I just remembered the creepiest thing from middle school.
I had brought a bottle of Black Velvet to school, as one does, and somebody ratted on me. I got suspended and forced into an "at risk" in-school counseling program with other kids who had been ratted on. I showed up to the counseling session and it was me and about four attractive girls who had reputations. Mind, I was still in the phase where I didn't know that wearing sweatpants was a really bad idea, so it wasn't going to turn into Fawlty's Awakening or anything, but it was peculiar that there were no dudes in the group.
Then, in walks the counselor, one Luís Ibañez. I think that was his name. It could have been Ibarra or something. The point is, he looked almost exactly like this:
The first thing that Luís explained to us was that sexual activity at our age was the biggest sign of being an at-risk youth. Sweatpants-level Fawlty thought: "Oh, I guess that makes sense."
Then Luís handed out two notecards to each of us, and told us to write down two numbers: one for the number of people we've had sexual intercourse with, and another for the number of people with whom we had only had "oral sex, it's when you put his...organ, in your mouth."
It doesn't take a very long to write 'zero' on two pieces of paper, so I was done pretty quickly. A couple of the girls paused briefly, and then wrote their numbers. The other two girls had to think for quite a while. Luís sure knew how to pick a group of at-risk teenage girls.
We handed in our notecards, and Luís looked at mine and gave an "ooh, (Fawlty), you're a real ladies' man!"
The girls all giggled. Now, this was a confusing giggle for me. Part of me knew I was the butt of the joke, but part of me thought that not having had any kind of sex was a good thing, but part of me was really curious to hear about those other numbers, but part of me didn't like Luís very much, but part of me just wanted to get the fuck out of there and go back to class, but part of me wanted to stay there with those girls. All of me just sat there like an idiot in sweatpants with a very red face.
Perhaps sensing that I wanted out of that room, and also totally wanting me out of that room, the crafty old Mexican veteran of many a teenage sexual confession excused me early from the counselling sesh to be alone with the others, and I went back to homeroom, slightly confused but also feeling a little more grown up.
I have no idea what happened to those girls, but I hope none of their numbers went up.