is about your security, no one will do this except you, no one needs you. If you don’t take care of the certificate and a condom yourself, no one will.
To be honest, your mom won't be happy with your promiscuity either, so don't expect her to give you much intimate advice.
Only very advanced mothers in the entire history of their child’s growing up do not find any STD in their daughter’s medical record.
Do you know why? Because the majority have suffered from this themselves, and do not know how to tell a man: “provide a certificate.”
I've seen some cool moms who are so friendly with the woman born in their womb that everyone would envy them.
It seems there is nothing to complain about?
But in practice, medical cards are full of ureaplasma and genital herpes.
I will now share a story without a name. This is my good friend, but the person to whom I was forbidden to tell the truth, they say my husband will tell everything himself.
Irina from Krasnodar… Oh, I still mentioned the name. Kirill, I’m sorry, if you haven’t told her yet, then seven years have passed, it’s time to confess.
So Irina, a wonderful mother of a beautiful daughter, a faithful friend and wife to her husband, found herself in a situation where she firmly believes in a world without betrayal and STDs.
Her husband is a fan of having sex in saunas for money. (Get sex, not give, what are you thinking? Vulgar). He explained to his friends that Irina does not satisfy all his needs, and he is such a male that he “finishes his food” on the side.
Of course, they told me that he came to his senses, changed and blah blah blah, but something tells me that Irina did not ask him for a certificate, and she does not teach her daughter the same.
Since I found out (my husband told me, he swore that “he would never do anything”), I stopped communicating with their family.
What is the conclusion of this story? “Don’t trust anyone, take it and check it.”
Let this poem remind you every time to ask for a certificate from a new guy before the first sex, and to check with a regular partner once every six months. Good luck.
Menarche and “it would be better if I went to the army”
Lord, don't you know this abstruse medical term?
Well, it's not scary. Great loss. Well, they told themselves: “first period” and that’s it.
So, my menarche came at twelve years old. I was terrified. No, I was a boy.
Well, more precisely, at that moment I tried to convince myself that if I convinced everyone that I was a boy, then menstruation would stop.
This disgusting bloody mucous discharge from the gap between my legs caused such discomfort and shame that I even began to slouch so that my breasts, which had not bothered me much before, would now simply hide inside.
Imagine, like a fugitive criminal, I began to hide from my parents, peers, and people in general, in case they figured me out.
Who am I now?
I was a tomboyish girl, but who is now? Woman?
What kind of creature is this? What does this word mean, that now I can have sex, give birth, older men can justifiably pester me?
And here's more details. There was a pedophile living in the next yard. Yes! Can you imagine?! But I didn’t know that this was illegal, and I was silent like a fool, I didn’t tell my parents how the old horseradish caught me in the entrance and tried to hug me.
No, don’t think about it, there was no groping, no eroticism, just a hug. But! Drunk. And with servility.
I understood everything then. And she ran away. We never saw each other again; fortunately, I retained my honor. But if my father had hit him a couple of times, I wouldn’t have minded.
I was afraid to tell my dad, but now I understand it was in vain. Never tolerate this, girls, if you hold this book.
If you already have a lot more, then share with your friends or parents, if they are alive, in general, with someone who will understand you, even if it’s late, it will make you feel better. Vendetta may be unnecessary, but an understanding heart is definitely needed. Girls, girls, women, if you have ever been clamped against your will, or God forbid, raped, then I will become that understanding listener for you.
"I understand you! Thank you for sharing this story!”
I hug you tightly.
My period came at a time when I was not ready for it. I knew just enough about them that only my cousin’s words sounded in my head: “It’s like pissing, only a little bit and all the time.”
Mom gave me a pad. Do you know how I stuck it on?
Well, there are only two options, and I chose… of course… the wrong one.
This was my first hair removal experience.
Yes, my husband almost lost consciousness from laughter when I dared to tell this.
Just imagine, a couple of hours after successfully fighting the bleeding, I decide to go pee-pee.
I go to the toilet and oh, horror, my vagina was captured (by that time the hormones had already grown something on my pink body), and it hurt, let me tell you. It hurt so much that I thought I might as well be patient.
Wee-wee be patient, I mean.
Well, are you already rolling under the table? Get out, I'll try to be more serious.
In general, if you are a friend or mother of a girl, then take the trouble, when giving her a pad, to tell
