From the minute I got the email, I knew I was in for a rough night.
“Let’s talk about sex, baby” my son’s middle-aged white male teacher began, quoting Salt n Pepa.
You could not ask for a more obvious sign than that.
My son, who’s 12 and in year six, has a sensational teacher (let’s call him Mr XXX) whom, much like me, is in his 40s and tries to act young and cool to connect with the kids. He’s a massive over-sharer, talking openly with not only the class, but also the parents, about the minutiae of his life – again, just like me.
I could just imagine what I would say if I were to give a talk about the “sex-u-al intercourse”, as Kath Day-Knight pronounces it.
My presentation would be full of TMI, and I’d make a bunch of inappropriate (and hilarious) jokes. So I knew what this teacher’s sex ed class was going to be like.
Actual footage of how comfortable Mr XXX was going to be talking about sex…
It was going to be awkward AF.
And I wasn’t wrong. On the night, I laughed, I cried and I almost died.
Of embarrassment. Because, I promise you this: after that night, I will never be able to look this teacher in the eye again.
I’ll admit my heart sank when I saw the email. Partly because I thought, “shit, this kid is growing up”, and I just want to press pause on that darling angel with the cutest butt whom I’ve so adored being a mum to. And partly because, as I repeatedly moaned to my colleagues all week, I would, undoubtedly, struggle to control my laughter.
That’s one of the secrets of parenting they never tell you: when you become a mum, you will always be required to have a mature approach to even the most ridiculous things.
I mean, I still giggle to myself when I see my phone is charged at 69 percent. So how on earth was I going to be a grown up during a sex ed class?
When we arrived, I realised I hadn’t considered that there would be a lot of dads there. So that helped ease the awkwardness – not.
In fact, I was only one of three women present. Shoving aside visions of gang-bang porn, I made us sit at the back of the classroom so I could smirk and snigger at my leisure.
Then Mr XXX pressed play on his powerpoint presentation…up flashed a non-animated naked man (thankfully not him) and naked woman (I blinked rapidly, as though I looked at full frontal nudity with school kids all the time) – and we were off.
Most of the kids at this stage already knew about the birds and the bees, so Mr XXX began with a light refresher.
“Penis penis penis penis,” he said, or so it felt, because all I can tell you is that “penis” was used precisely too many times in the first fifteen minutes.
All of the dads seemed to approve.
And then Mr XXX started using his hands…
He made a flaccid shape. Then an erect shape. Up down, up down. Again and again.
I was almost hypnotised into a cock coma.
Mr XXX was trying to make the point that the boys will often have no control over their hormonal bodies.
“You will wake up sometimes covered in your own semen,” he stated.
“This will be called a wet dream. You could be dreaming about footy” – sounds reasonable – “or the dog” – wait, what?
“But don’t worry, even though it will leave a wet patch on the bed, it doesn’t represent a lot of liquid. Most of the time, even when you have a full orgasm, only one-two teaspoons of semen will come out.”
Ummm…one to two teaspoons? Like literally millimetres? My own experience with semen had led me to believe that normally, it was a lot more…but, a lot of the dads were nodding….
As I was considering metric measurement units, Mr XXX continued.
“And sometimes, you might even get an unexpected erection in the playground. But that’s ok, just cover it up with your lunch box until it goes away. I had to do that one time, when a teacher was telling me to put my wrapper in the bin.”
It was in that moment, my friends, that I gave a hearty chortle, which, in trying to stifle, came out as a snort-laugh.
Mr XXX looked up and me and…winked.
And that was it. I was out.
Telling my son I had to use the bathroom, I dashed outside. Shaking with laughter, with flushed cheeks I texted my friend:
“Omg please make this stop.” Very helpfully, I got this immediate response:
I could see he was still typing, probably to include the drooling and eggplant emojis, but I had to head back inside.
Luckily for me, the rest of the evening was more biology-based, and there was no more "personal experience" from Mr XXX.
Until the night finished, that is.
As we said good evening at the door, Mr XXX said to me:
"I hope you learned something new tonight."
And then gave me another wink.
Um, yes I did, Mr XXX. Yes I did. I learnt waayyyy too much about....you.
I'm grateful for that man's bravery and honesty in teaching my son, but dear God, I am never, ever going to be able to look him in the eye ever again.