Our High School Science Teacher spent a total of 30 minutes discussing sex with the boys. We were Sophomores, and those of us too shy or too moral to have sex at the first opportunity were probably in a classroom playing with finger paints. "At your age, each of you can get a girl pregnant through ski pants." He wasn't kidding. "Don't think you can pull out, or stay at it for hours. You can't. You won't, don't try." He knew what we knew, that none of this would deter us, one bit, and if we had the chance, any chance, we were going to take it. He held up a familiar looking package. "See this? It's a condom."
Meanwhile, and since the sixth grade, the girls were getting their regular drumming of sex ed. First it was the frumpy old teacher, then the PE teacher, then the chubby one, and finally, the super attractive one every one of them wanted to relate to. The lessons certainly had diagrams. We boys never got diagrams. We were too easily distracted by diagrams. I'm certain that the girls in our town, since the sixth grade had a diagram of me. Me as someone never to sleep with, as someone certain to ruin their lives or be trusted for even a moment, and that it was up to all the other girls to make sure none of them slipped. "He can be charming..." said the frumpy old one. "He'll lie to you..." said the PE teacher. "He's misshapen... down there." said the chubby one. "He's not anyone I would have." said the one all of them wanted to be like.
This is how it went. This is how I got to college, at least, almost to college, without getting laid.