I came out of those sex ed classes thinking that line drawings of women’s internal architecture looked like something that would grow on the ocean floor, something that looked like a vegetable but was carniverous.
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I came out of those sex ed classes thinking that line drawings of women’s internal architecture looked like something that would grow on the ocean floor, something that looked like a vegetable but was carniverous.
I was showing my Freshmen one of my favorite movies—Dead Poets Society—as an introduction to our unit on creative writing. During one of their meetings in the cave, one of the boys takes out a dirty magazine. I’m standing at the back of the class, engrossed in the movie, and then— Boobs on the screen. […]