Scott Baker from Breitbart-TV.com and Co-Host of ‘The B-Cast‘ submitted this shocking report today on Obama’s deviant Safe Schools Czar Kevin Jennings.

—-Warning on Content—–

I was recently approached by a team of independent researchers that I have known for some time and have come to trust. They prepared this report involving ‘Safe Schools Czar’ Kevin Jennings and the organization he founded, GLSEN, and asked that I find a way to help draw attention to what they uncovered. Knowing that Gateway Pundit has followed Kevin Jennings since his appointment, as we have on The B-Cast (here, here, and here), and on Breitbart.tv (here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here), I felt this would be an appropriate place for this report.

Warning: The following material is very explicit.

Scott Baker

Co-Founder, Breitbart.tv

Co-Host, The B-Cast

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The Full Spectrum – Pages 228 + 229

(The author describes the sexual interactions a group of thirteen-year-old girls has with an 18-year-old boy.)

I am thirteen and my soul bleeds poetry.

…

My best friend is Nicole now. It used to be Kim, but she’s so annoying.

…

Nicole’s dad has this friend named Chris. He’s really cool. He’s eighteen and he comes over to Nicole’s house to play Magic: The Gathering and drink beers with Nicole’s dad. He usually spends the night, because Nicole’s dad doesn’t want him to drive home. Kim is sort of dating him. She thinks they’re engaged. Nicole and I sleep in the basement, and Chris sleeps upstairs in the living room.

…

One night Chris kisses me in the dark on Nicole’s living room floor. It’s after five in the morning, which I know because I watch the clock the whole time. His mouth is huge. I’ve never kissed a boy before. It turns into a habit, and sometimes Nicole and I lie in sleeping bags on either side of him, pretending we don’t know that he has one hand up each of our shirts. Once, Chris has his hand in my pants and asks me if I’m awake.

Kim has sex with Chris on her kitchen floor one night in December, and Nicole and I want her to die.

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In Your Face – Page 130

(The narrator discovers to his surprise that many of the stereotypes about gay men which he tried to unlearn ended up being true after all.)

I’ve developed an aversion to bars, from what I’ve heard about the sexualization of gay culture there. The weird thing is that when you finally get some self-esteem about being gay, you have to unlearn all these things about gay men that you’ve been taught. However, you end up growing older and learning that a lot of it was true! A lot of gay men out there just want sex, and that’s not easy for a young hopeless romantic to deal with.

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Passages of Pride – Page 54

(Two high-schoolers have a long-term sexual relationship, which one wants to announce defiantly to the world.)

Late one night, Troy sneaked into Michael’s basement bedroom while his parents and sister slept upstairs. For hours, they lay together in Michael’s bed, hugging, kissing, and touching each other. Usually it was the park or Michael’s car where they would make out, masturbating each other and having oral sex. They didn’t use condoms, and instead abstained from sex that they thought would be unsafe, Troy says.

“Michael was the first guy I even messed around with.” Never was he ashamed of what he was doing, Troy maintains. “It was exciting. It was sort of like I just wanted to get on a big loudspeaker and start yelling at the whole town: ‘This is what we’re doing, so fuck you!’”

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 104

(A work of art showing a Boy Scout giving a salute behind two men kissing passionately.)

THIS IMAGE WAS TAKEN DOWN AT ARTIST’S REQUEST

The Promise, etching, 38 x 35.5 cm, 1999

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Reflections of a Rock Lobster – Page 16

(During a sleepover at the home of an elementary school classmate, the author as a child touches his friend’s genitals without permission, getting in trouble for it.)

After Billy’s family moved I developed a friendship with a new classmate named Bob Cote and I had feelings for him similar to the ones I had for Billy. Sex, however, was not a part of our relationship. In between catching toads, flying kites and swimming nude in a pond in the woods, sex never came to mind.

One night Bob invited me to sleep over. When I went I expected that we would just sit around and watch TV, but as the evening wore on I found myself becoming attracted to Bob. His mother, Mrs. Cote, had been keeping a close eye on us all evening so I waited until bedtime to make my advance. Before bed, I insisted on bringing my bed within a few feet of his. Once the lights were out I silently reached my left hand over to his bed and slipped it under his sheet and through his pajama bottoms.

Without a word Bob bounded from the bed and hurried out of the room. Where had he gone? Had I done something wrong by touching him? What was going to happen? These fears raced through my head. Soon I heard his Bob’s mother open the door to the bedroom. I’ll never forget the beating she gave me that night.

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Reflections of a Rock Lobster – Page 17

(The author reports that a large group of elementary school boys continued to engage in oral sex in the school restrooms, even though he personally had dropped out of the group.)

My sex life did not stop but it slowed down a lot – mostly I just went back to undressing GI Joes and staring at them in privacy of my own room. I dropped out of the lavatory assemblage, which had continued since first grade. It was too risky; my fears kept me from enjoying the lavatory encounters so I just imagined them instead. I lost contact with the group but later heard it had grown considerably and was utilizing the bathroom facilities on the entire first floor including the auditorium and was working on a two-shift rotation schedule. But for me, that luxury had been stolen.

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The Full Spectrum – Pages 216 + 217

(A girl moves into a college dorm and describes the sexcapades of her new friends.)

To celebrate, they hold the Dorm Slut Olympics, and I am the torchbearer. The torch is four bananas held together with a hair band, and the first event is the Banana Deep Throat. A girl named Caitlinn goes for the gold, taking the whole banana down. Everyone is awed. Jason is silver, and my roommate gets an honorable mention. I decline, since dick is not my thing, and I have no desire to practice on produce filched from Shively Hall. Then there is the Best Fake Orgasm competition, and again Caitlinn wins hands down. This time Ray gets silver, and while he’s performing, one of the ROTC boys from downstairs keeps touching himself through his pants. I laugh to myself, because it’s so cliché for the faux-soldiers to lust after one of my epicene new friends.

When it’s over, and most people have paired off and disappeared, Ray and Jason and I crawl under the blankets in Ray’s bed, which is a top bunk. I relish the feeling of other people’s legs tangled with mine, my small breasts pillowing Ray’s head. It is all perfectly innocent, but I am glad to be in the middle as we half-watch The Daily Show. I’ve missed having people to be close to, to the point that this simple human connection is bliss. I only met them this afternoon, but after watching them both fellate bananas, it would be hard not to be friends. We pull Ray’s comforter over our heads and say silly things and practice for tomorrow’s Olympic event, which will be Heterosexual Dirty Talk with a Partner. I ask Jason if I can lick every wrinkle in his ball sack, and he laughs and pretends to feel around in my pants, telling me to just let him know when he finds my labia. We decide that we’ll be funny rather than sexy, because it’s already obvious that Caitlinn dominates as the official Dorm Slut.

Then Ray complains that he can’t see the TV because he’s in the back, and I ask him if he wants to be in the middle, because he is the Birthday Boy. It’s not long before he and Jason are no longer spooning, but obviously curled up in each other. Jason keeps taking the comforter away from me so that I am outside the circle, and then Ray keeps fixing it so that I’m back in with them. I don’t know if he’s nervous or just trying to be polite, but I can take a hint. I climb down from the top bunk and collect the few other people still in the room, not so subtly letting them know that Ray will be receiving head whether they stick around or not, but that they might not want to witness it.

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 216

(A woman announces that she wants to help bring about “a revolution in this country.”)

I am a 22-year-old Latina trying to become a revolutionary and trying to figure out how cultural work could contribute to a revolution in this country.

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In Your Face – Pages 113 + 114

(The narrator describes how she sometimes likes being promiscuous.)

And I realized that I’d always sort of wanted to experience that; I’d read about that older bar scene and I wanted to be just like that when I grew up. I wanted to be like the rad player dyke from Hell–somebody who fucks around just so they can, someone who works the scene and doesn’t particularly care who she’s screwing, no emotional attachment. Of course, I’m incapable of being a player; I have the problem that I wind up falling in love with anybody I sleep with, so that kinda cuts me out of the spectrum.

…

I started working the social scene after I broke up with my third girlfriend. For the past six months, I’ve basically been a slut. I have been serially monogamous–I’m not sure if you could really call it that, because it never lasted long enough to be called monogamy.

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Passages of Pride – Page 79

(A woman recalls the “sexploration” she engaged in between the ages of seven and nine.)

When she was seven or eight, the games of the older boys turned sexual. “I was doing a lot of sexploration,” she recalls, “even at those young ages”—playing doctor or Dracula, coming home with hickeys on her neck. “It kind of got carried away in the course of being in contact with those boys.” At age nine, she found herself in a closet with a couple of boys who were trying to talk her into having sex. “They wanted to have intercourse,” she says. “I remember they had their penises out and they wanted to try it. I don’t remember any penetration or anything, but we tried.”

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 143

(A woman describes her friend’s rape using explicit language.)

Our Story

I tried to write it, first as a story, then as a poem—what my friend Christine had told me, about the rape.

…

But the violence, the violence was there, the seeds planted many years before, by drunken hands and broken lips; like the man who told her how lucky she was to be with him now that she was gaining weight because most men wouldn’t put up with hips like that. Other stories too. So many other words, entering and entering between her thighs; the cock thrusting without her permission, without my permission, and all the lies we’ve lay under all this time just waiting, waiting…

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In Your Face – Page 129

(The narrator recounts the complicated sexual and emotional relationship he had with a teenaged friend.)

Lewis and I fooled around sometime over that summer. The word “bisexual” came up afterward. A few weeks later, I came out to him as gay, which was rather difficult. The funny thing was, Lewis was surprised and disconcerted when I told him. This became increasingly stranger when we ended up in bed together ten minutes after I told him.

After every time we fooled around, he’d sort of punish himself (or me) by not speaking to me for a week or so afterward. Inevitably we’d end up in bed together. The situation was complicated when I told him I was in love with him. For some time Lewis remained the only friend I had who knew about me and we had something of a psychotic relationship, with me being the “other man” he cheated with on all his girlfriends.

…

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The Order of the Poison Oak – Pages 127, 128, 129 + 130

(Two boys have a sexual encounter while skinny-dipping.)

So Web was kissing me, and it’s not like I could not kiss him back.

…

I was tingling all over. I could feel every single nerve ending in my entire body, and each one was on

red alert (some more alerted than others!). We were still kissing when I felt his arms slip around me, exploring, but also drawing me close, sucking me in. I’d been seduced by a merman or an octopus, and Min or no Min, I was powerless to escape.

Suddenly, my body was pressing against his, slick and warm and hard, and that’s when I really knew we were skinny-dipping. There was absolutely nothing coming between Web and me now.

And then he ducked under the water again. Only this time, he did more than brush me with his hand.

…

Web floated in the gentle ripples, splayed out like a cologne model in some glossy magazine. “That was hot,” he said, eyes lasering into me. “You think that was hot?”

“I guess,” I said, sinking deeper into the water and doing my best to avoid his gaze.

Web sat upright. “Come here.”

“What? No, I don’t think—”

But then the octopus of Lake Serenity was on the move again. And once again, I was powerless to escape.

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Reflections of a Rock Lobster – Page 21

(When the author hit puberty at the age of 12, he reports that he became even more hyper-sexual than before.)

When I was twelve, the physical changes we had been told about in health class started to happen. I was getting taller, and growing pubic hair, and my voice was deepening a bit. It may seem impossible in contrast to the busy sex life of my childhood years, but I also developed a heightened sexuality.

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Reflections of a Rock Lobster – Page 26

(In junior high, the author had loveless sex with another boy whom he didn’t particularly like.)

The last holdout from my childhood sexual years was David Beamer. Dave was slower than other kids so he went to a special school. He and I never had a close relationship but once Bob was gone I turned to Dave in a desperate search for security and companionship. I began to frequent Dave’s house and to have sex with him, yet our communication only became more diluted. The more I tried, the worse the situation got. It was torture because I wanted more out of these relationships than sexual stimulation.

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The Full Spectrum – Page 146

(The author recounts an erotic dream in which she has sex with her friend.)

It is warm. Her hands are everywhere on me, on my thighs, breasts, shoulders. She laughs softly, and it echoes through the room. I’m not sure where we are, but it’s a bed, and the sheets smell like lavender. She leans closer and kisses me, fingers and palm slipping between my legs.

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Revolutionary Voices – Pages 97, 98 + 99

(An overweight woman with eating disorders realizes that obesity is caused by “compulsory heterosexuality” forcing women to hide their true lesbian feelings and thus to hate themselves.)

Secret Hungers

I had an eating disorder in high school. Like millions of American girls, I hated my body. I ate compulsively, and believed I could never be normal. I was achingly envious of thin, attractive women.

…

I was fascinated when men liked me. I believed that by controlling my weight, I could ensure a boyfriend’s loyalty. If he drifted away, I knew he had finally noticed my body was too big. If he stayed, I was hungry for sex. His desire made me feel alive.

…

As my eating obsession raged on in college, feminist accounts of eating disorders reassured me. I was suffering from issues of body image and sense of self that affect all women in our society. Because women are treated as sex objects, I learned, we are often alienated from our sexuality and from our desires. That made sense to me. I knew there was something wrong with the way I kept sneaking and stealing food, eating boxes of cookies at a time and hating myself.

…

I learned that I wanted to be big, to take up space, to rage.

…

I had prayed for years for someone to tell me, plainly and simply, what my eating disorder was about. No theory suggested that shame about my body, my needs, and desires might be shame about my queer sexuality. None suggested that envy of women might be a cover for desire. Those suggestions may be too threatening to straight feminists. Most women suffer from similar anxiety, guilt, and food obsession, and all women are constrained by compulsory heterosexuality. Perhaps food and body-image obsession are a secret language for all women. They speak a rebellion, a refusal to fit mind and soul into the role of the perfect straight girl. They speak women’s hunger for more intimate, physical, primary relationships to other women.

…

My residual feelings of guilt about eating evaporated. I would still sit down and eat a box of cookies at a stretch fairly frequently. But I usually let myself shrug off the complex, painful emotions that go with a binge. They seemed like a waste of energy. The guilt and secrecy were unnecessary.

I began to take pride in the fact that I would never be the perfect, pretty, docile straight girl—treasured by my family and by men, celebrated by society.

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In Your Face – Page 100

(The narrator recalls with mixed feelings the interactions with online child predators he had when he was a young teenager.)

The first time I told someone that I might be gay I was thirteen- or fourteen-years-old, probably closer to fourteen. It was my freshman year in high school, and I was on Prodigy, the computer service, and I met a guy, and he just started talking to me, and the subject got to being gay, and I told him that I thought I might be gay. And he told me that he was seventeen years old, and so I felt like I could relate to him. And I wrote to him all the time, and we always talked.

Later on, he told me that he was thirty-three, and I was upset, ’cause we had gotten to be good friends, and that bothered me that he lied to me. …

A few months after that, I had the same kind of experience. I was out to a few more people then, but I met another thirty-three-year-old guy on the computer, who subsequently fell in love with me. And it was, not really an emotionally scarring experience but it was kind of a scarring experience, because I had two thirty-three-year-old men that were in love with me. I’m thirteen or fourteen, seriously questioning my sexuality; they were nice people; I’m glad nothing ever happened, and, I don’t know, it just reaffirmed my belief that I needed to stick to who I was and not try to be something that other people wanted me to be.

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Passages of Pride – Page 32

(A man recalls a brief sexual encounter he had as a young teenager.)

After the tournament, the boys went back to their room for the night. Dan left the room briefly to go to the bathroom, and when he returned, the lights were out and Richard was in Dan’s bed, waiting. The two boys began “fooling around” under the covers, Dan recalls, kissing, groping, and rolling on top of each other. After ten or fifteen minutes, Richard suddenly pulled away, guilt-ridden and humiliated by what they had been doing.

“I’ll never be able to look at you the same way again,” he angrily told Dan.

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The Full Spectrum – Pages 140 + 141

(Two teenaged boys go to the movies and have an erotic encounter in the theater restroom.)

We ended up in the theater—we were supposed to be seeing some lame comedy. It started with hand-holding. Then him showing me the silver charm bracelet his friend Natalie had given him, which I grabbed and challenged him to get back. All innocent and flirty, until I slid the bracelet across my crotch, daring him with my eyes to grab for it now.

Next thing I know we’re on the floor in the unisex bathroom, door locked and lights out, fumbling all over each other. At one point on top of me, he began ramming his tongue in my mouth and swirling it around. When I started laughing, he admitted, in the same casual tone with which he’d later dump me, that he didn’t know what the hell he was doing either. I didn’t need the lights on to see his characteristic shoulder shrug.

Afterward we slid against the wall of the theater’s small arcade, looking at each other and vaguely smiling, miles apart, still processing. We ended the night simply saying goodbye.

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 167

(A woman denounces the polarity of cultural assumptions, saying there is no gay or straight, no right or wrong.)

Labels, Names, & Identity

My sexuality is as fluid, infinite, undefinable, and ever-changing as the north-flowing river that runs through the valley where I have spent nearly all my life. The continuum of sexuality is long, and I am always slip-sliding from one side to the other and most often stopping to rest somewhere in the middle. Sexuality is not black or white … it is gray, and gray comes in infinite shades, more than could ever be contained in the biggest box of drawing pencils.

I know who I am. Being unable to fit into a narrow category defined by someone else is not confusion. I know that defining myself is not so simple. If I collect all the labels that apply to me—Jewish-pagan-vegan-bisexual-lesbian-queer-woman-girl-womyn-grrrl—I would quickly fill up a book. Everyone’s sexuality is unique, just as no two maple leaves on the trees surrounding my parents’ house are the same as they transform into fiery red, orange, and yellow each autumn. That is part of what makes us human. The unnatural society we have imposed on the natural world is based on polarity and dichotomy. But we are constantly transforming, developing, and changing. Nothing is as simple as yes or no, right or wrong.

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 95

(Erotic poem by a teenage girl, describing an encounter during a sleepover.)

Poems whispered in the dark

by Laura and Lauren, to each other

Untitled

by Laura

in the dim light of my room

after the footsteps have stopped

i sink into you

i bare my body to your eyes

the same body i conceal from the world

your eyes peruse my curves and accept them

only you love my flaws

the heat between our bodies burns my flesh

melts away insecurity

under the covers your fingers perfect my naked body

your skin clothes me

i hover above you and watch you watch me move

your eyes give me strength

your breath—reassurance

in the dim light of my room

after the footsteps have stopped

i accept myself

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The Order of the Poison Oak – Pages 155 + 156

(A boy suggests anal sex to another boy, who refuses.)

Then he leaned closer to me still and whispered something.

“Web!” I said, even as my pulse quickened.

“What?” He looked absolutely innocent, which was saying something given what he’d just whispered in my ear.

“We can’t!” I said.

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, we don’t have any condoms. And even if we did, that’s just not something I’d do—not for a long, long time.”

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The Order of the Poison Oak – Page 162

(A boy suggests mutual masturbation to another boy, who again resists.)

“Are you kidding? It took me all of twenty minutes to get into your pants. Not exactly a challenge. Even Min took longer than that.”

By now, Web had to be able to see how red my face was, even in the dark, even in the orange throb of those distant forest fires.

Web laughed again. “Now you don’t just look serious—now you look shocked! Hey, it’s no big deal.

It’s the way of the world. Guys need sex. You know I’m right.” He held a hand out toward me. “Now come on, let’s get each other off!”

I took a step backward, away from him.

“Oh, please!” he said. “It’s not like you’re Mr. Innocent!”

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In Your Face – Pages 37 + 38

(The author describes being molested at age three, and then again starting at age ten.)

Well, the first time I knew I was gay was when I was three. I was molested by two girl cousins—I’m not gay because of that by the way. I remember thinking, even when it was happening, that this shouldn’t be happening because I like boys. And that was my first memory of sexual identity at all. Then after that, it was in the back of my head; I always thought about it.

I messed around with some friends I had and stuff, and then, when I was ten I started talking to my mother’s boyfriend–and I started telling him, that I had feelings toward boys and stuff like that. At the time, I had this friend who was absolutely gorgeous, and I had a total crush on him, and I told my mother’s boyfriend about it. It ended up that he used that to start a sexual relationship with me, and it lasted till I was seventeen.

And then, after what started happening at home, I started losing control of my home life. I didn’t have anything that felt stable; I was living a total lie. I was lying to my mother; I was lying to my friends: I was lying to everybody. I couldn’t be home with my stepfather because he didn’t want a relationship; he just wanted to use me for sex.

…

I told my mom when I was thirteen that my stepfather was molesting me. My mother didn’t do anything.

…

I don’t consider what my stepfather did to me child molestation even though it was really. I consider it to be rape because through that, my mother’s boyfriend totally destroyed my relationship with my mother. That wasn’t my first sexual experience, so I’m not scarred by it or anything. I’m just more upset at the emotional part of it. He was very manipulative and he showed me a lot of attention.

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 164

(A teenager describes “coming out” as a lesbian at age 13.)

I began my coming-out process at 13, and my writing and art have helped me through it all. I am 16, Jewish, and queer. Activism, writing, improvisation, hiking, reading, messing with people’s assumptions about gender, and questioning the status quo are all passions of mine. It took me a while to learn to find power in words that have been used to hurt me, such as dyke, butch, and queer, but now I have reclaimed them for myself.

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Reflections of a Rock Lobster – Page 28

(A 13-year-old boy becomes sexually attracted to his eighth-grade gym teacher.)

In eighth grade I developed my first crush on a man from afar. It was an adolescent and purely physical attraction, but no less strong for that. The man was my eighth grade phys. ed. teacher. I always thought he treated me differently from the rest of the students: while the others were doing pushups I was allowed to walk the nature trail.

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The Full Spectrum – Page 237

(The narrator meets a sexually agressive new man.)

As Simon and Ahmed hadn’t seen each other for a while, Simon asked Ahmed if he had met anyone. Ahmed responded: “Yes, I met someone. But it didn’t work out. He was too small, and you know, I like them big.” With this, Ahmed shot an impish glance in my direction, tilted back his head, and started to humbly chuckle. As the conversation continued, Ahmed continued to stare at me now and then, seeming to have a twinkle in his eye that said “fuck me.”

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The Order of the Poison Oak – Page 209

(Two boys have a G-rated sexual encounter in a rowboat.)

Then I was on the seat next to him, holding him and kissing him.

“I’m so glad I met you, Russel Middlebrook,” Otto said. “I think I must be the luckiest guy in the world.”

“Second luckiest,” I said, kissing him again.

You’re not supposed to stand in a rowboat, and we didn’t. But there are other things you can do, and Otto and I definitely did plenty of those.

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 108

(A biracial AIDS activist only hands out condoms to people of certain races, but not to others.)

I have joined many different Queer and Asian Pacific American (APA) organizations. I also have become an AIDS activist, and I pass out condoms to people of color. As I walk through the streets doing this, I look for people of color, but sometimes it is difficult to tell whether one is of color. When I’m only supposed to pass them out to APAS, it becomes even more difficult.

“Is he Filipino? Wait, he might be Latino.”

“Is that girl APA, because she might be a mix between Russian

and ethnic-Jewish.”

When I accidentally assume someone’s ethnicity I feel embarrassed. But it happens a lot.

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In Your Face – Pages 154 + 155

(A 17-old-years muses about promiscuity in the gay community.)

I’m seventeen….

…

In the 1970s people had sex a lot because there was no AIDS, and I’m really interested in the pre-AIDS era. I want to study that. Our community was really self-destructive in the 1970s. And it still is in a lot of ways. Like in the Castro, the same kind of people who were around in the 1970s are still there. A lot of the young gay people I know who party all the time, they’re just the same as people were in the 1970s; they don’t take care of themselves. I’m worried because I know that a lot of them are gonna get AIDS because they just have sex all the time, and you can’t do that.

I consider myself more promiscuous than I’d like to be, but not as promiscuous, not nearly as promiscuous, as most guys out there. I would never have sex with somebody whom I didn’t want to have sex with and whom I wasn’t attracted to, but a lot of people do. They feel loved when they have sex, and they want to make up for all the hate that they experienced. Especially in school.

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The Full Spectrum – Page 221

(A high-school boy becomes popular by dispensing tampons and sanitary pads to girls having their periods.)

“Fucking men. I wish guys would bleed out their asses once a month, goddammit,” my godsister wailed during her heavy flow, looking at me with spite.

Though I couldn’t help that my anatomy was different, I felt remorse for not having an intrusive monthly visitor. It was like surviving a plane crash and living with the guilt that it was someone else, and not you, who had to die. I did the only thing I could to make my girl friends’ lives better: I began carrying feminine hygiene products in my backpack to school. This act alone gained me the importance of a drug dealer, and my lady friends became a horde of dope fiends.

Instead of fishing to find a quarter at the bottom of their purses, girls would come up to me during classes, attempting to discreetly ask for assistance with a hearty, “I’m on the rag—help me!” I would then rapidly pull out everything I had available and showcase them with my hands, like a stage girl on The Price Is Right.

“Do you want a tampon or a pad? I have the pad with or without wings. These overnighters with wings are really absorbent, so if you’re surfing a big crimson wave, this is the one. But if you want a tampon, I have to suggest these superabsorbent ultrathins, because you can barely feel them and they’re made from unbleached cotton, not rayon. If you want to be environmentally friendly, however, I just got the Instead: Alternative Feminine Protection Cup….”

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Revolutionary Voices – Page 123

(Erotic poem.)

Further Falling

Self pressed to self, breast reflects breast

as we tense, shedding senses,

pushing our muscled tongues to the edge

of death. Lover, if each touch

is a step to hell, then let

me celebrate your devil neck,

your cleft toes, the red swell

of flesh where you have bled.

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ADDENDUM

[When we started researching this report, the following two books—Mama's Boy, Preacher's Son, and Love & Sex: Ten Stories of Truth—were on the GLSEN reading list for grades 7-12, but for some reason were both recently removed from the list. Mama's Boy was shifted to the "Educator Resources" GLSEN reading list, while Love & Sex was deleted from the GLSEN site entirely, undoubtedly because it had drawn strong criticism from those who had seen it. So, although neither of these books are technically being recommended by GLSEN for middle-school and high-school students anymore, we include them here as an addendum because until recently they were being recommended.]

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Mama’s Boy, Preacher’s Son – Pages 90, 91 + 92

(Kevin Jennings recounts his early sexual experiences with a boy named Mike.)

Now that I finally had social status, I wanted to make sure I kept it, and a girlfriend seemed the best way of warding off any accusations of faggotry.

But denial was getting harder to pull off, because I had finally acted on my same-sex feelings. Mom became a kind of second mother for many of the teens who worked at McDonald’s, who would often drop by our apartment to talk with her or ask her advice, so I got to know a lot of them. One girl, Tammy became one of the “girlfriends” I took to a school dance my sophomore year. But the one who would have the biggest impact was a kid named Mike.

…

I can’t recall exactly how we ended up in my bedroom, except Mike saying something like, “Wanna try it?” I nodded yes and, like a robot, got up and followed Mike to my room.

I pulled down my shorts and lay on the bed, unmoving. Mike kept his clothes on. While it was happening, I was in heaven. I couldn’t believe how it felt. But as soon as it was over I went to hell, filled with shame at what we had done. Mike obviously thought it was his turn now, but I pulled up my shorts and told him to go—go now. I was filled with disgust at the faggot who had lowered himself to do this “to” me. Confused and probably hurt, Mike left.

Mike and I would have several more encounters during my sophomore year, probably because he didn’t have many other options. The pattern was always the same, although we did take our clothes off eventually. Sexually speaking, it was always a one-way street, a street only Mike traveled down, which allowed me to imagine on some level that I wasn’t gay, only Mike was.

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Mama’s Boy, Preacher’s Son – Page 98

(Kevin Jennings recounts another early sexual experience.)

When we got back to my house, we went to bed and a conversation started. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was our teenage hormones, but soon we were admitting our attraction to guys, then our attraction to each other and, soon after that, we were acting on that attraction. Peter rolled over and kissed me passionately (something I had never let Mike do) and said, “Well, I guess we’ve both screwed up our lives now,” and then we went at it. But it didn’t feel like I was screwing anything up. The old cliché “it felt so right” was true: for the first time, I was having a sexual experience with someone I was both attracted to and cared about. This was no one-way street. Peter was so cute and I was so turned on, soon all of our clothes were off and we “did it all,” in a night that I can honestly say, twenty-five years later, was one of the most exciting ones of my life.

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Love & Sex: Ten Stories of Truth – Pages 160 + 161

(A groupie describes the mild orgasmic sounds of the musician she’s having sex with.)

The sixth time we had sex—yes, I was counting, because it was important for me to tally my emotions, and because I’d never had sex with anyone before—I almost told him.

Michael sighed very quietly, almost whistling, which was how I knew he came. He was never noisy in bed, and I couldn’t just feel what was happening to him. I had to note little clues like his cum-sigh so I could respond but still keep most of my attention focused on memorizing Michael as he was and also recreating him as my soul mate.

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Love & Sex: Ten Stories of Truth – Pages 146, 147 + 149

(Two boys have sex, ejaculating on each other. Afterward, one sucks the other’s sperm from some fabric and enjoys its “exquisite bitter taste.”)

I don’t remember which of us moved first. Maybe both at the same time. My hand met the smooth curve of his forearm, and his met mine. He brushed against me with the tips of his fingernails, up to the ticklish place on the inside of my elbow, then back down to my wrist. I moved my hand to his chest. I couldn’t believe how hard the muscles were.

Matt let his body go limp so I could lift off his T-shirt.

…

In seconds we had each other’s pants off. I’m fuzzy on the logistics, if we each undid our own or if we let the other person wrestle with the buttons. But there we were, exposed, our jeans in a heap on the floor.

We just lay there a minute, getting used to the sheer fact of so much skin. I pressed close, wishing I could touch every inch of him at once. I could be his body-hugging wet suit; he could swim in me. I was so content with our simple proximity that I was startled when Matt reached down to my dick. I must have jumped, because he stopped and went rigid as a corpse. I sighed as obviously as I could to let him know it was okay. Then he started squeezing his fingers, making a circle, tighter and tighter, experimenting with different levels of pressure. Cylinder, I was thinking. Base. Circumference. I recalled the formula for calculating the volume of a solid object.

Matt had one leg locked between mine, so that his dick was smushed between his stomach and my thigh. As his hand jerked up and down on me, his hips humped with the same rhythm. He began murmuring under his breath, the way people talk in their sleep. “Oh my God. This is the best when it’s flattened, and … shit … it feels like it hurts but…”

Matt cried one last word, something like “now” or “no,” and I felt a pool of warmth seeping on my thigh. Acute, I sang to myself. Hyperboloid! And then I came, letting Matt’s hand catch it all.

…

When my mother came in, I told her I had homework to finish. I went back to my room, locked the door, and lay down where Matt and I had been. I could still smell him, still feel his heat in the air. I picked up the T-shirt I had used to clean myself and draped it like a mask over my face. I sucked on the place where Matt’s sperm had stained the fabric and let the exquisite bitter taste of him salt my spit.

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