Sexual Education
By Alan Markowitz 

Disclaimer: This story is strictly for fun and no money will be made from this. All characters, and other copyrights, indicia, etc. belongs to MTV or whoever is responsible for Daria. With that said . . . I would like to thank my sister for typing this and for editing and contributions, particularly, Quinn’s questions. This story is copyright by Alan Markowitz. Forward any comments to Alan at babette6@pipeline.com. Enjoy (I hope).

        "C’mon Daria! It’s only twenty dollars. It will be well worth it."

        "Oh, okay."

        "Great!"

        From their seats in the back of Mr. DiMartino’s class, they had a great view.
Jane hauled Daria from their previous class on home economics to make
sure they had the best seats possible. "Up front, would be just too close,"
Jane reasoned.

        Mr. DiMartino thought his lecture on sex was going well, considering he could
still read his rapidly deteriorating index cards, which by now resembled wads
of wet tissues. Gripping the podium even stopped his shaking. Just one more
card to go . . .

        "Uhhh, sex education can NOT be Emphasized m..m..ore. Loose morals,
disease and even ALTERNATE LIFESTYLES must BE controlled. Our
forefathers didn’t believe in alternate lifestyles. If they did we wouldn’t be here
today, uhhh..."

        A glance at the clock indicated to Jane that the class was almost over and an
even quicker one to Daria revealed the formation of a rare smile. Something
had to be done.

        "I . . . uhhh, therefore, as per ASSIGNMENT want a prepared speech on sex
by next week. KEEP it under five minutes SO that . . . "

        "What about that incident downtown last year?" Jane blurted out.

        Now Mr. DiMartino began to shake violently. His eye bulging from his head,
foam forming around his mouth and, some students swore later, he actually
began to vibrate like a tuning fork.

        "NO, . . . NOTHING HAPPENED . . . NOTHING . . . DID NOTHING . . .
SAW NOTHING . . . PAPER’S WRONG . . . POLICE . . . NO . . . NOTHING"

        "He looks rather peaceful," Jane remarked later as the attendants loaded
Mr. DiMartino into the ambulance outside the school.

        "That many tranquilizer darts would do it," Daria reflected. "It was like a
National Geographic I saw about a marauding boar in this village."

        "Do you think he sleeps with his eye open like that all the time?"

        "No. Once they get him into the hospital, they’ll probably put an eyepatch on
him. Who knows, eyepatches are very sexy. Those restraining straps are
also a fashion statement." Daria paused very briefly. "I am only going to pay
you ten dollars," Daria said, switching the topic. "You implied he would go
ballistic without outside help. If you hadn’t asked him, he would have
completed his lecture. He even got through the slide show."

        "I know . . . but you must admit it was still worth it. Would you rather I didn’t
say anything. C’mon Daria, I see a bit of a smile."

        "What about the speech we’ll have to give?" Daria asked, brief smile now
passed.

        "Uhhh. . . mention some statistics about moral decay, the degradation of
youth in our society and if you get stuck, show a little skin. Kevin would
probably eat it up."

        "Speaking of eating up, I thought we would have to lecture him and Brittany
during the slide . . ."

        "Grrowwwr ladies"

        Even with their backs to him, the sound was unmistakable. Upchuck had
announced his presence via his mating call.

        "So girls. Do you need my help for the, uhhh, research portion of your
speech?" he asked in his most suavest voice.

        "I’m terribly sorry, but I am having root canal work done," Jane said quickly.

        "Ahh, pain before pleasure. I can really help. Really!" he intoned. "What
about you, Daria?"

        "I’d love to but I already helped you with that science project with the mouse. I
am too familiar with your methods. It would spoil the undifferentiated
circumspatial bias factor. Jane could do it. The dentist said her mouth
wouldn’t take that long to heal."

        Jane whirled Daria around and back her up a bit. "Are you doing this to me
over the ten dollars?"

        "No, but who knows? They might interview you for Sick, Sad World. I could
say I knew you when! C’mon, . . . it will be well worth it."

        "Okay, Upchuck. I’ll postpone the appointment Thursday night, but don’t even
think about kissing me. The dentist said any pressure in the wrong spot might
lead to swelling."

        "Grrowwwrrr. Now you’re turning me on!"

        "Did you hear Daria has to give a lecture on sex," Quinn piped in during the
Tuesday meatloaf dinner.

        "Is that true Daria?" Helen asked. "Do you need our help. . . Jake . . . say
something."

        "Well Daria . . . " Jake began thoughtfully putting down his fork. "Boys are
different than girls. Boys like sports and uhhh, . . . girls like shopping. Buying
bright clothing and wearing perfume and makeup to attract. . . "

        "Jake! You’re no help!" Helen cut him off. "Your father and I learned about
sex the right way. . . "

        Flashback to Jake and Helen in a dorm room, smoking from a hookah and
kissing while "Disco Duck" plays in the background.

        . . . . it was one of the most beautiful mother/daughter talks we ever had."

        "Well, I am going to do my own survey," Quinn said.

        "QUINN!" Helen shouted.

        "Well, at least I am not doing field research like Daria!"

        "DARIA!" Helen and Jake shouted simultaneously.

        While this was going on, Daria thought things could not get much worse . . .

        "Hey Diarrhea, . . . you, u-huh, huh, huh, wanna know about u-huh, huh huh,
sex?" Butt-head offered.

        "Yeah, sex, sex se.e.e.E.E.EX", Beavis feverishly chanted.

        "So, u-huh, huh, do you want to have u-huh, huh sex here or wait until we get
home," Butt-head suggested.

        "Yes, it could be worse," Daria said to herself.


        "Hey, great practice Kevin."

        "Thanks Mark," said Kevin as he high fived him. Kevin thought life was
wonderful. Kevin made his usual great plays, it was the middle of the week
and Sue, MaryJane and Barbara, members of the varsity cheerleaders,
watched his every move.

        "Hmmm . . . , every move," Kevin thought aloud.

        Whoops, Kevin caught himself. Mustn't draw any undue attention to himself.
He might have to reveal his techniques on getting babes. Looking around the
room, however, boosted his confidence. He looked much better in his towel
than they did.

        "Hmmm . . . , moves, technique, babes . . . "

        Yes, Kevin believed he had an angle on which to make his speech about sex
the upcoming Tuesday. "Sex and the Male Athlete." Of course, names would
have to be changed as Brittany might suspect something. Brittany would
probably base her speech on him. "Sex, the Male Athlete and the
Cheerleaders That Love Them." And he was meeting her in the mall tonight
for a date.

        Yes, life was wonderful, Kevin thought as he dropped the book from his open
locker.

        "Great play, Kevin," said Mack, giving him a slap on the butt.

        "Hey," Kevin thought, "athletes aren’t supposed to do that when one is bent
over. You are supposed to do that when both are standing." Suddenly Kevin
felt himself breaking into a cold sweat. Is this Mack’s research? Is he going
to use my real name? Hey, there are guys in towels here! Kevin was going into
sensory overload.

        "Arrrrgugh!" Kevin gurgled as he bolted out of the locker room, sans towel,
towards the woodshop class.

        "Nice end run," one of the guys shouted.

Ding Dong!

        Jane wasn’t sure what to expect. "La Cucaracha perhaps? Nah, Upchuck
lives with his parents."

        "My, but you look ravishingly resplendent tonight," said Upchuck upon
opening the door.

        "You look, uh, interesting too," Jane said looking at his purple smoking jacket.

        "Do you smoke, Upchuck?"

        "No, but it’s easier to slip off," said Upchuck. "Come, let us repair to the
upstairs lair."

        "Lead on, MacDuff," Jane replied. "MacBeth had it easy," she thought to
herself.

        Going up the stairs, she saw various family photos. Could these traits be
hereditary? Nah, they look okay enough. I should keep this in mind for
another paper.

        "Ladies first," Upchuck said as he ushered Jane into the lair.

        Jane’s first thought was that if Upchuck stopped talking and stood still in one
spot, he would disappear. The whole room was PURPLE! Even being an art
student, she never saw, or even thought, this many shades of purple was
possible. Walls, ceiling, drapes, bureau and probably the bed and sheets.
Probably, as it must be located the right of the door. She hadn’t spotted it
immediately and wasn’t about to go looking. Undue staring at it may excite
Upchuck too much . . . damn, blankets and pillows too. Where does one get
these things?

        "You are admiring my lair? Would you like to sign my guestbook now or wait
till after? Grrowwwr."

        "Look Up . . . , Charles, there isn’t going to be a now or later. I’m just here out
of curiosity and scholastic considerations. Besides, what are you going to do
for your speech?" Jane replied.

        "Speech? Who needs to talk," Upchuck said as he reached for a laquered
box on top of the bureau.

        "Whoa, wait a minute, I don’t really need to see this."

        "Ahh, but you mentioned you are curious! This is special. And as per dentists
orders, I won’t even touch you," Upchuck said as he opened the box while
facing Jane.

        The room was immediately flooded and overtaken by a bluish light emanating
from the box. Jane’s eyes widened as the light began to pulsate.

        "Grrowwwr."


        Quinn waited in a grassy area in a somewhat secluded spot nearby the
school. It was lunch time on Friday afternoon and the spot seemed safe
enough. The Fashion Club never frequented this area and only a few people
wearing outdated fashions were around. She had told Jamie, Jeffy and Joey
separately to meet her here in order to answer her survey. Quinn felt that
between them, she would get a representative response to her questions as
three answers would make a good average. "Hmmm . . .," she thought to
herself, "Algebra does serve a purpose."

        "Hi, Quinn!"

        "Hello."

        "Hey, what are they doing here?"

        "I thought you liked me more?"

        Quinn then did something unusual. She thought fast.

        "Hi, Jeffy, Jamie and Joey. You are all here to answer my special survey
‘cause I like all of you."

        "What’s the survey about?"

        "Yeah."

        "Tell us, Quinn."

**Note** The author, like Quinn, feels that Jeffy, Jamie and Joey are
interchangeable, and unless otherwise noted, their responses are as well.

        "Well, it’s a survey on dating."

        "In public?"

        "This area’s too open."

        "Couldn’t we meet somewhere private."

        "Well, here is perfect," said Quinn. "This way my results won’t be affected by
any undifferentiated circumcised bias."

        "?"

        " . . . ."

        "<"

        Well, they certainly seemed impressed! Not only was algebra useful, but so
was Daria! Wow, this is amazing Quinn thought to herself. Quinn then took out her
coordinated pen and pad set containing her questions.

        "Okay guys, first question, Would you . . . "

        "Wait, do we need a matching pen, too."

        "Are these multiple choice or essays?"

        "How ‘bout true or false?"

        "No, just answer the questions as best as possible. Now, would you date a
girl who was wearing last year’s fashions?"

        "What does she look like?"

        "That’s not the point, Joey. . . Would you date a girl . . . "

        "I read that alot of these fashions are made in Nicaraguan sweatshops."

        "Jeffy, please answer the question."

        "Does she have a sense of humor?" asked Jamie.

        "Look . . . okay, next question. If you took me to a party and another girl was
wearing the same dress as me, would . . . ?"

        "What does she look like?"

        "Joey!"

        "Are you both wearing last year’s fashion?"

        "Jeffy, let me finish the question . . . If you took me to a party and another girl
was wearing the same dress as me, would you be willing to take me home?"

        "What kind of food do they have there?"

        "That’s not important," said Quinn.

        "Yes, it is!," said Jamie, "Besides, I didn’t eat lunch before I came here."

        "Neither did I."

        "Yeah, they’re serving pizza in the cafeteria."

        "Look, just answer the question, would you take me home?"

        "Yeah."

        "Sure."

        "Why, not."

        "Great, that’s one point for each of you," said Quinn.

        "So this is, like, a tie?"

        "No, it’s just a survey," said Quinn, "I am looking for an average opinion."

        "Okay."

        "Hey, this is fun!"

        "Next question."

        "If I said I liked jocks, would you . . ."

        "Yeah."

        "Sure."

        "Why, not. Awesome, another tie."

        "Look guys. Think about what you are saying at least. I’ll go to the next
question." Quinn saw that it was her favorite question on the survey. "If we
were going out for, like, more than two weeks, would you do my homework for
me if I had to go out that night?"

        "No."

        "Definitely not."

        "Not."

        "Really, that’s disappointing. No points for that one."

        "No . . . wait."

        "Yes, I would."

        "I’d to it double spaced."

        "No, you can’t change your minds. It either has to be yes or no."

        "This isn’t fun guys."

        "Can’t we have at least one multiple choice."

        "What’s the passing grade?"

        Quinn packed up her stuff and walked away. Undifferentiated bias or not,
she’d make up something impressive to tell Daria.

        "Is there a makeup survey."

        "What about a bell curve."

        "Is the pizza still warm? I’ll race you."


        Well, Daria thought to herself, it’s Saturday night and I am sitting here in
Trent’s basement, listening to him play his guitar. Jane is out at the Pizza
Palace and her parent’s went to an alternative rock concert.
The stairs are a little uncomfortable but at least I am not sitting on the floor
next to him.

        What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I sit next to him? Because I’m Daria.

        "Got good lyrics."

        Well that certainly set the mood. Hmmm. . . probably doesn’t clean much.
Some of the groups on the posters no longer play together.
These step splinters are beginning to get to me. I’ll stand now. No, Trent’s
looking at me. I’ll wait till he plays another song.

        "Do you know Serrated Razors?"

        That piece has a long instrumental break in it. Oww, forgot about the low
overhead. Hope my glasses didn’t break. Nope . . . and he’s still playing.
Good thing he didn’t notice. Hey, he’s pretty good. I should say something.

        "Didn’t that group break up last year?"

        Didn’t that group break up last year? This is ridiculous! Some speech I’m
going to have. I can’t even talk to someone of the opposite sex. I’ll ask him
something neutral.

        "Are you harrassed by groupies?"

        That was pretty stupid . . . no, wait. Hmmmm . . . he says even at local clubs.

        "Trent, that’s interesting. Maybe we can discuss this further at the pizza
palace?"

        Hey, that wasn’t so difficult. Besides Jane will be there too.

        As they walked out the front door and Trent locked it behind him, Daria turned
and saw Jane standing at the front of the house.

        "Well, where are you two going?" Jane asked.

        "Just off for some pizza," Trent said.

        "Hmmm . . . your date seems like a nice girl. Your name is Daria
Morgendorfer, isn’t it? I know your parents. You make sure to bring Trent
home by 11:30. Have a nice time kids!"

        Jane then took Daria aside. "You okay, Daria?"

        "Yeah . . . I guess . . ."

        The classroom was bathed in a bluish, pulsing light that reflected off all the
desktops and into the students’ faces.

        "Charles, that is quite enough."

        Mrs. Phillips, substituting for the disposed Mr. DiMartino, had seen enough.

        So had the students.

        "Oh, terribly sorry Mrs. Phillips," said Upchuck closing the box. "Many mon
pardones." He bowed and then returned to his seat

        "Visual aids are always helpful, Charles, and that aspect of your presentation
was excellent. However, your verbal skills are sorely lacking. Your speech
just can’t consist of ‘feast your eyes on this, ladies....’ Well, we’ll discuss your
grade later after class."

        "Upchuck seemed satisfied. Grrowwwrl, feisty! he said to himself.

        "Quite a presentation," Daria said to Jane.

        "Eh, been there, done that," said Jane indifferently. "So, what surprises await
us in your speech?"

        Daria was nervous. This time, she hauled Jane from their previous class to
make sure they got seats in the back, going under the assumption that the
substitute teacher would call on people in the front and work her way to the
back. In some ways, she was lucky Mr. DiMartino wasn’t here, as he did call
on her often figuring he would get a more intelligent presentation or answer to
a question. However, he would be out for quite a while. Rumors had him
strapped down in a padded room.

        "It’s all so confusing and a bit depressing," Daria said. "My parents aren’t
really a help and Quinn seems better adjusted than I am. Cynicism only gets
you so far. Even Trent . . . "

        "Yeah, I know you’re confused and nervous, but don’t let it get you down.
Trent’s that way too. We all are. Don’t be. Relax. It will all clear up soon. Who
knows? You might even do something to shock our forefathers."

        Daria began a smile . . .

        "Daria Morgendorfer"

        . . . that then passed.