Not So Nice Guy(22)

Every single junior and senior fills the bleachers in the gymnasium. Ian and I are standing to the side, waiting for the principal to introduce us. This is going to be an absolute shitshow. On their way in, the students were supposed to drop an anonymous question pertaining to sexual education into a shoe box. I’m holding it in my arms and it’s hefty. These teenagers are curious little bastards.

“Do you have the penis?” Ian asks.

I hold the banana up. It’s a week old and speckled, rather sickly-looking, actually. Maybe I’ll also use it to demonstrate the dangers of STDs.

“Do you have the condom?”

He tugs it out of his back pocket. The words MAGNUM and RIBBED FOR HER PLEASURE leap out at me like a blinking neon sign.

“You’re kidding.”

He seems confused.

“You just brought that over from your stash?” I ask, sounding like a mouth breather.

“That’s what you said to do.”

I don’t have time to question him because our names are announced over the microphone and then we walk onto the basketball court to a lot of applause and conversation. It takes minutes to shut everyone up and grab their attention.

The first half of the course is by the book. Principal Pruitt asked us to outline the most common STDs and transmission pathways while an accompanying slideshow plays on a projector behind us. Every new image brings a chorus of groans and covered eyes. One kid passes out and has to be carted to the nurse’s office.

“Icky!” a girl shouts from the front row.

“Yes,” I respond solemnly. “Neurosyphilis is icky, and deadly. Now, that brings us to the next part of the course: a demonstration of proper condom application techniques. Ian, the prophylactic, if you please.”

He smiles and shakes his head, tearing open the rubber while I hold the banana outstretched in front of me. I let him explain the best way to unroll it as he’s obviously more experienced than I am, a fact I try not to dwell on. After that, Principal Pruitt takes the banana and parades it around the gymnasium so everyone can see it. He’s Vanna White’s forgotten stepsister.

Next, we start on the shoe box questions. Ian dips his hand in, grabs a folded slip of paper, and hands it to me, and then I read each one aloud.

I was hoping for deeply mature questions, and I don’t get a single one.

“What is the average penis size?” I read aloud, provoking snickers from the audience. “Oh, well, yeah…why don’t we have Ian answer this one?”

He isn’t even a little embarrassed as he replies confidently, “Guys, don’t be so preoccupied with that sort of thing. Most women aren’t. It’s made out to be a big deal in pop culture, but the vast, vast majority of you will fall somewhere around 6 inches by the end of puberty.”

He turns back to me and my eyes say, What about you, Mr. Magnum?

He sighs and reaches in for another question.

I make a critical error when I read it aloud before first reading it to myself. “Mrs. A is hot and…” My voice fades out as I crumple it up. “Okay. Very funny. Ian, next.”

He passes me another question quickly while shooting the boys in the audience a menacing glare.

“Is it possible for a woman to have more than one orgasm during a round of sex?” I read aloud. This question feels deeply personal and I hate that I’m blushing as I reply, “Off the top of my head, the answer is yes.”

The question gets discarded quickly and I shoot my hand out for another one, refusing to meet Ian’s bold gaze.

“Can you get pregnant from dry-humping through your Nike shorts?” My face scrunches and I turn to Ian. “I don’t think…actually, they’re sort of porous, aren’t they?”

Ian groans and yanks the slip of paper out of my hand. Then he leans over and speaks into the mic, “No. No, you cannot. Still, wear a condom—problem solved.”

Three-fourths of the way through the questions, I look up and spot a boy in the front row of the bleachers looking shell-shocked. His eyes take up half his face.

“Oh shoot,” I curse under my breath. “Hey, Johnny, can you go sit out in the hall? Your mom didn’t sign your release form for this.”

Principal Pruitt rushes forward to usher him out. “Just forget everything you saw today, buddy.”

There’s no doubt we’ve created lasting scars, for the kids and for ourselves.

After another thirty minutes of prolonged torture in which I do a poor job of answering questions, we’re done, and Ian walks me back to my classroom.

There’s nothing to say, so we stay perfectly silent.

We’re alone in the hall. I’m hugging the shoebox full of leftover questions against my chest.

I have no clue what we used to talk about. Did we ever have things in common or was I delusional? I can’t think of a single thing to say to him that doesn’t include the Gatorade or our phone call from last night. Oh, duh!

“What a nice spring day it is,” I say wistfully.

We pass a window and it’s pouring outside. Tree limbs fly this way and that. A small tornado tosses screaming livestock here and there.

“Yep. Nice,” Ian says with a knowing smile.

“All right, fine, let’s just go back to not talking at all. That’s easier.”

“I’m giving you time to calm down.”