Sex Ed: WHO Style
by WHO on Apr-8-2003

When I was around 9 years old, my family and I rented a little house in the suburbs. Due to a conspiracy between the school system and our respective parents, all the kids on my street had to walk to school together despite age differences or preference. I guess the rule was successful because no one in my group ever got kidnapped. But at the same time, it was a depressing sight to see. We rarely talked to each other. We weren’t friends. And if you happened to be driving by, it might have seemed odd to watch a bunch of kids clomping along blank faced like a herd of cattle.

There was a nasty little boy in my group. He smelled funny and he always had a steady stream of snot caked under his nose. If you got into his way while walking he would push you down and threatened to beat the tar out of you. I think he was one year older than me, but he was always talking about sex. He was a crude little kid and I think he just like to watch the younger kids squirm and blush. If anyone one told him to shut his trap, he would just smack his palms together lewdly and ask if they wanted to hump him.

I, myself, didn’t know much about sex at all. Vaguely, I realized it had something to do with genitalia, but I was blurry on the details. But I had a crush on a boy at school and I fancied growing up, marrying him, and having me some babies, so I invented a little theory in my head. I figured that a boy had to quickly touch a girls’ privates with his penis. After that, she would get pregnant. Now this thought didn’t seem all that appealing to me, but I figured I could suffer such indignities if it meant I could get married someday and raise a whole mess of babies. Of course, I only entertained these fantasies until I babysat a real, live baby. Then I found out that, unlike my dolls, REAL babies puked, shit, pissed, and cried…sweet Jesus, how those little fuckers can CRY! But my grade school naivety on this subject is besides the point.

One brisk fall morning, I was walking to school in my group. The Nasty Boy was once again talking about how often his parents ‘humped like monkeys.’ The oldest girl in the group was 13 and was quickly becoming irritated with the Nasty Boy. Exasperated, she finally said, “Oh Shut up! You probably don’t even know what real sex is!” All the little kids had a good giggle over that.

The Nasty Boy turned bright red with embarrassment. Then he stopped and insisted loudly, “I do to know what real sex is!” The whole group quit walking and circled around the Nasty Boy and the Older Girl to watch the confrontation.

The Older Girl crossed her arms, smirked, and asked, “OK then. What is it?” The Nasty Boy was trapped. The Group tittered excitedly.

Not missing a beat, the Nasty Boy replied, “It’s when the man sticks his dick into a pussy…which is a little hole a girl has…right…about…here.” Then he bent over and pointed to the place that I suspected was right under his testicles.

The Older Girl shrugged her shoulders and replied, “OK, fine. Let’s just go to school then.” Everyone in my group started walking again but me.

My voice, thin and high as a church bell, rang out in the crisp, October air. “THERE’S A HOLE THERE?” I shrieked.

The group paused and looked at me dumbfounded. Then, without a word, everyone resumed the walk.

I could barely concentrate when I got to school. My mind was awhirl. I had never really wondered where my pee came from. I guess I just assumed I was peeing out of my clitoris. I am sure that my feet never touched the ground when the bell finally dismissed me for home. I had to know the truth.

Upon returning home, I immediately locked myself in the bathroom and began rummaging through my Mother’s make-up box. Buried under lipstick and eyeliner, I found two, small make-up mirrors. I dropped my panties to my ankles and held one of the mirrors between my legs using my thighs. With one hand, I spread the lips of my vagina apart and with the other hand I held the other make-up mirror towards the one clasped between my legs.

Holy shit. Indeed, there was a hole. My legs grew slack with shock and the make-up mirror dropped and broke. Seven years bad luck. I was horrified.

Numb, I cleaned up the broken glass and put the remaining make-up mirror away. I yanked up my panties and escaped to my room without a word to anyone else.

About a year later, my Mother brought home a couple of books and demanded that I read them. They were Sex Ed books and I soon learned about everything from necking and petting to menstruation. I guess the book route was a pretty good one for my Mother to take, since the thought of having a ‘Birds and Bees’ talk with her made me want to gouge my own eyes out. And the books were educational…

…although it took a Nasty Little Boy in my walking group to tell me I even had a vagina.

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