It was early morning now, almost time for us both to depart for school. I could see the skyline begin to widen, hear the humming from pedestrians on their way to work, and the New York City taxis honking at them to get out of the way. This had become routine, an intuitive pattern for us, ever since we had sex for the first time with each other on the week separating our 18th birthdays. We were insatiably curious, bonded together by shared vulnerability.
Instead, the first thing I do is establish ground rules. Only then can we get to work. In the back corner of my classroom is an old shoebox with a hole cut into the top of it. Next to the box are scraps of paper and some pencils. This is the Question Box, a place where kids can drop any question they have about human sexuality.