In which I am exposed to the perverse nature of adolescent French boys

I had my first all-boys class last week at Terrenoire. A group of troisièmes, ranging from 14-16 years old. Now, I usually rely on the presence of at least 2 or 3 members of the fairer sex to neutralize the boys' raging hormones. Just a couple of girls can provide the temperance necessary to survive 50 minute sections relatively unscathed.

The morning in question, however, Lady Luck absconded and left me to the wolves. The wolves being young French boys of various sizes and in various stages of physical maturity, some sporting traces of facial hair, others with smooth-skinned, angelic faces, all possessing the same distinct smell. French boys of the collège age secrete a noisome scent, a cross between onions and the stink of crotch. It's not just in my head: my teachers have told me repeatedly that it's necessary to air out the classrooms after each class. Even in winter, after each bell goes off and students pile out, you'll find windows thrown wide open as teachers gulp up the cold, fresh air.

I've already related the banana story which set the bar pretty high for pubescent perverts. I haven't written about the countless times I've witnessed a male student performing air fellatio while holding an imaginary penis in his hand, all for the enjoyment of his buddies, but much to his chagrin and embarassment the moment he realizes I've spotted him and understand quite well what the gesture means, thank you very much.

There's also the time I had a group of students create rules for a series of scenarios. One group was assigned "Freedom Beach," a fictitious, nude beach. I thought prompting the students with something slightly scandalous would provoke amusement and a more enthusiastic engagement with the task at hand. I didn't foresee the possible rules that might surface.

Rules for Freedom Beach:
You must take of your clothes.
You must tan.
You musn't be gay.
You musn't rape.
You musn't fucking.

I explained to the students that "You musn't fucking" wasn't really an elegantly phrased rule. "You musn't have sex" would be more appropriate. As for "You musn't be gay," I vetoed that rule immediately.

(As much tolerance as I might have for the sexual innuendo and jokes, I can't deal with homophobic adolescent boys. Or homophobic anybody, for that matter. Duh.)

I suppose, in retrospect, my all-boys class could have been a lot worse. They were all genuinely nice, if not a bit oversexed.

Random student: Do you like Yan's hair?
Me: Who is Yan?
Random student: (pointing) Yan is there. Do you like his hair? It's very nice, yes?
Me: You think so?
Random student: His hair is nice and he love you. He think you are very beautiful.

Yan looks like he's 18, incidentally. He does have gorgeous, flowing chestnut locks, complemented by smooth, tan skin, a good build and stature, and a winning smile. And he will probably grow up to be an attractive man. Once he learns to stop scratching himself in public.

When I asked the boys what they had done over the weekend, one of them, Yassim, told me he bought a girl.

Yassim: I buy a girl on Saturday.
Me: What? What do you mean? You bought a girl?
Yassim: Yes I buy her.
Me: Is she a prostitute?!
Yassim: (laughs with buddies) Noooo, nooo! She is a girl!
Me: ... Okay, how nice for you.

Yassim is in love with Jessica Alba. He and another student had a 2 minute argument in English over who is "most sexy": Jessica, or Megan Fox.

The boys also kept bringing up "The big Momo" throughout the entire class. I have no clue what or who the big Momo is. I was too sketched out by what the explanation might be, so I didn't ask for specifics.

At the end of the class, after the bell rang, a soft-spoken student named Joris approached me. Joris is one of the angel-faces still stunted in prepubescence. He is a boy of diminutive proportions (especially compared to his peers) and wears glasses that occupy a good third of his face. He always goes out of his way to say hello and good bye, and I make a special effort to let him talk in class (since the bigger, more brazen boys tend to dominate most conversations). I think he might have a bit of a crush on me.

Joris walked up to me as the others threw their bags on and shoved each other out of the classroom.

"Je suis desolé pour le bordel, Madame."

Translation: I'm sorry for the mess.
(Alternate translation: I'm sorry for the brothel.)