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Children tend to have sex with each other.
This truth stubbornly continues despite adults' best and worst efforts. No matter how well-buttoned the legislation, left alone in a tree house, a bird they've eventually given a name to, in their long hours up there, flickering down onto the wooden, paneless windowsill each time to watch, a boy and a girl still manage to wriggle out of and pull off their perfect toes any restrictions addressing them. Little boys still continue to find, in the parental disapproving loop, holes. Sex is a celebration of love, skin and personality. Nowhere is that celebration better performed than in the back seat of a car, knees up, feet wide apart on upholstery, all the saliva kisses adding to that wonderful skin-stickiness of prolonged fucking.