Page 46 of Sex Ed

Maybe I should add mine. I’m worried I’ve started something very strange and untraditional with my colleague where I seem to be teaching him how to have sex. On one hand, I had a crazy orgasm the other night, the sort where you get stabbing pains in the back of your eyes and worry you’re about to have an aneurysm. Ed was a diligent student who took instruction well. It was both a surprise and a shock that he had some skills. However, where is this going? I know I’m in the middle of a dating drought and my trust in men, in general, is completely shot, but I can’t just keep having sex with Ed. Where does it stop? When I’ve taught him everything? Maybe I can set him an exam and mock up a certificate for him when I think he’s actually ready to go out into the world? Congratulations, your cherry has been popped and you’re now a Level 3 Sexual Being. It is a worry. A worry that won’t fit on a leaf.

‘Miss Johnson, are you doing The Hub today?’ a voice suddenly asks.

‘I am, Lola,’ I say, watching my bus route mate hover by the door. ‘Me and Mr Lay.’

Henry waves at her and Lola flicks her head up at him to acknowledge him there. ‘Do you want some free squash?’ he asks her. She nods and he scurries over to the counter, pouring her a glass then stepping back to let me take this one, as some other kids enter the room. No fear, Henry. Also, look after the pens.

‘Did you want to talk about anything?’ I ask Lola. ‘Maybe you’d like to put a leaf on the worry tree,’ I say, posing to frame it, a bit too much sarcasm in my voice.

‘Nah, it’s cool.’

She takes a flimsy plastic cup from my hands and scans the walls of this place. The problem is I teach about two hundred kids in a day so it’s impossible for me to get to know any of them properly. Lola is talkative, smart, she never volunteers answers, but cruises along at her own speed.

‘You dating anyone, Miss?’ she asks, out of the blue.

‘Unfortunately not.’ I mean, I’m shagging Mr Rogers and orchestrating really good orgasms, but I’d hardly call that conventional dating.

‘How old are you?’

‘Twenty-eight. Are you dating anyone?’

‘Yeah, do you know Ryan Longstaff? Skin fade, North Face Jacket, Adidas bag…’

‘Hun, you’ve described nearly every boy in this school.’ She laughs and it seems to have broken the ice. ‘Come, take a beanbag, tell me of your boy troubles.’

She plonks herself down ungracefully and I smile because I need to tell her as a member of staff that her skirt is way too short. However, I think mine was about the same length when I was at school, so I don’t want to be hypocritical. I take the beanbag next to her, hoping I’ll be able to extricate myself from this later.

‘It’s just… There was this party at the weekend and I didn’t go but people have been sending me Snaps of Ryan there and telling me he was getting with Isla Cummings.’

‘That’s a bit crap – Sorry. Bad teacher word.’ She snickers in response but then she looks at me as if she’s realising she may have an ally in me. ‘Have you asked Ryan about this?’

‘Yeah, he said it’s people trying to stir up shit.’

‘But the pics tell another story?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Do you like Ryan?’

‘I love him, Miss. I love him so much,’ she whines.

Don’t laugh in the young woman’s face, Mia. I remember that feeling of young love, of feeling consumed by it in some sort ofThe Notebook-esque way, envisaging a life and a future with a boy, signing your names together and thinking about what your babies would look like, what you’d call them. It’s not love. It’s raging hormones.

‘Lola, if he loves you then he’d tell you the truth. Are you having sex?’ She widens her eyes to look at me, wondering what she’s supposed to say. ‘Lola, I was sixteen once. It’s cool.’

‘Yeah, he was my first. That’s got to mean something, right?’

I smile. Do you wanna hear a funny story, Lola? I was Mr Rogers’ first. ‘Lola. You are so young. Your first time will always mean something, but you’ll leave this school, you might go to college or find a job and life will throw you in the path of lots of different relationships, lot of different versions of love…’

‘Is that what you did?’ she asks and I’m conscious there’s a risk I may make myself sound like a bit of a ho now.

‘I’ve tried on lots of different shoes.’

She scrunches her face up. ‘Miss, you’ve lost me.’

‘Analogies, remember them?’ I smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. ‘Did that lesson mean nothing?’

She rolls her eyes back like she’s trying to find the information. ‘Oh, so like the shoes are men.’

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