Dirty Pictures in the Classroom
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mjl2010
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3113 said:Maybe the teacher was just making sure these kids can draw more accurately on bathroom walls?
Was there any comment on WHY he had them do this? Seems a little off kilter to me. I had sex ed in sixth grade and again in high school. No pictures in the books but drawings. This back in the 70's and talk about an uproar. Some parents pulled their kids from the class in sixth grade. They went to the library and did something else.
MJL
Jenny_Jackson
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I think he was pretty kewl 
7th graders are fucking these days anyway. It's not like they ain't seen one before.
7th graders are fucking these days anyway. It's not like they ain't seen one before.
rgraham666
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Snicker.
In one health class in high school the teacher bought in a Swedish film. (This was before VCRs)
The film was all about pregnancy. Followed the couple, mostly the woman, through the whole process. Except the conception part. This included the baby being born.
Personally I thought it was rather cool. So did most of my class mates.
Many parents held a different opinion. One had to be tranqed for a week.
In one health class in high school the teacher bought in a Swedish film. (This was before VCRs)
The film was all about pregnancy. Followed the couple, mostly the woman, through the whole process. Except the conception part. This included the baby being born.
Personally I thought it was rather cool. So did most of my class mates.
Many parents held a different opinion. One had to be tranqed for a week.
R. Richard
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TheEarl said:
I understand your concern about the children. However, I was ejected from a sex education class when I attempted to ask a simple clarifying question before the start of the class: "Exactly what is it that you need to know here, Mr. Smith?" I mean how are adults to learn if they wont admit their lack of knowledge?
3113
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Listen, we can't let kids know that having genitals is a normal thing. The only way we keep people coming to this site is to raise them to think that there's someting strange and mysterious (whispers) "down there!"TheEarl said:
The less they know about how common it all is, the more complexes and fetishes they'll have. Which keeps us erotic writers in business exploiting them
Liar
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Bah. Our sex ed started just the same way, actually. Teacher asked us to draw genitalia, and asked us what we knew of intercourse and human reproduction. Then she used that as a basis to let us know all the things we had gotten wrong. Pretty good way to get the class' attention and open up for further topics on the subject.
Jenny_Jackson
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Neat rows of humping couples on the gym floor, 3?3113 said:Okay. Now I want to teach an Adult sex-ed class....
lipsofanangel
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glynndah said:
That just made me laugh out loud. Thank you for that!
I cannot believe they actually suspended this teacher and want to fire him for something like this. People absolutely astound me.
rgraham666
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3113 said:Hey, the best way to learn is to actually do!
It's always been my preference.
Roxanne Appleby
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Peggy Noonan can be sanctimonious and irritating, but also thought provoking. This thread reminded be of the following from a column of hers, and also reminded me of book from a few years ago, "A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue" by Wendy Shalit.
Noonan:
America has become creepy for women who think of themselves as ladies. It has in fact become assaultive.
I start with a dictionary definition, from American Heritage, not that anyone needs it because everyone knows what a lady is. It's a kind of natural knowledge. According to American Heritage, a lady is a well-mannered and considerate woman with high standards of proper behavior. You know one, the dictionary suggests, by how she's treated: "a woman, especially when spoken of or to in a polite way." Under usage, American Heritage says, "lady is normally used as a parallel to gentleman to emphasize norms expected in polite society or situations."
I would add that a lady need not be stuffy, scolding, stiff. A lady brings regard for others into the room with her; that regard is part of the dignity she carries and seeks to spread. A lady is a woman who projects the stature of life.
These definitions are incomplete but serviceable--I invite better ones--but keep them in mind as I try to draw a fuller picture of what it was like to be taken aside at an airport last week for what is currently known as further screening and was generally understood 50 years ago to be second-degree sexual assault.
I was directed, shoeless, into the little pen with the black plastic swinging door. A stranger approached, a tall woman with burnt-orange hair. She looked in her 40s. She was muscular, her biceps straining against a tight Transportation Security Administration T-shirt. She carried her wand like a billy club. She began her instructions: Face your baggage. Feet in the footmarks. Arms out. Fully out. Legs apart. Apart. I'm patting you down.
It was like a 1950s women's prison movie. I got to be the girl from the streets who made a big mistake; she was the guard doing intake. "Name's Veronica, but they call me Ron. Want a smoke?" Beeps and bops, her pointer and middle fingers patting for explosives under the back of my brassiere; the wand on and over my body, more beeps, more pats. The she walked wordlessly away. I looked around, slowly put down my arms, rearranged my body. For a moment I thought I might plaintively call out, "No kiss goodbye? No, 'I'll call'?" But they might not have been amused. And actually I wasn't either.
I experienced the search not only as an invasion of privacy, which it was, but as a denial or lowering of that delicate thing, dignity. The dignity of a woman, of a lady, of a person with a right not to be manhandled or to be, or to feel, molested.
~~~
I spoke this week at a Catholic college. I have been speaking a lot, for me anyway, which means I have been without that primary protector of American optimism and good cheer, which is staying home. Americans take refuge in their homes. It's how they protect themselves from their culture. It helps us maintain our optimism.
At the Catholic college, a great one, we were to speak of faith and politics. This, to me, is a very big and complicated subject, and a worthy one. But quickly--I mean within 15 seconds--the talk was only of matters related to sexuality. Soon a person on the panel was yelling, "Raise your hands if you think masturbation is a sin!," and the moderator was asking if African men should use condoms, yes or no. At one point I put my head in my hands. I thought, Have we gone crazy? There are thousands of people in the audience, from children to aged nuns, and this is how we talk, this is the imagery we use, this is our only subject matter?
Let me tell you what I say, in my mind, after things like this--the symposium, the commercials, and so forth. I think, We are embarrassing the angels.
Imagine for a moment that angels exist, that they are pure spirits of virtue and light, that they care about us and for us and are among us, unseen, in the airport security line, in the room where we watch TV, at the symposium of great minds. "Raise your hands if you think masturbation should be illegal!" "I'm Bob Dole for Viagra." "Put your feet in the foot marks, lady." We are embarrassing the angels.
Do I think this way, in these terms, because I am exceptionally virtuous? Oh no. I'm below average in virtue, and even I know it's all gotten low and rough and disturbed.
Lent began yesterday, and I mean to give up a great deal, as you would too if you were me. One of the things I mean to give up is the habit of thinking it and not saying it. A lady has some rights, and this happens to be one I can assert.
"You are embarrassing the angels." This is what I intend to say for the next 40 days whenever I see someone who is hurting the culture, hurting human dignity, denying the stature of a human being. I mean to say it with belief, with an eye to instruction, but also pointedly, uncompromisingly. As a lady would. All invited to join in.
Noonan:
America has become creepy for women who think of themselves as ladies. It has in fact become assaultive.
I start with a dictionary definition, from American Heritage, not that anyone needs it because everyone knows what a lady is. It's a kind of natural knowledge. According to American Heritage, a lady is a well-mannered and considerate woman with high standards of proper behavior. You know one, the dictionary suggests, by how she's treated: "a woman, especially when spoken of or to in a polite way." Under usage, American Heritage says, "lady is normally used as a parallel to gentleman to emphasize norms expected in polite society or situations."
I would add that a lady need not be stuffy, scolding, stiff. A lady brings regard for others into the room with her; that regard is part of the dignity she carries and seeks to spread. A lady is a woman who projects the stature of life.
These definitions are incomplete but serviceable--I invite better ones--but keep them in mind as I try to draw a fuller picture of what it was like to be taken aside at an airport last week for what is currently known as further screening and was generally understood 50 years ago to be second-degree sexual assault.
I was directed, shoeless, into the little pen with the black plastic swinging door. A stranger approached, a tall woman with burnt-orange hair. She looked in her 40s. She was muscular, her biceps straining against a tight Transportation Security Administration T-shirt. She carried her wand like a billy club. She began her instructions: Face your baggage. Feet in the footmarks. Arms out. Fully out. Legs apart. Apart. I'm patting you down.
It was like a 1950s women's prison movie. I got to be the girl from the streets who made a big mistake; she was the guard doing intake. "Name's Veronica, but they call me Ron. Want a smoke?" Beeps and bops, her pointer and middle fingers patting for explosives under the back of my brassiere; the wand on and over my body, more beeps, more pats. The she walked wordlessly away. I looked around, slowly put down my arms, rearranged my body. For a moment I thought I might plaintively call out, "No kiss goodbye? No, 'I'll call'?" But they might not have been amused. And actually I wasn't either.
I experienced the search not only as an invasion of privacy, which it was, but as a denial or lowering of that delicate thing, dignity. The dignity of a woman, of a lady, of a person with a right not to be manhandled or to be, or to feel, molested.
~~~
I spoke this week at a Catholic college. I have been speaking a lot, for me anyway, which means I have been without that primary protector of American optimism and good cheer, which is staying home. Americans take refuge in their homes. It's how they protect themselves from their culture. It helps us maintain our optimism.
At the Catholic college, a great one, we were to speak of faith and politics. This, to me, is a very big and complicated subject, and a worthy one. But quickly--I mean within 15 seconds--the talk was only of matters related to sexuality. Soon a person on the panel was yelling, "Raise your hands if you think masturbation is a sin!," and the moderator was asking if African men should use condoms, yes or no. At one point I put my head in my hands. I thought, Have we gone crazy? There are thousands of people in the audience, from children to aged nuns, and this is how we talk, this is the imagery we use, this is our only subject matter?
Let me tell you what I say, in my mind, after things like this--the symposium, the commercials, and so forth. I think, We are embarrassing the angels.
Imagine for a moment that angels exist, that they are pure spirits of virtue and light, that they care about us and for us and are among us, unseen, in the airport security line, in the room where we watch TV, at the symposium of great minds. "Raise your hands if you think masturbation should be illegal!" "I'm Bob Dole for Viagra." "Put your feet in the foot marks, lady." We are embarrassing the angels.
Do I think this way, in these terms, because I am exceptionally virtuous? Oh no. I'm below average in virtue, and even I know it's all gotten low and rough and disturbed.
Lent began yesterday, and I mean to give up a great deal, as you would too if you were me. One of the things I mean to give up is the habit of thinking it and not saying it. A lady has some rights, and this happens to be one I can assert.
"You are embarrassing the angels." This is what I intend to say for the next 40 days whenever I see someone who is hurting the culture, hurting human dignity, denying the stature of a human being. I mean to say it with belief, with an eye to instruction, but also pointedly, uncompromisingly. As a lady would. All invited to join in.
SeaCat
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Now why does this not surprise me?
Current accepted Sex. Ed. takes about two minutes.
Teacher- "Now Kids, about sex. Don't do it. Any questions? No? Good Class dismissed!"
When I was in High School they decreed that I had to take Sex Ed. When I was a Senior. They had also decided that this was a Freshman Class.
The person teaching the class had absolutely no idea how to teach the material and no incentive to do so. She was about ninety days older than dirt and opened the first class by saying she had been ordered to teach us about the disgusting subject of sex. I promptly fell asleep.
Oh we had films, bad animations of the gestation of a child. We had handouts telling us about the different S.T.D.'s. Oy and we had people come in and talk to us about the sins of sex, people from the local church. It was a freaking joke.
We had to do a final project for the class. Most of the kids did such things as the transmission of S.T.D.'s. Me? I borrowed a film, a good one to, that followed a fetus. It showed the conception, (In detail ) the growth and the birth. (I also rigged the projector so the teacher couldn't shut it off.) At first the kids were mesmerised, and at the end about half of them barfed. (Hey it's good to have friends.)
I was almost failed from the class, which would have made me wait another year to graduate.
From what I hear the Sex Ed. classes in my old Hgh School haven't changed much.
Cat
Current accepted Sex. Ed. takes about two minutes.
Teacher- "Now Kids, about sex. Don't do it. Any questions? No? Good Class dismissed!"
When I was in High School they decreed that I had to take Sex Ed. When I was a Senior. They had also decided that this was a Freshman Class.
The person teaching the class had absolutely no idea how to teach the material and no incentive to do so. She was about ninety days older than dirt and opened the first class by saying she had been ordered to teach us about the disgusting subject of sex. I promptly fell asleep.
Oh we had films, bad animations of the gestation of a child. We had handouts telling us about the different S.T.D.'s. Oy and we had people come in and talk to us about the sins of sex, people from the local church. It was a freaking joke.
We had to do a final project for the class. Most of the kids did such things as the transmission of S.T.D.'s. Me? I borrowed a film, a good one to, that followed a fetus. It showed the conception, (In detail
) the growth and the birth. (I also rigged the projector so the teacher couldn't shut it off.) At first the kids were mesmerised, and at the end about half of them barfed. (Hey it's good to have friends.)I was almost failed from the class, which would have made me wait another year to graduate.
From what I hear the Sex Ed. classes in my old Hgh School haven't changed much.
Cat
Roxanne Appleby
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And here's from "A Return to Modesty: Discovering the Lost Virtue" by Wendy Shalit:
Chapter 1: THE WAR ON EMBARRASSMENT
Every blush is a cause for new blushes.
-- DAVID HUME, 1741
One day in fourth grade, a nice lady suddenly appeared in our Wisconsin public elementary school classroom. This lady's name was Mrs. Nelson -- "Good morning, Mrs. Nelllllson!" -- and she arrived carrying a Question Box. It was a brown, medium-sized box about the size of a hat, and it had black question marks all over it. The Question Box was our Learning Tool, she said.
I was very excited about the Question Box, because it interrupted, then completely substituted for, the whole math lesson that day.
The class waited in anticipation. Mrs. Nelson opened the top of her box and pulled out a long slip of white paper. Then she read it, cheerily, as if she had just cracked open a fortune cookie: "And the first question is...'What is 69?'" She looked up from the white slip and faced us buoyantly: "What is 69, class?"
Some boys in the corner giggled. I immediately shot a glance at our teacher, who was standing up in the back of the classroom with his arms folded across his chest. Usually when the boys giggled, that meant something wrong was going on, and somebody was going to get into trouble.
"Now remember, boys and girls, there is absolutely nothing to giggle about! The first thing we're going to learn in Human Growth and Development is that no question is off limits!"
Finally, after what seemed like 69 attempts to explain the number 69, I raised my hand and piped up, "May I please go to the bathroom?"
When I came home I told my mother about my day, about this mysterious number that was very important and shouldn't be off limits. My mother wasn't so enthusiastic.
. . . That was when my mom called Mrs. Nelson. I remember, a few minutes later, my mom putting her hand over the phone and saying to me, in a high, extra polite voice, "Mrs. Nelson would like to know if I want you to be whispering in the locker room." Then she asked me, very gravely, "Do you want to be whispering in the locker room?" I thought about it, and said yes. I liked whispering. Whispering about stuff is exciting.
"Yes," my mom had returned the phone to her ear. "Yes, I've asked her, and she says she does want to whisper in the locker room." I found this terrifically funny, that adults could disagree over whispers. "I get to whisper in the locker room!" I called, jumping up and down.
"Yes, I'll have her bring another note. Goodbye."
From that day forward, I sat out sex education in the library. I always felt bad for the girls who didn't have this escape because after each sex ed session, as the lockers slammed and everyone prepared for the next class, the boys would pick on them, in a strange, new kind of teasing.
"Erica, do you masturbate?" one boy would say to one poor pigtailed victim as she struggled to remove her books as fast as she could. Then another boy would say, closing in on her from the other side, "It's really natural, you know." Or sometimes just "why aren't you masturbating now, Erica? It's normal, you know."
Then, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
"Why aren't you developing, Erica?"
"It's time for you to be developing, didn't you hear? Weren't you taking notes in class?"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
"Well, I was paying attention, and you're really behind your proper growth and development!"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
"You may be a treasure, Erica, but you ain't got no chest!"
And so on. Invariably just before the moment when the girl would burst into tears, I noticed that she would always say the same thing: "Mrs. Nelson says that if you tease us about what we learn in class, then you haven't understood the principle of respect." Respect is a very important doctrine in sex education class. Sex ed instructors often use Respect, a puppet turtle, to teach elementary school children about their "private places." As it happened, Mrs. Nelson was usually gone by the time the teasing began, so no one really cared about what they had learned from Respect the Turtle.
~~~~
For some reason, no one connects this kind of harassment and early sex education. But to me the connection was obvious from the start, because the boys never teased me -- they assumed I didn't know what they were referring to. Whenever they would start to tease me, they always stopped when I gave them a confused look and said, "I have no idea what you guys are talking about. I was in the library." Even though I usually did know what they were talking about, the line still worked, and they would be almost apologetic: "Oh, right -- you're the weirdo who always goes to the library." And they would pass me by and begin to torture the next girl, who they knew had been in class with them and could appreciate all the new put-downs they had learned.
All across North America, sex educators are doling out such ammunition under the banner of enlightenment.
Chapter 1: THE WAR ON EMBARRASSMENT
Every blush is a cause for new blushes.
-- DAVID HUME, 1741
One day in fourth grade, a nice lady suddenly appeared in our Wisconsin public elementary school classroom. This lady's name was Mrs. Nelson -- "Good morning, Mrs. Nelllllson!" -- and she arrived carrying a Question Box. It was a brown, medium-sized box about the size of a hat, and it had black question marks all over it. The Question Box was our Learning Tool, she said.
I was very excited about the Question Box, because it interrupted, then completely substituted for, the whole math lesson that day.
The class waited in anticipation. Mrs. Nelson opened the top of her box and pulled out a long slip of white paper. Then she read it, cheerily, as if she had just cracked open a fortune cookie: "And the first question is...'What is 69?'" She looked up from the white slip and faced us buoyantly: "What is 69, class?"
Some boys in the corner giggled. I immediately shot a glance at our teacher, who was standing up in the back of the classroom with his arms folded across his chest. Usually when the boys giggled, that meant something wrong was going on, and somebody was going to get into trouble.
"Now remember, boys and girls, there is absolutely nothing to giggle about! The first thing we're going to learn in Human Growth and Development is that no question is off limits!"
Finally, after what seemed like 69 attempts to explain the number 69, I raised my hand and piped up, "May I please go to the bathroom?"
When I came home I told my mother about my day, about this mysterious number that was very important and shouldn't be off limits. My mother wasn't so enthusiastic.
. . . That was when my mom called Mrs. Nelson. I remember, a few minutes later, my mom putting her hand over the phone and saying to me, in a high, extra polite voice, "Mrs. Nelson would like to know if I want you to be whispering in the locker room." Then she asked me, very gravely, "Do you want to be whispering in the locker room?" I thought about it, and said yes. I liked whispering. Whispering about stuff is exciting.
"Yes," my mom had returned the phone to her ear. "Yes, I've asked her, and she says she does want to whisper in the locker room." I found this terrifically funny, that adults could disagree over whispers. "I get to whisper in the locker room!" I called, jumping up and down.
"Yes, I'll have her bring another note. Goodbye."
From that day forward, I sat out sex education in the library. I always felt bad for the girls who didn't have this escape because after each sex ed session, as the lockers slammed and everyone prepared for the next class, the boys would pick on them, in a strange, new kind of teasing.
"Erica, do you masturbate?" one boy would say to one poor pigtailed victim as she struggled to remove her books as fast as she could. Then another boy would say, closing in on her from the other side, "It's really natural, you know." Or sometimes just "why aren't you masturbating now, Erica? It's normal, you know."
Then, "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
"Why aren't you developing, Erica?"
"It's time for you to be developing, didn't you hear? Weren't you taking notes in class?"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
"Well, I was paying attention, and you're really behind your proper growth and development!"
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
"You may be a treasure, Erica, but you ain't got no chest!"
And so on. Invariably just before the moment when the girl would burst into tears, I noticed that she would always say the same thing: "Mrs. Nelson says that if you tease us about what we learn in class, then you haven't understood the principle of respect." Respect is a very important doctrine in sex education class. Sex ed instructors often use Respect, a puppet turtle, to teach elementary school children about their "private places." As it happened, Mrs. Nelson was usually gone by the time the teasing began, so no one really cared about what they had learned from Respect the Turtle.
~~~~
For some reason, no one connects this kind of harassment and early sex education. But to me the connection was obvious from the start, because the boys never teased me -- they assumed I didn't know what they were referring to. Whenever they would start to tease me, they always stopped when I gave them a confused look and said, "I have no idea what you guys are talking about. I was in the library." Even though I usually did know what they were talking about, the line still worked, and they would be almost apologetic: "Oh, right -- you're the weirdo who always goes to the library." And they would pass me by and begin to torture the next girl, who they knew had been in class with them and could appreciate all the new put-downs they had learned.
All across North America, sex educators are doling out such ammunition under the banner of enlightenment.
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Roxanne Appleby
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Do I personally buy what Noonan and Shalit are selling above? Yes and no. I agree with Shalit that the kinds of mixed classes like she describes - and like the one that's the subject of this thread - are an invitation to trouble: teasing and outright sexual harassment. No, that doesn't mean I think ignorance is a good thing. I don't accept that as an either/or choice.
In her self absorbed way Noonan raises an issue worth discussing, which is what kind of society do we really want to live in. We have defaulted without any serious thought or discusson to one that's low and crass. I also think it's a false choice that we either must have a culture of repression, or one that's low and crass, yet that is how the issue is framed the rare times that it does come up.
In her self absorbed way Noonan raises an issue worth discussing, which is what kind of society do we really want to live in. We have defaulted without any serious thought or discusson to one that's low and crass. I also think it's a false choice that we either must have a culture of repression, or one that's low and crass, yet that is how the issue is framed the rare times that it does come up.
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Boxlicker101
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cumallday said:
As a reader and/or writer of dirty stories, you should know that the clitoris is not a part of the vagina. They are both a part of the vulva.
They also both feel very good to a tongue. 
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drksideofthemoon
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starrkers said:
Yup 12-13...and you hit the nail on the head...it's not like most of them haven't seen pictures of genitalia on the net...
Vermilion
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Pregnant teens?
Well what's our excuse in the UK? We have adequate sex ed (as far as I know). The main problem here seems to be one of 2 things.
a) alternative things to do. I remember being a teenager when the last place you wanted to spend your evenings was in your own house, but none of your friends had anything like the american kinds on TV like a big basement or a 'den,' so instead you roam the streets drinking booze out of a coca cola bottle half full of coke, half full of vodka, then you go to the park or to someone's house if their parents were out and start intimate explorations of the opposite gender. This is how I spent most of the years I was 15 and 16. It's amazing I got any GCSEs at all, let alone good ones. What would have been better would be to have non-alcoholic night clubs, or a social club during the day open to under 18s. There really was nothing better to do when I was a teen than get drunk and screw people.
And I'm from a very 'nice' background, all the boys and girls I knew were 'nice' and we all did the nastiest things with each other...
b)The less well off girls who know that getting pregnant is a sure fire way to get their own flat. Heck I don't blame some of them, but perhaps it would be better if they were given opportunities to move out of home with*out* having to get themselves knocked up?
x
V
Well what's our excuse in the UK? We have adequate sex ed (as far as I know). The main problem here seems to be one of 2 things.
a) alternative things to do. I remember being a teenager when the last place you wanted to spend your evenings was in your own house, but none of your friends had anything like the american kinds on TV like a big basement or a 'den,' so instead you roam the streets drinking booze out of a coca cola bottle half full of coke, half full of vodka, then you go to the park or to someone's house if their parents were out and start intimate explorations of the opposite gender. This is how I spent most of the years I was 15 and 16. It's amazing I got any GCSEs at all, let alone good ones. What would have been better would be to have non-alcoholic night clubs, or a social club during the day open to under 18s. There really was nothing better to do when I was a teen than get drunk and screw people.
And I'm from a very 'nice' background, all the boys and girls I knew were 'nice' and we all did the nastiest things with each other...
b)The less well off girls who know that getting pregnant is a sure fire way to get their own flat. Heck I don't blame some of them, but perhaps it would be better if they were given opportunities to move out of home with*out* having to get themselves knocked up?
x
V
Roxanne Appleby
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Indeed - I hardly think that ignorance of the consequences of inserting tab A into slot B has anything to do with teenage pregnancy. Nor not teaching mixed groups of the little darlings all about masturbation, either, or any of the trendy little "enlightened" fads in this area.Vermilion said:
We need to have a very serious and sober discussion about the interaction of classes like the subject of this thread with the sociology of adolescents. I suspect that we're going about this all wrong, and worse, in a way that is most likely to bring about the results we want to avoid. And also has many other painful consequences, per the Wendy Shalit excerpt above.
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