Chapter 10: Sex Education Class
The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old paper. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a flat, sterile glow across the tiered rows of worn wooden desks. We're scattered in the middle section like everyone else, not quite hiding in the back, not quite brave enough for the front.
Jared's got his legs spread wide in the desk in front of me. He's wearing a pair of white athletic shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, and he knows it. He's leaning back, arms crossed, watching the door with the lazy confidence of a man who's already won today.
"Any bets on who the instructor is?" Leo asks, sliding into the seat beside me. He's dressed similarly, a thin tank top that shows off the cut of his chest, shorts that might as well be underwear.
The classroom around us is filling with familiar faces from our gym and fitness units. Most of the men are in sports gear, the women in leggings and crop tops. A few have status-tracker pendants swinging from their necks, catching the light.
Jared turns, resting his chin on his crossed arms. "I heard it's a new guy. Washed-up professor from somewhere."
"Sam something," Derek says from the row below us. He's already got his phone out, texting under the desk. "Supposed to be a hardass."
"Sex ed's sex ed," Leo says with a shrug. "How hard can it be?"
Christopher's sitting on my other side, quiet as usual. He's got his usual oversized hoodie on, zipped up to his chin, and his eyes keep flicking nervously around the room like he's afraid someone's going to call him out. He's watching Jared's spread legs with a tension in his shoulders that he's trying hard to hide.
I notice Kalum three rows down and to the left. He's sitting alone, or as alone as he can manage, dressed head to toe in designer. Black turtleneck, expensive-looking trousers, a platinum chain that catches the harsh lights. He's got his laptop open, forehead furrowed, pretending to be above all of us.
"Yo, Kalum," Nathan's voice carries from the row ahead of Derek. Nathan's here too, of course, sprawled across his seat like he owns the place. "Nice turtleneck. Going to a funeral after class?"
Kalum doesn't look up. "A lecture hall full of you people. That's the funeral."
Nathan laughs, easy and unbothered. He's wearing the same gym shorts as everyone else, his legs long and bare, and he's already got a water bottle between his thighs that he hasn't touched.
"How big's your dick, Kalum?" Derek asks without looking up from his phone. "Just curious. For scientific purposes."
Kalum's jaw tightens. "We're about to learn about anatomy. I'm sure you'll get the exact answer you're looking for."
"He's got a point," Leo says. "They always do the visual thing. Somebody's got to get up there."
"No. No one's getting up there." Kalum's voice is clipped, brittle. "That's beneath all of us."
"Dude, you've never seen another dick up close?" Nathan asks, genuinely curious. "Not even in the gym showers?"
Kalum's face goes tight. "I do not use communal facilities."
"You're missing out," Nathan says, and grins. "The showers at our gym could feed you for a month. We got hung assholes in there every day, and I don't mean that as a compliment."
Jared snorts. "He's not wrong. The gym's a buffet."
"We're at a free-use college," Leo says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You're telling me you've never let someone use you? Even a handjob?"
Kalum closes his laptop with a sharp snap. "I do not participate in your debauched little culture. I have standards."
"Standards," Nathan repeats, tasting the word. "Right. That's what rich people call it when they're scared."
Kalum's eyes flash. "I'm not scared."
"Then why're you hiding in a turtleneck?"
"Because I have taste."
Nathan laughs, not unkindly. "Taste. Sure. I bet you've got a nice cock under all that fabric. Soft, uncut, the whole deal. Probably smell like lavender and money."
Kalum's face reddens in a way that makes me think Nathan's hit a little too close to home. He turns back to his laptop, ignoring the laughter rippling through our row.
The bell rings. The door at the front of the hall swings open, and the chatter dies as everyone settles.
Sam walks in. That's all it takes, one glance, and we both recognize each other. He's still got that casual, flat look from the food court, but up here, at the front of a lecture hall, he carries himself differently. He's got a stack of papers under one arm and a tablet in the other, and he moves like a man who's been doing this long enough to know exactly how much authority he has.
He sets the papers down on the demonstration table at the front, a long flat surface with a stool beside it. The table's got a whiteboard behind it, half-covered in diagrams of the male reproductive system, labeled in clinical handwriting.
"Good morning," he says, and his voice carries without effort. "I'm Sam. I'll be your instructor for the next sixteen weeks. This is a required course on the structure and function of the male reproductive system."
A few grumbles. A few phones come out. Sam doesn't react.
"I know most of you think you know everything there is to know about your own bodies. You're wrong. I've seen more cocks in this classroom than you've seen in your entire life, and I can guarantee you, most of you are misinformed about how they actually work."
That gets their attention. A few of the guys sit up straighter, a few of the girls lean forward with interest.
Sam moves to the whiteboard, tapping one of the diagrams. "We're going to start with anatomy. Structure, function, and common variations. By the end of this session, you'll be able to identify every part of the male equipment, and you'll understand why certain things matter more than others."
He turns to face the room. "To do this properly, I need a volunteer for a visual demonstration. It helps to have a live example."
Silence. Complete, absolute silence. I watch the guys around me suddenly become very interested in their desks. Nathan's gone still, a flicker of tension in his jaw. Leo's studying a water stain on the ceiling with unusual focus. Derek's buried himself in his phone.
I can feel the heat of the room pressing down on me. The air's thick with the scent of chalk dust and old paper, and the fluorescent hum seems louder now, more insistent.
"No volunteers," Sam says, unsurprised. "That's usually how it goes." He scans the room, his gaze moving across the tiers of faces with the unhurried patience of a predator. "Alright. Let's be democratic about this. I'm going to pick someone."
His eyes land on Kalum.
I see it happen in slow motion. Sam's gaze settles on Kalum's designer turtleneck, his expensive haircut, his unmistakable posture of disdain, and something in Sam's expression shifts. A flicker of interest.
"You," Sam says. "White hair. The one hiding behind the laptop. Come down here."
Kalum's head snaps up. His face drains of color, then flushes pink in the same breath. "Me?"
"You're the only one wearing a turtleneck in a room full of athletes. You look like you need this more than anyone else here." Sam gestures to the demonstration table. "Let's go. We don't have all day."
Kalum doesn't move. He's gripping his laptop like a lifeline, knuckles white.
"I don't volunteer," he says, and even his voice wavers. "Find someone else."
"I'm not asking."
"I refuse to be your spectacle."
Sam's mouth curves into a thin smile, a hint of the man I met in the food court surfacing. "Refuse?"
"Yes."
"That's an interesting word. Do you know what happens when someone refuses a mandatory demonstration in this college?"
Kalum's jaw works. He knows. We all know. In a free-use society, mandatory demonstrations aren't optional. There are consequences for refusing, especially for someone with his status. It would be noted. It would be reported. And there would be assumptions made about why he was so reluctant.
Kalum's eyes dart around the room, looking for an ally, looking for anyone to stand up for him. Everyone's looking elsewhere. I watch the war happening behind his face, the calculation of pride against consequence.
He stands.
His movements are stiff, mechanical, as he makes his way down the tiered steps. His designer shoes click against the floor with a sound that echoes in the sudden stillness. He's walking like a man going to his own execution, and I feel a strange mix of sympathy and interest watching him go.
Sam gestures to the demonstration table. "Stand here. Facing the class. Hands at your sides."
Kalum stands. His face is a mask of barely controlled panic, his eyes fixed on a point on the back wall. The class has gone quiet, everyone watching with a collective held breath.
Sam picks up a laser pointer from the table, clicking it once to test it. "You're going to need to undress. Let's start with the turtleneck."
Kalum doesn't move.
"The turtleneck," Sam repeats, patient. "Take it off."
Kalum's hands come up, slowly, like they're moving through water. He grips the hem of the turtleneck, hesitates, and then pulls it over his head in one motion. He's careful to avoid eye contact with anyone in the room.
His torso is a surprise. Under the designer clothes, Kalum has the body of someone who works out secretly. Lean muscle, defined pectorals, a faint trail of dark hair running from his navel into his waistband. He's not soft. He's been hiding this, too.
"Impressive," Sam says, and there's genuine appreciation in his voice. "You train."
"I run," Kalum says, barely audible.
"You do more than run. That's a solid physique. Keep it." Sam circles him, the laser pointer still in hand. "Now the trousers."
Kalum's hands move to his waistband. He fumbles with the button, the zipper, and I see him hesitate again. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
"Come on," Nathan says from the back, not mocking now, almost encouraging. "It's just a dick. We've all got one."
Kalum's eyes squeeze shut for a second, and then he pushes his trousers down, stepping out of them. He's wearing designer briefs, dark blue, hugging his hips and leaving nothing to the imagination.
Sam gestures. "The briefs too. Floor."
Kalum's breath is coming in short, shallow gasps. His hands shake as they hook into his waistband, and he pulls the briefs down, letting them fall.
I hear a collective intake of breath from the class.
Kalum stands naked in front of them all, his hands clenched at his sides, his face burning red. He's got a decent body, all lean muscle and smooth skin, but the real show is between his legs.
He's uncut, and he's big. Not record-setting, but well above what I'd call average, thick and dark, hanging heavy and low from a nest of dark hair. His balls are full and heavy, swinging slightly as he shifts his weight. The foreskin bunches softly at the tip, half-covering the head, making it look somehow even more obscene than if it were exposed.
"Now we're getting somewhere," Sam says, and his voice is all professional calm. "Let's take a look at what we've got here. Class, I want you to pay attention to the structure you're seeing."
He steps close, the laser pointer clicking on as he brings the red dot to Kalum's stomach, just above his pubic bone.
"Where the hair growth begins, we have the pubic area. A secondary sexual characteristic, signalling testosterone production and sexual maturity. You'll notice a moderate hair distribution here, what we might call a masculine pattern. He's got a trimmed, neat appearance. Good hygiene."
The red dot moves down, tracing the base of his cock, and Kalum flinches. The dot stops.
"Hold still," Sam says, calmly. "This won't take long. I need to explain the structure."
Kalum's mouth is a tight line. His eyes are still fixed on the back wall, refusing to look at any of us. I watch the muscles in his thighs tense and release, a tremor running through him that he can't control.
"This," Sam says, the red dot now resting on Kalum's drooping, uncircumcised penis, "is the penis. The external organ responsible for urination and sexual reproduction. You'll notice this particular individual is uncircumcised, which means the foreskin, the prepuce, remains intact."
He reaches out, bare fingers, and takes hold of Kalum's cock. Kalum makes a sound, something between a gasp and a whimper, and his hands fly to his sides.
"Standard grip. This is how you'd hold it for examination or for any other purpose." Sam's voice is flat, clinical, as if he's handling a piece of fruit in a biology lab. He rolls the foreskin gently between his fingers, pulling it back to expose the head. "The glans. The head. You'll notice the sensitive tissue here, the rich color. This is where the majority of the nerve endings concentrate, making it the most sensitive part of the organ."
The red dot moves lower. Kalum's breath catches as Sam's other hand cups his balls, lifting, weighing them.
"The scrotum. Contains the testicles, responsible for sperm production and testosterone synthesis. These are well-developed, larger than you might see in a man who's experienced testicular regression from inactivity. You can see the texture of the skin, the faint vascular pattern. Normal, healthy anatomy."
Sam releases Kalum, stepping back. The rod he was holding bobs slightly against Kalum's thigh, still half-soft.
"I need to get a closer look at the base expansion. Spread your legs a little," Sam says, and Kalum obeys, his jaw tight, spreading his feet.
Sam's hands find his hips, turning him around. Kalum tensely, moving with staggered, reluctant steps, presents his ass to the class. His butt is a surprise, round and firm despite his lean build, two smooth mounds of muscle rising from his thighs.
"Gluteal musculature is developed, likely from running," Sam narrates, hands sliding over the curve. "And here, the perineum, the area between the scrotum and the anus. This tissue contains sensitive nerve endings and supports the pelvic floor. Not easy to see, so I'll show you."
He parts Kalum's cheeks with his thumbs. Kalum's whole body clenches. I hear a few low murmurs from the class.
The red dot rests on the small, tight hole of his anus, pucker pink and defenseless against the harsh lights.
"And this," Sam says, "is the anus. This is what you'll be learning about in later sessions. For now, this is where his pelvic floor structure is located. The sphincter, the internal muscle, the erogenous zone. Highly sensitive, and in a free-use society, extremely important to understand."
Sam lets go. Kalum's cheeks snap closed, his body giving a full-body shudder.
"Turn back around."
Kalum turns. His face is a mask of humiliation, his eyes wet at the edges, but his body tells a different story. The cock that was soft when he stripped is now half-hard, thickening against his thigh, the foreskin pulling back slightly to reveal a pink, flushed glans.
"Interesting," Sam says, and there's a hint of real curiosity in his tone. "This is what we call a physiologic response. The body and the mind sometimes disagree about what's humiliating and what's stimulating. You'll learn about that as we progress through the course."
Kalum's hand twitches at his side, like he's fighting an instinct to cover himself.
"I haven't finished explaining the anatomy." Sam moves the red dot back to Kalum's cock, which is now fully hard, jutting out from his body, dark and thick and heavy. The foreskin has retracted fully, leaving the glans slick and shining. "A better example now. This is a full erection. Venous engorgement. The blood pooling in the erectile tissue. As you can see, it's quite substantial. Would you like to share your measurements, Kalum?"
"No," Kalum says, barely above a whisper.
"Full scale. You'll tell us your measurements," Sam says, and it's not a suggestion. "In a free-use society, knowing your equipment is part of your civic duty. I'll calculate them for you."
He reaches out, takes Kalum's hard cock in his hand again, and strokes it once, firmly, root to tip. Kalum's breath catches, his whole body trembling. A bead of pre-cum wells at the tip.
"Seven and a half inches. Girth of five and a half. Well above average, class." Sam releases him, and Kalum's cock bobs against his stomach, glistening. "This is what we call an endowment. Some of you will have more. Some less. All equally valid, provided you understand how to use them."
"Can we touch him?" someone calls from the back.
Sam scans the room. "No. This is a demonstration, not a free-use session. You'll have plenty of opportunities to explore anatomy hands-on in your practical labs."
A ripple of disappointment goes through the room.
Sam picks up his papers from the table. "We'll continue with the structure of the internal organs next week. For now, let's review what we've learned." He looks at Kalum, still standing naked and hard in front of the class, his dignity stripped along with his clothes. "You can get dressed and take your seat. Thank you for your participation."
Kalum moves like a man in a trance. He doesn't look at anyone. He bends to pick up his clothes, his cock still hard, bobbing with the motion, and I see a few of the guys watching with open fascination. He pulls his briefs up, wincing as the fabric touches his sensitive skin, then his trousers, then the turtleneck.
He walks back to his seat in total silence, his face burning red, his designer clothes doing nothing to hide the fact that his cock is still half-hard beneath his trousers.
Nathan's the first to speak. "Damn, Kalum. That was a beautiful cock. Why were you hiding it?"
Kalum's hands are shaking as he opens his laptop. He doesn't answer.
Jared leans over to me, his voice low. "That's the guy who's never gonna be on our team. But damn, he's got equipment."
I watch Kalum for the rest of the lecture. He sits rigid, his face a blank mask, his laptop screen glowing. But his hands are clenched into fists in his lap, and I can see the redness still creeping up his neck.
He doesn't look at anyone. But I notice his eyes flick, just once, toward Jared's spread legs before he catches himself and looks away.