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My mother wasn't on the Internet, never read Unzipped, and I liked it that way. Occasionally she'd make noises about getting a computer, or would ask half-heartedly anal sex if I couldn't just print a few things out for her. anal sex But somehow these things never came to pass. My mother is no prude. We began talking about sex anal sex long ago, spurred in part, I think, by our mutual desire not to imitate the Irish Catholic, repressed relationship she had with her mother. She accommodated my pre-adolescent questions with a great show of openness, talking to me about menstruation, breast size and intercourse in a matter-of-fact tone as she put on her make-up or brushed her hair. She herself had been divorced for many years now, and growing up I'd seen a few boyfriends come and go, tiptoeing out of the house in the pre-dawn hours, looking pale and guilty in their black dress socks and rumpled, untucked shirts. If anything, it was me that was the prude when it came to sex talk with my mother.
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