Come middle school, those lessons faithfully delivered to us in fifth grade materialized. Puberty hit us like a truck — girls wearing tight sports bras to hide the hints of curves to come, boys scratching their uncomfortable peach fuzz and itchy, red acne peppering all of our foreheads. Awkwardness, it seemed, was our second language, from the brace-faced smiles to the ill-fitting clothes. 

And of course, there were the awkward conversations. 

Borne out of puberty was a sudden infatuation with conversations about our bodies. We talked about periods, sore breasts, shaving our legs and the dread of standing up after sitting for too long, unsure if period blood had penetrated through an unlucky pair of jeans. 

The boys, however, seemed concerned with only one thing: masturbation. They talked about how often they did it and how good it felt. When we finally gathered the courage to ask, they explained to us that boners were not under their control and could occur anywhere from in the middle of a math test to while stretching before soccer practice. 

Their favorite topic, however, seemed to be pornography. Porn was their new obsession, a secret that they kept under the disguise of an incognito window, somehow always narrowly avoiding being caught by their parents. Despite the embarrassment at home, the boys seemed to have no desire to hold back when they discussed porn at school. They (referencing primarily the cis straight men population) discussed their favorite pornstars, their favorite female body parts, their favorite types of videos. But when they turned their heads to ask us if we’d ever logged onto one of those websites, we’d shake our heads furiously, terrified at being associated with such a shameful notion. 

“I’ve never watched porn,” we’d tell them and each other and ourselves. “And I’ve never masturbated. I wouldn’t even know what to do.”