
If you've never been, imagine a rustic-themed Hooters, but with lumberjack cleavage and just enough sports bar energy to pretend it's about the food. The waitresses wear tiny, flannel crop tops with shorts so small they're more of a suggestion than an outfit.
And there I was, me and four teenage boys. Dressed in my favorite tiny, tight dress. The same one I wore on my date with Batman, actually. I loved that dress. Still do.
It was me, my brother, and three of his closest friends. All of them had gone to the same private Christian school we all attended. So yeah, the environment was already a bit of a shock.
I might as well have dropped them off in Vegas.
The waitress came over, and I swear their eyes got so big I thought they might fall out of their heads. I kept catching them trying to sneak glances without getting caught by me or the Holy Spirit.
At one point, a drunk guy at another table kept trying to pull our waitress onto his lap. She'd giggle nervously and say no, but it was that uncomfortable, tight-lipped kind of laugh you recognize immediately if you're a woman. You've probably done it. I know I have.
When I walked past him to use the restroom, he reached for me too. I didn't have to say a word. All four boys jumped to their feet like they were in a Marvel movie. Angry, protective, and awkwardly chivalrous. It was adorable. The guy let go real quick.
But I wasn't done with their birthday education.
After dinner, I took them to a strip club.
Yup. The same Christian school boys who were already sweating through their flannel-induced guilt were now at an 18+ topless night strip club.
It was like I'd taken them to a live-action version of everything they weren't allowed to Google.
I had one drink, just one. By the time I was halfway through it, the boys were already squirming in their seats, too polite to leave, too terrified to stay.
They were ready to go.
It was adorable.
But wait. There's more.
We made one last stop: an adult toy store.
I walked in like I owned the place. I love making recommendations. Honestly, I would've crushed it working there, I even applied for a job at that very store back when I was still married. I never got a call back until I'd already moved, which was a shame. I would've been amazing.
We got home from the adult toy store and piled into the basement like nothing unusual had just happened. They sat on the sectional couch like stiff little mannequins, each one visibly recalculating their entire understanding of the female species.
"So," I said, flopping into the armchair like the benevolent chaos goddess I am, "you guys have any questions? Real ones?"
They blinked at me in unison. Total silence.
Then Brandon, the boldest of the bunch, cleared his throat.
"Okay… so, like… how do you even know when a girl wants to do it?"
Ah. There it was. The opening.
"You ask her," I said.
They looked confused. Concerned. A little offended.
"Like… out loud?" Josh asked.
"Yes, Josh. Out loud. With words. Preferably not while you're already halfway naked."
They looked like I'd told them Santa was fake and he hates them.
"Okay, but like, what if she says 'I don't know'?" my brother asked. "Like… what does that mean?"
"It means no, genius," I said, tossing a pillow at him. "If she's not saying yes enthusiastically, it's a no. End of discussion."
Chris raised his hand. Raised his hand, like we were in sex ed homeroom.
"Is it true girls don't even like it most of the time?"
I stared at him. "Only if you're bad at it."
Stunned silence.
"You guys," I said, leaning forward, elbows on my knees. "Girls want to enjoy it. We're not just… showing up out of charity. But if you're focused only on yourself, yeah, it's gonna suck for her."
Brandon looked like he was taking mental notes for a final exam.
I kept going. "You wanna know what girls like? Real girls? Be clean. Smell good. Make us laugh. Ask what we like. And don't act like your dick is the main event."
Josh sputtered into his soda.
Chris looked betrayed. "So like… foreplay is required?"
"Yes. It's not optional. It's not the stretch before the marathon. It is the marathon."
My brother groaned. "I'm gonna die alone."
"No," I said sweetly. "You're gonna do great. You're already better than 80% of guys out there because you're asking questions."
Josh shifted awkwardly. "Yeah, but like… buying condoms is so embarrassing."
I blinked at him. "If you're too embarrassed to buy condoms, then you're not mature enough to be having sex."
They groaned in unison, like I'd just assigned them homework.
Brandon muttered, "But the cashier knows what you're gonna do with them…"
"Good," I said. "Let her know you're being a responsible adult instead of some cautionary tale with a surprise baby and a regret playlist."
Chris whistled. "She's not wrong."
"Of course I'm not wrong," I said, tossing a pillow at him. "Wrap it or rethink it. Those are your options."
"Wait, what about, like… um… butt stuff?" Brandon asked, barely getting the words out.
"Yeah," Chris echoed. "Do girls actually like that?"
I took a long sip of my soda for dramatic effect.
"Depends on the girl. And the prep. But if you're just gonna try and jam it in like you're opening a stuck pickle jar, then no. They're not gonna like it. That's how you get a roundhouse kick to the face."
Brandon turned green.
I smirked. "Here's my advice. If it's something you wouldn't do to yourself first, don't expect someone else to want it done to them."
They all looked personally attacked.
"But like…" Josh started, "how do you get good at it?"
"Practice," I said. "Communication. Confidence. Listening. Also, vibrators exist. Encourage your partner to use one. Or bring one. Or use it on her. They're not competition, they're team players."
Chris blinked. "I thought girls only used those if they were, like, lonely or desperate."
"Oh, sweetie," I said with a sigh. "That's like saying microwaves are only for sad people who can't cook. Some of us just want our food fast and reliable."
My brother was crying laughing at that point. And yet, they were listening. So I kept going.
"Here's what I want you to remember," I said, finally serious. "You don't earn sex. You're not entitled to it. You don't pressure someone, guilt them, or expect it just because you took them to dinner or said they were pretty. You get to have it when both people want to. And when that happens, it's fun. It's safe. It's a partnership, not a conquest."
They all nodded slowly.
And for the first time, I think they got it.
I wasn't just trying to shock them. I was trying to undo years of silence.