Sex & Relationships  
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My X-Rated Sex-Ed Class

A porn studio offers graphic workshops on everything from oral to dirty talk. More shocking is how much we need it.

The model, naked from the waist down, looked at the man sitting next to me in the front row and smiled. “You’re in the splash zone,” she said. Without missing a beat, he took off his leather jacket, draped it over the back of his chair, and then made the international hand gesture for “bring it on.” And that she did: As the demonstration got underway, liquid so explosively gushed forth from in-between her legs that it sent me, but not my enthusiastic neighbor, ducking for cover.

Welcome to San Francisco porn studio’s  new sex-ed classes for adults. Forget the sober diagrams and condom-clad bananas of your high school days; these classes feature real, live naked people having real, live sex. Instead of a sterile classroom, these workshops take place on elaborately designed porn sets (without cameras present). The class subjects range from oral sex to dirty talk, but this week I happened to attend a “g-spot and female ejaculation” class led by adult performer and director Madison Young. Our set: an ornate Edwardian living room filled with oriental rugs, red velvet curtains and dark wood paneling.

It isn’t just a live sex show, though. Before any pants were removed, Young passed around a diagram of the g-spot, reviewed the anatomy, dispelled myths about female ejaculation and goaded the audience members into talking about how they liked to be touched. Then she whipped out a speculum and brought her model Ava, or “stunt pussy,” up to the front of the room. In went the clear plastic device and then Ava began to stimulate herself with a Hitachi Magic Wand in an attempt at making her g-spot swell and become more visible.

The class of more than 40 people — most of them ranging in age from their 20s to 30s, and with a partner in tow — lined up patiently to get a firsthand glimpse of a stranger’s g-spot. “It’s this nice ruffly pink tissue,” she said, pointing to the ceiling of Ava’s vagina. “It’s so festive!” Indeed, there was highly visible ruffly pink tissue right where the  sometimes-controversial g-spot is said to exist. “I think it’s so amazing that there’s any dispute of the g-spot existing,” she said, pointing in-between Ava’s legs.

More remarkable, I thought, was that even having grown up in hippie-dippie Berkeley, Calif., having attended a feminist-minded women’s college, having read about hand-mirror-toting consciousness raising circles, having ended up reporting on sex for a living, I had never clearly seen what the vaginal walls actually look like — at least not outside of an illustrated diagram. I tell you, it was a revelation: I wanted to hightail it to the nearest Good Vibrations and buy my very own speculum — and one for each of my ladyparts-having friends. It made me angry that all those times I’ve had a gynecologist uncomfortably perched between my legs, they’ve never offered to hold up a mirror. As they say, every generation thinks it’s discovered sex — and I suppose every generation thinks it’s discovered the vagina.

You see, my mind was blown by this sex-ed class even before the squirting began — but that was plenty mind-blowing on its own. Ava got up on the table in front of the class, spread her legs and began stimulating herself with a Hitachi and a stainless steel g-spot stimulator. Young explained what we were about to see: “It’s the release of all the juicy fluid that’s building up in the para-urethral sponge … and then it pushes forth through the urethra.” Young answered audience questions over the buzzing of the toy and Ava’s growing moans. And then there was a sudden burst of clear ejaculate that splattered inches from my feet.

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