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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.
 
 
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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 Kink.com’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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