Magnus Johanson, former Navigation and Marketing Business Analysis.
During Sex Ed., in the Waldorf (Steiner) school I attended during the late 1970s, when we were about 15 or 16, our tall, super hot, big boob’ed and very naughty 26-year-old social studies teacher, once lifted her mini skirt and showed her (nearly) ‘bald package,’ and said “Guys, here it is, a vagina. Look at it, get used to it, be nice to it, treat it well and you’ll get a lot of it.”
(She did it in a funny, clowning way, as to make fun of the absurd obsession of us men to “see it all.” Since this was at the end of the sexual revolution during the sixties and seventies, it was something we had been talking about in class. We kids had asked ‘why it was OK for people to be naked in the parks and beaches, but not in schools and on the streets.’ And it was a time when a lot of us either started to experience with sex or knew friends who were already full-blown sexually active. It was very clear to us that she wanted us to “get over it”).
We all perked up, stunned, red-cheeked and unable to say a word. We boys all had a huge crush on her. Not so much to our surprise, so had the male teachers, —who too loved watching her glide across the schoolyard in a variety of form-fitting revealing clothes that today would make Miley Cyrus blush in ecstatic inspiration.
When we also discovered that several female teachers daydreamed about latching on to her gently bouncing nipples, to drink from what must have been true nectar of the Gods, we were convinced angels, at least one, did actually exist. Speaking of which, in strong contrast with her message, these silly guys, the pious haughty priests we rightfully ridiculed whenever they delivered Puritan sermons, some of us had to endure in a dwindling number of Christ and angel statue riddled churches across the Dutch bible-belt, we assumed had never been in the presence of a teacher like ours. If so, we’d bet our lunch money, none would remain ‘ragged up’ in the ‘cloth’ of organized religion, but rather, like us, eagerly prepping to strum a few G-strings and check out what other feminine goodness was to be discovered.
Boring and outdated warnings by brainwashed priests and bishops against the “pleasures of the flesh” were categorically ignored. We tried to figure it all out on our own accord and glancing at our beautiful teacher did not inspire leafing through dusty mind-numbing sermons. We rather, still, shamelessly enjoyed the sinful distractions of our own angel of flesh and blood, who luckily happened to prefer the ‘no undies’ option far more than slipping into a burqa.
To peek, far too briefly, at that beautifully trimmed “beaver” of hers, was her way to not only rip one huge mystery away from our ‘ever-locked-on-her’ minds. She instinctively, or rather most likely mischievously, knew that one sneak-peek of what we viewed to be the ultimate ‘passport to heaven,’ would be more likely to get us to pay full attention during her carefully planned three month step by step journey: the lessons of how to behave, to become emotionally stable, and perform sexually, without encouraging us to do it, quite yet.
She started her “teachings” with simple demands; from that day onward we boys were to open doors for all the ladies, carry their heavy school bags, make sure they were OK at all times, write down our emotions and share these with the girls in our class. She then had us massage each other’s backs, hands, faces and necks saying “it’s important that you know how to touch. It’s not how much skin you can rub, but how much pleasure sensations you can evoke. A man and a woman need to feel and be safe in eachoter’s hands.”
As we continued giving and receiving massages from other classmates we soon stopped giggling and became seriously involved with the process of something we realized would be one of the most important lessons of our lives. She never encouraged us to touch each other’s erogenous areas, stressing “don’t even think of touching these parts until you respect, enjoy and know the other person well. We are not toys to satisfy each other, but human beings. We have to earn it, There’s nothing really satisfying about being used by someone who is behaving selfish and rude.”
(It would be another two years before I had my first opportunity to apply the lessons I was about to learn. And no matter how descriptive her instructions, it would take hands-on, tactile practice to master the basics, but that is another story, one I did write down mind you).
Then she explained how very important it is for us to listen to the other person, —how women love oral sex, how to touch/gently finger/lick/suck a vagina/penis, nipples, earlobes, etc., etc., and how to kiss. She was also adamant girls use their voice and us boys to become and behave like gentleman. In unique ways she removed the taboos that stiffled the world of sex, making it a conversational item, something important that deserves open discussion and analysis. Not something to be ignored, pushed aside and whispered about. After all, she explained, “a large part of our society and economy is based on sexual behaviour and desire, why not understand, manage and enjoy it properly?”
She also wisely told us that we should avoid watching pornography because it would induce self-conscious performance anxiety and unrealistic expectations. “No woman I know loves to have ejaculate blown in their face and most men are not hung like donkeys,” she added “its more about how emotionally close you are, how you use your fingers, tongue and whatever you got between your legs rather than how many positions and hours you can keep it up.”
Despite the exciting lesson in sexual enterprise, we all agreed that the most profound lesson was what she called “No judgement observation” (Kijken zonder vooroordeel). It started the day our teacher came to school in baggy, boring, run-of-the-mill clothes. We were so used to seeing her long legs, firm buns and perfect pear-shaped boobs stuffed in designer tops that struggled to control their subtle swaying, magically never entirely revealing the area around her nipples, that we knew something was to happen.
One day she walked into the classroom in loose fitting run-off-the-mill clothes and said “Kids, I know…I always show up in slutty outfits. It’s something I enjoy. Who knows, perhaps it stems from my insecurity, a time that I too was a pimple-faced chubby teen. Perhaps I like the false perception of power it gives me to be seen, admired, wanted…to get all of this silly, mostly misguided, useless attention. Yes, kids, I know what’s going on. It is just ‘my thing’ and one day I too will grow up. But until then, I figure,” she continued, leaning against the desk, “being objectified is a lot better than being ‘rejectified’ and today we are going to get rid of judgement. We are going to look at each other with eyes filled with kindness, love and appreciation since by looking at others’ we look at our selves. We’re all connected and the way you look and judge others will be a reflection of how others view and eventually treat you.”
Aware of the importance of this exercise, she went first. She told us to look at and say something descriptive about her without allowing the physical prejudgements to influence a true objective description of what she meant to us individually. It was nearly impossible for us to look at our teacher, a woman we all knew was blessed, (or — as she subtly implied — ‘saddled’) with this perfect face and body, and say something that was not going to be in any way quantitative of the beauty and sexual energy she radiated.
I was second in line to say something and initially stumbled through with “well, um, you are tall, very pretty and funny, smart and cool….” She gently interrupted me, “Ok, remember what I said, be descriptive, but speak of who I am as a person and what I trigger in you, without allowing my appearance to influence you. Just stand up and look at me, close your eyes and describe what it is you feel my personality, my being means to you. Think of the poetry you were asked to write and share your classmates.”
I closed my eyes and at first stumbled, then found the words “you, you.. make me, you make all of us, think. You make us all admire and accept differences of physical beauty and enjoy the colours of your dresses, of clothes, how they are shaped and made and make me feel. I ’m always happy when I see you because you are upbeat and funny. You inspire me to connect with my friends, to see them in a totally different light…I see myself in them, I am not that much different….we are all trying to figure out life. We all want to be liked, loved, admired…feel safe.”
“OK, open your eyes,” she said, “look around, look at your classmates.” Some of the girls were visually emotionally impacted. My buddies were quiet, in deep thought. One of them had tears in his eyes. She then pointed at a girl we all knew was not pretty, not funny, but very sweet and smart. The girl, aware of her lack of popularity, didn’t want to come to the front. The teacher then told me to go to her and take her hand and lead her to the front and stay with her until she felt safe.
I walked over to her, grabbed her hand, lead her forward and stood beside her as another classmate, also stumbling at first, found his words, and said “…..you are clever, you make us feel stupid, but also inspire us to work harder because if you can do it why can’t we too. You are always friendly, even when we are jerks, because you are chubby. Now I feel shame. I should have protected you…I am sorry for being so mean…I am really sorry…I want to kiss you,” and as he broke down crying he walked up, hugged her and they both sobbed…for what seemed to be an eternity.
The entire class froze. All of us had tears in our eyes, cried and felt a huge weight fall off our shoulders. We had all been judgmental. We felt dirty and we all appreciated how it changed our way of seeing and how to develop a new way of treating each other. There was a better way of being ourselves. It also had a profound impact on how we boys looked at women. Behind the dresses, bikinis and whatever fashionable trickery, there is a little girl who needs to be protected, respected and allowed to be herself without judgment.
After about five of us went through the process we went home. Anxiously waiting for what we perceived as a profound voyage into our soul to continue. It soon became a sport to be protective of the girls, open doors for them. We wrote ever more poems and held their hands, —instead of the silly, dysfunctional shy or crude interactions that is all too commonly the norm between teenagers.
Being around and interacting with girls and adult women became a gentle exciting dance, a fascinating prelude to deeper friendships. We boys and girls were no longer afraid to express our thoughts and feelings to each other. It was cool to share how we felt about the things we were personally dealing with, as much as what we saw and heard that went on in the world.
Who we were as human beings, the way we viewed our classmates and also our family members, dramatically changed. And to this day we are still in contact with each other and hear our teacher’s voice often as we face inter-human challenges.
This teacher, this beautiful human being, changed our lives at a time when that mattered more than anything ever could. How we think today about sex as grownups, and truly enjoy being kind to each other all started when we understood that judging others and the sexual flaunting of our bodies as a sign of insecurity, — was a desperate seeking of approval from total strangers and/or friends alike.
Being respectful, gentle and open, changes the way the women we meet/date and are married to see themselves. Their ‘checking out’ other women on Instagram/magazines, on the street/at work, —comparing their “looks” eventually fades once we share our lessons and experiences of that class. They feel less and less a need to compete physically, but instead are inspired to just be and focus on things that matter.
Regarding sex, she suggested that we, even when we were in love, waited at least six months or more after truly mutually exploring what our partner and we ourselves enjoyed doing without shame or judgement, expressing our boundaries openly throughout the process. And not too surprising, all of the girls in our class grew up a lot happier than those in the other classes. We all think because most of us actually didn’t engage in any sexual behaviour until about two years later. We were too worried to screw it up, literally.
This took place in Holland and not one parent complained, whined and cried. In fact, our parents, upon hearing what was going on, encouraged us to engage. In the US or nearly all other “civilized” places, this smart beautiful woman would have been crucified.
The act of exposing herself to all of us was a deliberate act of teaching. The teacher realized how nudity fires up our brain, rendering us useless until we learned to see and understand beyond skin deep appreciation of the person, the human being below that over-valued layer. The girls learned that exposing their bodies is not a sign of strength, but weakness and insecurity and the bebinning of downward spiral.
Wearing beautiful, even slightly revealing clothes for different occasions is very different than showing off ‘bald beaver’ or hopping around in a thong to get a rise out of people whose perception of women as a complete complex person decreases and renders them mere sex objects, to be devoured and tossed aside and replaced by another, new “human toy.” Obviously, this applies to us men as well.
To be sensitive, to listen and really engage, even without saying a word became a way for us to discover how far more masculine it is to be open and authentic than to run around in muscle shirts in an endless hunt to “bang chicks.” And on the other hand, the lessons were clearly not about becoming bible beating sexually depressed robots either, but rather enjoy sexuality, giving and receiving, under conditions that enlighten and enhance the personal experience and that of our partner.
It is so sickening that in the US (and increasingly in Europe as well as all over the “civilized” world) too many parents think it is OK to put a kid in front of a TV and let them play stupid video games most of which are violent/sexually charged and feed them garbage fattening food, —but to teach them how to be good respectful observers and lovers is a sin. They send their kids off into the world, to live unfulfilled sexually frustrated lives, filled with taboos and misconceptions.
In all fairness, there are many good mothers/teachers in the US who do teach their kids to be good respectful partners, but the society is not ready to support the type of teacher I had in Holland. And even in Holland, this way of teaching is rare, but it wasn’t/wouldn’t be instantly condemned. In any case, none of her students regretted meeting her one bit. Our lives became richer and far more interesting.
There were many other things that the teacher taught us. I merely described the most important, essential purpose of her lessons. During my years as a photo model and actor and analyst, I often reminded myself to view the other person or camera as a window and mirror to and of myself or the thing I was analyzing. I tried to be open, vulnerable and yet totally accepting of judgment. Judging is something the other person does and has absolutely no need to affect me/us. As soon as we worry about being measured and judged we close off and become stale, unable to grow, give, create or discover.
PS: Not only did some women shaved, —since my own mom, aunts and some classmates did —our teacher was/is of mixed race.
She was/is one quarter Indonesian and since I am 7% Indo., I know this to greatly impact the body-hair department. I could have left the entire part out about her exposing herself. But that wouldn’t have been authentic. It was exactly her point, to show everyone, especially men, who obsess over “pussies,” how absurd this is. Ridiculing this silly obsession laid the basis for her valuable lesson. It eventually got us to focus, confront our primitive nature and become more enlightened.
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