Anonymous
The place: A small public high school halfway through construction for four years because of budget cuts.
The Setting: a derelict, dusty woodshop.
I was a tender 16-years-old. Innocent, eager for knowledge, and ready to start on my second woodworking project: a paper towel holder. My woodshop teacher “Mr Baer” (no really, that was his name, honest) was a burly, flannel-sporting type, with thick forearms and facial hair that belonged in vintage pornography.
Besides Calculus, Woodshop was my favourite class. It was an escape for me. Crafting, creating, making things…I loved it. And Mr Baer was happy to let me work during lunch periods or after class with him.
One rainy night after class, it was just him and I cleaning up the sawdust. He barked my name, “Dylan! I’d like to show you…something.” My heart was fluttering with anticipation.
Mr Baer remove his apron and set it beside an industrial lathe. ”Brand new, maybe you’d like to use it before the rest of the class?” I was ecstatic. I mounted my block of wood and began chiseling away. The wood peeled off like butter, and in a few minutes I had a perfectly shaped cylinder.
Working with the industrial lathe was my first sexual experience, and because I liked Pokemon cards so much, my next sexual experience didn’t happen for ten more years.
Also, I don’t know what sex is. Please help.
