Same-Sex Sleepovers

Levi has a new friend he made at summer camp. We’ll call her Jordache because well, jeans. At the end of their last play date, Levi and Jordache approached me with excited smiles.


I knew that Levi had been on a mission to host a sleepover ever since we got him a bunk bed. He wanted desperately to have a play date that lasted all night long now that he had the proper furniture. Never mind that we have an air bed and sleeping bags. Obviously, the official sleepover equipage is a bunk bed, and once one is in possession of a bunk bed, one is obligated to book sleepovers in order that both beds are inhabited as often as possible.

“Sure,” I said. But before I could ask her how we should proceed – find out who the sleepover gatekeeper was in her household, Jordache said, “But my mom won’t let me have sleep overs with boys. I don’t know why. She hasn’t explained it to me, but I’m going to ask her.”

In my mind, I had some questions for Jordache’s mother, the first being “Really??” followed by “Are you trying to prevent some sort of untoward behavior, like dry humping or groping or Flap A/Slot B kind of play? Do you think that our 7-year-olds would do anything other than stay up late watching movies, eating popcorn, and laughing until they can’t keep their eyes open anymore?



Are you afraid that there might be some I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? I remember little of my early childhood, but I do remember pitching a makeshift tent with a blanket with my best friend Matthew at the age of four showing each other our goods. The entire session lasted about 20 seconds. We dropped trou and allowed the other to have a good look-see… and then we zipped up, ran out of our blanket tent and resumed our regularly scheduled activities.

I realize that not every parent would be comfortable with any kind of look-see at any age, and I’m not saying that it’s an activity we condone, but at 7-years-old, we’re talking about innocent curiosity as opposed to a desire to get laid.

Of course, Jordache’s Mom, I happen to know that your daughter prefers sports to arts & crafts, and she loves horseback riding. IF I were to play that game, too, where you start assigning sexuality to your pre-pubescent child, I’d recommend you keep Jordache far away from the wandering eyes and hands of 7-year-old girls. Or perhaps you’re not as fearsome of lesbionic activity as long as everyone has the same parts. What’s a little scissoring between girlfriends, right?”

I said none of those things to Jordache’s mother, but when she came to collect her daughter I did offer to host a sleep-under. “What’s a sleep-under?” asked Jordache. “Well, you come over for a play date at night. You do all the things you’d normally do at a sleep-over, but when it’s time to actually sleep, you go home.” Jordache’s mother seemed amenable to the idea, but Jordache looked disappointed and confused. Didn’t seem to make much sense to stay up late only to have to stay up even later to pack up all her things and go back home.

Now, my mother found sleep-overs to be an odd and suspicious form of socializing and only reluctantly allowed me attend sleep-overs at about the age of eleven. Not only would she have forbid me from going to a sleep-over with boys at any age, but she probably would have contacted child-services and reported the host family for abuse and perversion. I just kind of figured we had all moved on in the world. Just me?

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  1. I “sleep under” sounds like a much dicier proposition to me.

  2. When I was in high school, all of my friends (boys and girls) would hold sleepovers at one guy’s house who had a large enough room for all of us. My mom and dad wouldn’t let me go because there were girls there. Meanwhile, honestly, when I was there I was not obviously interested in the girls. I wasn’t really interested at all, I just wanted to have fun with all my friends. My dad finally said that if our priest didn’t see a problem with it that I could do it. So, I got on my bike I rode over to our priest’s house and I explained the situation. He knew me pretty well and he really didn’t see any problem with it whatsoever. He called my parents and had a frank discussion with them about knowing who their son is and having the trust in me so that I could be worthy of their trust. They could not go back on their word and since our priest said it was fine, the sleepovers began. We did such scandalous things as watching movies together and learning how to make the best batch of popcorn.

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