Day 1: Boy meets ethics

It's the last class of our first day, and I didn't expect it to be so... normal. The Ethics of Relationships was on the schedule, and I was already fearing it would be one of those strange classes where they try to brainwash us. The teacher, Pamela, is actually a lovely sixty-something old lady who reminds me of my grandmother. She doesn't dress in cold clothes, nor does she carry whips or leashes. Even her classroom is much friendlier, with pastel colors on the walls and posters of animals overcoming their traumas.

We're sitting in a circle, with her in the center, and she speaks to us all with a calm voice and a warm smile.

"Humans live in society. Living with other people is the greatest challenge we will ever face in our lives. All the stress we live under is caused largely by the interactions we have with those closest to us and with society as a whole. In this class, we will learn about the relationships that will shape our lives." About the fears we carry and the feelings this place generates in us.

"Everyone here is crazy," the boy next to me blurts out. "They give us dessert on top of naked people!"

"Yes, that happens," she says, leaning back in her chair, as if she's telling us a secret. "But do you know why they do it? What are they trying to do?"

"Embarrass us?"

"And why should we? Have you done something you shouldn't have?"

The boy opens his mouth to say something, but thinks better of it and closes it.

"Ethics is also called moral philosophy. It's the most interesting branch of psychology, in my opinion. Do you know why? Because it answers the most basic questions we should ask ourselves: how should we live? What is right and what is wrong?"

Silvia looks bored, resting her head in her hands. She snorts at the woman's answers, and the woman looks up to face her.

"Something you'd like to share, Miss Silvia?"

"What you're saying doesn't make much sense. I decide how I want to live. And what's wrong is wrong. There's no one to tell me it's wrong, that's all there is to it."

"Do you think so?" She crosses her arms. "In that case, if I wanted to walk around naked at school, there'd be nothing to stop me, right?"

The idea doesn't seem to appeal to her, and I don't think it does to any of us. But if you think about it, we've been doing things all day long that we've been taught are wrong, so why should this surprise us?

"Ethics is a social construct. It prescribes how people should act in life, and to do so, it takes into account the foundation of morality, based on the Catholic religion that has been predominant in recent eras. This means that many of our ideas about right and wrong have been dictated by a book that was written two thousand years ago and that hasn't taken into account our evolution as a society. If that's the case... why do you think it would be wrong for us to walk around naked? "

She's asking Jake, and the poor guy looks a little stunned. No wonder. I can't find a single reason why it's wrong other than because it's against the law. Professor Pamela laughs at us; it's clear she's pulling our leg.

"I'll help you a little. It's like this because it disrupts public order. Leaving aside morality and decency, society as a whole has decided to impose certain rules regardless of individual desires. Laws and ordinances outline the prohibitions, and we have to abide by them as part of this."

"And because it's gross," Silvia says. The teacher continues smiling, delighted by the way we're all contributing to the class.

"Is it? Is there anything more natural than the naked body? Clothing is a protective barrier, against the cold, the wet, the germs. Nudity isn't harmful in itself. A certain level of exposure might even be healthy; it would strengthen our immune system and our bodies at the same time, but it's wrong because we've all decided it's that way. Now, back to the topic. Dessert."

"You're not going to tell me that's not unhygienic.

"Of course not. The volunteers who act as tray servers are thoroughly washed and shaved, they undergo medical tests to rule out any type of contamination, etc.

Personally, I didn't dislike it at all, although I'm very careful not to say it out loud, lest I get labeled a weirdo. I start salivating when I think of the exquisite strawberry scent, the smoothness of that skin, how exposed and vulnerable the volunteer woman must have been.

"Why do they volunteer?", I suddenly wanted to know, and the question is audible.

"Exactly! If according to you it's such a deplorable act, why would anyone want to volunteer? Come on, come on, you're doing very well. There are no wrong answers here, just doubts we need to resolve. "

"Maybe they have some kind of... philia?" suggested a woman in the back.

"They're fucking exhibitionists," says Zacarias.

"No, I mean if they like it.Suck them...?"

"I can assure you, they're not exhibitionists. They're shy, caring people with trust issues or incapable of giving up control."

"To get free," the older woman says next to me. I don't even remember her name; my brain is fried today. I just realized Vera isn't here either, and that says it all. I just want a nap. At noon, I wasted time in the bathroom, masturbating like crazy. Coming in that situation didn't give me as much pleasure as I expected; it even left a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe it was because of the panting I could hear from all the damn toilets around me. All with the same overwhelming need to let off steam.

"Very well said. They're looking for release. To not feel guilty about pleasure, to let go of control, and to let go. Their treating psychologist suggested this option as a shock treatment for their particularities. They'll surely offer you other, equally valid options. Raise your hands if you thought this school was crazy today. "

I hesitate when I raise my hand, but I lose my shame when I see everyone else doing it. I suddenly feel less like a green dog, more normal. The teacher is delighted.

"Of course, of course. And that's how it is. You haven't been sent to a psychological counselor; you're in a center by legal order. This means that your situation requires less orthodox, more practical methods. This place"—she gestures to the entire center, spinning around—"is designed to break you, heal you, put you back together, and put you back together again so that you can enjoy a healthy, unapologetic sexuality, much more useful to society. "

It makes sense. And that terrifies me a little. I suppose the act of undressing us first thing in the morning was to make us understand that nothing protects us there. The anatomy class was to make us understand the mechanics of the game. The gym teacher has worn us out physically, and the cafeteria, psychologically. It's been an emotional roller coaster that has made me more interested in sex than ever before in my life.

Someone timidly knocks on the door, and we all look up from the sheet of paper in our hands to see Vera standing there. What the hell is she wearing? She's as red as a tomato and is closing the back of the hospital-issued pajamas with one hand.

"I'm... sorry," she whispers, not knowing where to look. "I'm just from the infirmary."

"Oh! Miss Vera, I heard you haven't had an easy day today."

You can't say that. I heard she fainted in the showers. She has been pacing like a rag doll all day. Se is pale and naked beneath that semi-transparent nightgown. They didn't even give her any clothes?

"Uh, yes. May I come in?"

"Of course, honey, come, have a seat. We're almost at the end of class, so let's take advantage of this opportunity to have a round of honesty, shall we?" She hands out a blank sheet of paper and places it in front of us. "Write here one word that describes the strongest emotion you've felt today. And next to it, something that happened that made you feel better. Then, pass it to your partner, who must guess whether both words correspond to the same experience or not."

I watch as Vera sits down, careful not to expose her bottom. Thank goodness her nightgown is large and doubles as a dress, because otherwise I'd see her naked for the second time today. And that would be a disaster... right?

In front of me, put the first word: Audience. And the second: Vera.