I read my husband the texts and felt Mama Bear kick in full-force. She played the needy, clingy sex-nymph character as if it were a script, written just for her. This girl was apparently stringing along a steady boyfriend in her own grade while promising my son, a freshman in high school, that she loved him the most. My son, who at the time was barely 13, didn’t seem to know what to do with the pictures and messages, because his usual reply to her was “Wow” or “Nice,” with the occasional “Mmmm.” It turned out this young lady, who was a few months shy of turning 18, was the only one sending pictures. More: My kids are definitely going to sext, and that’s OK But that didn’t stop me from searching through my son’s phone to see what had been going on between them. It didn’t seem appropriate to show him a picture of a minor’s genitalia. I explained what I saw but told him not to look.
My husband was sitting nearby but didn’t see what I had. On the top of his phone, there was a flash of vulva followed by the words “I’m wet.” I was looking through his cellphone in an attempt to figure out why he wasn’t receiving group texts when a text message came in from a young lady that included a picture.
