Date: Thu, 25 Oct 2007 13:56:16 -0700 (PDT)
From: Tim Stillman <novemberhourglass@yahoo.com>
Subject: g/m high school "Harrad High Sex. Ed. Day 6

 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)