According to the sex ed movie, the little sperm fly bravely through the air into an unsuspecting vagina several feet away. I became worried that a boy might by chance impregnate me as I was walking to class.

Senior year of high school the class valedictorian (I was the salutatorian) noticed me. He was a bigger geek than I. He taught me his version of what it meant to make love: women are supposed to suck men's cocks.

How an Honors Student Didn't Know a Clitoris
Existed, Let Alone What It Was For.

By Arlene B.

I grew up in a family in which there were many secrets. Although my dad was demonstrative with all of us, my mom was timid, cared for our basic needs, but did not share much with us either verbally or by hugging or touching us.

I think I learned fairly early that my "bottom" was a part of me that needed to be carefully hidden and could only be touched using a wash cloth. My three younger sisters taught a lot about life to each other, but as the oldest girl, I was praised for my intellect and so I focused pretty much single-mindedly on that aspect of my life.

I matured early (age 10). I thought I was having strange, uncontrollable diarrhea for several months until my mom handed me a box of Kotex and said that I would need to use these every month and that my face would tell me when it was time (from the zits)--that was the extent of my mom's "birds and bees" talk with me.

At that time, I experienced simultaneous mad crushes on a boy in my class and on my pretty fifth grade teacher. As the class geek, I was rejected as the "brain", a status that was made worse by the fact that my dad was becoming more paranoid of what boys would do to me, and he forbade me from going to any party or school social event, including dances. He also did not permit me to go over to other girls' houses, which meant that talks and experiences with girlfriends were pretty limited.

At night, instead of masturbating (like my sisters were doing, as I found out much later), I thought about how the mathematical formula for pi must have been developed by scientists. Since my mom and dad had avoided the subject of sex with me, the 7th grade sex education movie and our very awkward school nurse were how I learned how babies were made. Of course, according to the movie, the little sperm fly bravely through the air into an unsuspecting vagina several feet away. I became worried that a boy might by chance impregnate me as I was walking to class.

In eighth grade, one of my male teachers took an interest in me and started working with me on a special project before school, which led to his kissing and fondling me when we were alone. This was my first real exposure to sex. I had no idea that his touching my "bottom" was supposed to feel good. I thought that the wetness I experienced was because I had gotten VD from him and started washing myself with rubbing alcohol at night to get rid of the germs. I did not understand why he put my hand on the crotch of his pants and thought that all men's penises were hard like that all the time.

I did enjoy his kindness and attention to me, the first ever paid specially to me, not as an honor student, but as a person, so I arranged for my dad to bring me to school early for the rest of the year to be with him. When he told me that he would make love to me after I graduated from high school if I didn't have a boyfriend, I did not know what that meant, but figured that it was serious, so I broke off with him, saying that it was not fair to his wife that he had a relationship with me.

I did not have another intimate relationship with anyone until senior year of high school when the class valedictorian (I was the salutatorian) noticed me. He was a bigger geek than I (what a couple we made!), but quickly made up for his own perceived inadequacies with a string of affairs with other girls. He taught me his version of what it meant to make love and that women are supposed to suck men's cocks (I wondered why the act couldn't be reciprocated on me, but figured that my "discharge," which still worried me, was too disgusting for him--actually it was just nice, normal lady juices, but how was I to know any differently?).

As you have described in your writings, our sex followed the typical pattern: he touched me just long enough to get himself turned on and me a little wet, then proceeded onto penetration. I knew that when he moved in a more jerky fashion that we would be done, but had no idea that there was anything more. For me, it felt more like an emotional or mental bonding than physical pleasure.

It was later, when he got the Alex Comfort Joy of Sex book that I first heard the word "orgasm". I knew I had never experienced it and decided that most women probably did not, that they were surely pretending when they made noises during sex. Since I didn't really have any women friends to talk to about this topic, there was no opportunity to see if my theory was true. My boyfriend assumed that I was defective because I couldn't come from his one minute of "passionate" thrusting. I believed what he believed; after all, he was the expert.

I went on to have another lover, with whom I was madly in love and with whom the experience of sex was more pleasurable, but unfortunately, he didn't read my responses well, and I was too ashamed to admit that I was wasn't coming during our wild lovemaking.

Later on, I remember masturbating for a very brief period following two years without sex. I used a makeshift dildo and, without knowing what I was doing, stimulated my G-spot to ejaculation. I got into peeing and remember one particular evening, wearing just a robe, spreading my legs on the edge of the balcony of the house I was living in and exploding into the windy darkness. It felt very good, and ultimately was titillating, but not satisfying, and I stopped out of guilt because making myself "pee" seemed sick.

I still did not realize that my clitoris existed or that rubbing it would give me pleasure!! (pretty dumb for an honor student!)