Harrad High Sex Ed. Day 6
By
Timothy Stillman
(For Kent, who gave me a plethora of wildly inventive experiments to carry out Harrad Sex, Ed. -style, which makes this chapter, I think, very lively indeed, and for his really really funny email asking this soap opera continue, without whom this chapter would not have existed. For Terry, a fine Nifty writer, who also suggested Timmy get rid of this wimpiness problem, I thus take care of that. Hope I didn't screw it up. The flaws are, as always, solely mine.)
I did it. I said, "Jordi, I love you." Well, it didn't come out quite that smoothly. There were bumps and snarls and like that. But in the cold dark morning behind the gym this day of the first day of the mutual love affair, said aloud by him and by me, which would be Timmy, I now pronounce it love official and amen.
Oh, it was so sweet. We're huddled there by the building, breath visible, and in our heavy coats and heavy shirts and jeans and socks and boots for him, and tennis shoes for me. His long hair was so warm to my face, as we watched the wind blow and I held Jordi against me, his smaller body next to mine, my arms around him. I know how it is to find what some writer called yourself, who is your true love, and the writer would be Guy Davenport, because I'm sick of pretending I don't read and don't think and am just a bubblehead.
I've been thought a clown all my life, but it's not so. There is this dark brooding person inside. This serious to be a man and maybe is a man already. Oh I giggle, sure. And I listen to my Ipod like everybody else in the whole world. And I work on my computer. And I love Jordi. And, like he said, it's time to be me. Like I didn't know the real me before. I can go back to being the unawares kid me, sure. I thought that was what I was. While knowing sometime when I wasn't looking, something sneaked into me and said you are of worth and value. Jordi, maybe?
That's what this whole Sex Ed. thing has been about, isn't it? I feel that because of class and Mr. Morgan and because of Albert being jealous, and all this sudden wild sex freedom. It's like I had been a marionette, whose strings I played. Not a phony baloney. But hiding inside.
But there's no need. This epiphany and little more than the fact that Jordi kissed me. And his lips were sweet. I kissed him back. And he said my lips were sweet. I didn't stumble. It was still dark. I said, "I love you." And he smiled real big and said he loved me. God, we were sooooo goony. We took out our penises in the chill wind and warmed them with our hands. And then I blew him. He said he came more this time than ever before. All I knew is there was a good taste to it. It seemed to have a nice heft. I kissed the tip of his penis. I told his penis I loved it too.
So it was close to time for school. Dawn was sneaking in. Buses were pulling up. Jordi and I held each other tightly. Then, hand in hand, we walked the length of Harrad to the front door.
It was a real wowser of a class today. Leaves me kind of breathless, to get it all in. So, take a deep one. Here goes:
All the chairs had been pushed to a corner. A huge new spongy marshmallowy mattress had been laid down that covered most of half of the room. We stripped. Mr. Morgan said today we were to lie down beside each other--I lay beside Jordi of course and Albert lay beside me a little further up than Jordi. His eyes looked determined. I'm a kid. Who am I kidding. I'll always be a kid. Jordi made me feel more. Jordi made me feel like Jordi. And Jordi is so much and everything and that he loves me. It strums my heart. How's that?
Mr. Morgan stood against the far wall and said for us to start masturbating ourselves. He let us do it for two minutes. And that was lots of fun. Watching each other and being watched. Would this ever get not exciting? I can't imagine it. Then he told us to jack off the person in our vicinity we wanted to. So..Jordi, confident, and ah cock sure, I reached for Albert's dick, surprising all three of us. Jordi reached for the dick of the nearest boy, which was Devon, the class nerd, who had a foreskin and we were to discover the biggest dick by a slight third of an inch.
Jordi didn't know how to work the foreskin. Like riding a bicycle. Ha. So Devon squirmed his flat butt body, which was kind of rail thin and kind of not too nice smelling, over to Jordi and showed him how to pull the foreskin back and how to rub it on the dick inside, to make for better friction.
Mr. Morgan was talking all of us through this and explaining things. He said, for instance, that penis size didn't matter-get that through your heads--it does not matter; it's like kids who have well off parents and kids who have parents not as well off--"big damn deal" he said loudly..kind of jarring us. Then he said forcefully, though in a softer tone--"the kids didn't make their parents' money; other kids didn't make their parents' not as well off financially--it doesn't matter a damn what kind of clothes you wear. Or the cars or the bikes you drive or ride. You didn't do it. It has nothing to do with you. You may have a job now and may have had one for a long time. I don't know. That you can count as your own money. Period.
He told us no one was born deciding how long their penis would be or how big. It's the way it is and it's not any credit to any of you what your penis size and shape are. You had nothing to do with it. Okay? And we nodded. He told us never ever forget this.
So that hour, we got to see how different it feels to masturbate ourselves and to have others do it to us. And how differently everybody's body is used when they masturbate. Some of it is kind of funny--these contortions. But mine is funny to them too, I bet.
We got in a group roundly, and did ourselves, then let different ones do us--the grip, the style, the using of the hand, the whole hand, a fist, or fingers and a thumb, where on the penis the grip, where the sensitive parts were--how another's hand feels on your penis, and how another's penis feels in your hand. Then this just now hit me--me, the genius only when Jordi is around--without him, I go back to being a slub, but it just hit me--I don't have pre-cum--and I also realize now I know how all these boys jack off in private, cause that's how they jacked each other off. Cool. Secrets are interesting when they aren't secrets anymore.
The pre-cum. I honestly had never even heard of it before. Mr. Morgan told us about that. He told us what it was and those who had it, how to massage it in your penis. He told us the biological reason for it. And the fun reason for it. I just thought when I saw and felt some wetness on other's dicks in class, that it was just cum starting to leak out. I felt embarrassed I didn't have any. Mr. Morgan didn't single me out. Just said it's different for everybody.
"Look, boys, you are getting to be young men. Don't compete with each other's body. It's stupid. You compete with brains and wit and style. You know that your body is good enough and just as it should be--why?" He paused. We had no idea. Even Peter who thinks greatly of himself didn't know. Maybe he doesn't think that greatly of himself after all. "Because these parts of the body are you. Your body is yours. And every one of you must be proud of it. You can do things to help it look better. But the essential you is something of a miracle. There will never be another you in existence. You are it. So let me prove it."
We examined each other's penises with a ruler--Mr. Morgan marked our sizes and lengths and distinguishing characteristics on paper. We really looked at all our penises. I mean really studied them. There was quite a remarkable variety.
We stroked ourselves all clumped together. Mr. Morgan put a large fluffy bath mat of white down for us to kneel on and cum on. Some came a lot and some spurted and some cum kinda fizzed and some boys came just a bit and then just a bit more in stages, like they were having individual orgasms. And it was pretty easy to see the size, circumference, shape, even the one with a foreskin did not mean a small cum or a large cum. That was good to know.
Mr. Morgan asked us how we felt when we were jacking. What we thought about. How we did it when we were alone.
Albert, who seemed so gloomy he would never laugh at anything, not even at his own funeral, said he laughed when he came. Larry, big football star, remember, said, sometimes he cried after he came and felt lonely and sad, like winter and Autumn had come to stay and were never going away. So Jimmy, the red-haired all American boy who had once hated que---leaned his naked body over and hugged Larry. Who, very surprised, and embarrassed, hugged him back a little. Terry, who rubbed that eraser on my dick some days ago, said that he didn't think of anything or look at pictures. He just liked the feeling. He had trouble otherwise.
So Matthew and Bobby moved over to Terry and held his penis in their hands. Terry slapped their hands away and they moved back to where they had been, somewhat angry.
We had seen size meant nothing in the fact of good looking. Every one of us has a dick that is uniquely our own. Mr. Morgan spent some time with us on the foreskin examination and we giggled a lot as Devon delighted sitting there cross-legged, with his penis hard and everybody rolling his foreskin up and down. And darned if after a while of that, he spurted right in Jordi's face. Everybody laughed except Jordi, me, and Mr. Morgan. He got the towels and I helped Jordi wipe off his face. Albert, who I had made come earlier this class period, looked daggers through me. It continued to make me feel guiltily good.
Devon's penis biggus dickus had made not much cum, but "it was great cum, Devon" Mr. Morgan said, as we clapped Devon on the back and said "way to go." Cause maybe we weren't envious so much anymore of that big dick.
Mr. Morgan also said that the cum amount doesn't matter either. If you are trying to have a baby with a girl or woman, sure, it matters. Otherwise, who cares? And we nodded anxiously with self-awareness at Mr. Morgan. And it was true that Ralph of the smaller dick came quite a lot actually.
Mr. Morgan said, "Let's talk about your testicles." Somebody shouted out, "This gonna be on the testicles?" And we laughed. Mr. Morgan got out the textbook and we got our copies and read along. It's so cool sitting there naked--with the warm heaters pushing sleepy just right toasty air into the room, and knowing the cold snap is finally arrived and awful summer over for good, for a while anyway. Just makes nakedness and sex more comfortable, tenderer somehow.
Mr. Morgan said there was a Woody Allen comedy made of an almost as funny book called "Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex-But Were Afraid to Ask." He said the book was by some geek named David Reuben. Set in question and answer format. He added the book, sold because of its title--the editor thought it up. Reuben didn't. And also the clever front cover design that drew your eyes to it. He said there are some copies of the DVD of the movie in the library, if we'd like to see it. He told us a little of the segment of the sperms getting ready for ejaculation. One, played by Allen, says I'm not going out there just so he can masturbate; I'm too young to die on the ceiling.
We thought that was hilarious. And I can't wait to see the movie (and p.s. to find that book.)
Then Mr. Morgan told us all the work the balls do. The penis gets all the fun, he said, and all the action, but the balls, big or small, medium or large, hairy or fuzzy or bare, have one helluva complicated series of things to do. That, he added, make you you, and when you have children, if you do, they go a helluva long way in making them in the first place and part of you. He said he thought testicles should stage a March. Give Us Testicles More Respect; Mr. Morgan said the signs should read
We had done so much in this hour, it turned over and falls inside my head--we tasted our sperm and others. We didn't really want to. But some of the boys' sperm tasted nice. Some sperm was all thick white. Other sperm was kind of duck yellow. Yes, let me see if there was something else. Oh yeah, I guess I know the reason I "forgot"--
Bobby said this one thing more at the end of class, with Matthew holding his hand^Åwe had cleaned up the sperm and had taken the mat to the front of the room to be disposed of by Mr. Morgan who said, forget how icky it is-- face it, sex is messy-how it's set up and made; not our fault. He would get rid of the mat for us, no sweat.
We were lying on the mattress. Many of the kids were holding each other. Alex came to me to hold him and then Jordi came too and we kind of just were close together, not touching, and all of us a little angry and a lot uncomfortable, but it was just something we thought of without saying it to ourselves or each other-maybe it will somehow help. I don't know how. I love Jordi. I don't love Albert. I'm stringing him along to make myself feel good. Some things I don't like about that class. One is how I'm discovering what a creep I am.
Anyways^Åwe're lying there or huddle there, in our case, and Bobby said he fucked his brother once. We rose and looked hard at him. He was sitting up, pretending he was holding a cigarette, taking a draw, then letting the smoke out, and flicking the ashes, coolly and sophisticatedly slit eyed conveying memories.
He was not tall. He was medium weight. He had a small mole over his left tit. His dick we had measured at five and one half inch. Save for the short hair on his head, his body had no pubic hair and only some light downy fuzz on his arms and calves. We knew without looking at him. For in here, in one way or another, we examined each other's bodies all the time.
Some kids actually gasped. I was so surprised I, or anyone here, could be shocked at anything sexual anymore. God, the bell rang, and someone said, it's a goddam soap opera in here. We laughed. But not real laughter. I felt kind of sick. We dressed. Mr. Morgan, after Bobby got dressed, asked him to talk to him for a couple of minutes. Wow. It really is a soap-- The Dicks of Our Lives.
I kinda hope we can skip over that part in class tomorrow. I think Mr. Morgan will discuss that one in deep privacy. Even Jordi and I didn't look at each other as we left. We seemed to have forgotten each other. Till we got home and my cell rang. We talked for two hours. Non-stop. Death by parents is assured. But it was worth it. Jordi and I said at least a million times those two hours we loved each other.
That was great. And I get to have sex with him again tomorrow in class--holy Christ. I'm suddenly sweating like a pig. Which don't sweat. But I am. Fuck hell shit--
TOMORROW IS SATURDAY.
(calendars run differently at Harrad High. Much time has elapsed. And yet only mere seconds of time as well. Steve Carella of the 87th Precinct can explain that)