Grade six.

Sex Ed.

The question box.


You know the one. Where you can write down anything you want because it’s anonymous and only the teacher is gonna see it?

I have no memory whatsoever of my question, if I even asked one. I’m more the type to sit back and hope that someone else will ask the question I’m too chicken shit to ask in situations like that. Although now that I think about it, I don’t remember any of the questions, except for one.

“What does having an orgasm feel like?”

My teacher, Ms. Olesen, read it aloud, and then thought about it a moment, her glance moving up toward the ceiling.

“Well,” she began, “having an orgasm feels like…well, imagine a giant piece of your favourite chocolate cake…”


(Mmmm, chocolate cake.)

“Having an orgasm is a lot like eating a piece of delicious chocolate cake.”

It was difficult to tell where Ms. Olesen was going with this.

“It feels really good, and it’s like – mmm – like the feeling of the yummy-ness of eating chocolate cake, because it tastes so good it almost feels good…”

She started to writhe a little, trying to communicate something that seemed really confusing and borderline scary.


(Mmmm, chocolate cake.)

“And it’s sort of like an all-over feeling of…deliciousness.”

The class stared blankly. You could practically hear the blinking. There were a few hushed giggles somewhere in the back corner of the classroom.

“Just imagine really enjoying something you really like to eat. Having an orgasm feels a lot like that.”

The lesson I learned back then: Why even bother having sex when you could just eat cake?

Cake, people. CAKE.

The lesson I learned at 26, looking back at that moment: I could NEVER teach Sex Ed. Teachers who do deserve mad respect.

Also, there’s no need to separate sex and cake.