At a younger age like that, it’s a delicate balance. I would caution that giving too little info or using metaphorical language when they ask can be just as risky as giving info-overload. My mom (and dad, for that matter) were always extremely honest with me and my younger brother when it came to us asking about sexuality, with one exception: my first version of the sex talk.
The euphemistic language my parents employed scared three-year-old me into thinking that men just went around releasing these “seeds” like dandelion puff everywhere, and there was nothing you could do about it–these invisible seeds just wafted right up your crotch–without you knowing about it, and got you pregnant, and then, more often than not, you wound up married to the purveyor of said seed, even if you didn’t like him. I was clearly terrified, and when I explained to my parents that from what they’d told me, I thought I was going to have some weirdo’s “seeds” fly up me at the mall–they realized a more anatomically accurate depiction might be a better choice. I was way more comfortable knowing the way things actually went down. After that, everything was age-appropriate but factual. At one point, my mom, an RN, gave me one of her old med books of the human body–the *whole *human body–to color in. My fav was the cross-sections of the penis, number two was probably eyeballs. Shortly after, I wanted to know all the medical names for body parts–she taught them to me, from phalanges to fallopian tubes.
I’m sure it was awkward for them, at first, but now we have an extremely open and honest relationship…both my parents knew (and for the most part, approved) when I started sleeping with my LT high-school boyfriend (the lovely and talented Mudshark), and talking about birthcontrol, STDs, emotions, morals, etc. were easy. I never had any difficulty asking either of my parents anything, and they know a good bit about my sex life, dates, and attitudes, and vice-versa (this has never creeped me out). This relationship made it way easier to come out to them as bisexual–and even though that wasn’t all roses and cherubim (at least not with my mom), it was definitely an honest dialogue, which I don’t feel would have been possible without such a foundation.
When my little brother came of age, they were prepared. His questions (at age 10 or 11, IIRC)* included such winners as:
“Can a guy have sex with an animal? Like, say, a monkey?”
“Can more than two people have sex at the same time?”
“Can two guys have sex?”
And, my favorite, in reference to the female vagina, “Could you put a doughnut in there?”
And they were unshakable.
See? It could be waaaay worse than ED. I’d start the conditioning now.
Too bad. If you did, you could strike the perfect “couple-time” compromise of sitting-in-a-bathtub-while-flyfishing. Everyone’s a winner.
*Granted, I am in grad school for clinical psych, and hope to become a sex therapist. We talk extensively over the dinner table about the research I’m interested in conducting, and articles I’ve read–transgender issues, gay rights, non-traditional romantic relationships, sex ed in schools–so my brother, though sheltered from a lot of it in his younger days, had been exposed to more radical ideas than most kids. I would argue that this has been for the better: my proudest moment was when, as fourth-grader at a Catholic school, he told a bully who’d called him a faggot, that while he was not gay, there wouldn’t be anything wrong with him if he were.