Since its debut in 2017, the Netflix animated series Big Mouth has brought alt-comedy to middle school, allowing performers like Jenny Slate and Jordan Peele to dissect and re-enact the vicissitudes of youth. Though it could be used as a guide for teenagers, it’s become a phenomenon among adult viewers reliving the sordid days of early puberty. Its first season ended with a wry, meta punch line about that very premise. In this scene, the Hormone Monster—Maury, voiced by Nick Kroll—tries to soothe middle schooler Andrew (John Mulaney) by suggesting that despite the shame and anxiety of puberty, “maybe one day you’ll look back on this time fondly, and perhaps even make something beautiful out of it.” Andrew replies, “What, like a show about a bunch of kids masturbating?” His best friend—also voiced by Kroll—asks, “Isn’t that basically just like child pornography?” Maury expresses some worry: “Holy shit, I hope not. I mean, maybe if it’s animated, we can get away with it.” His cartoon eyes turn to the camera. “Right?”

I thought about that scene a lot while watching another Netflix series about teen sexuality, Sex Education. Unlike Big Mouth, Sex Education is live-action—starring Asa Butterfield as a nervous, shy 16-year-old, navigating both school and his ongoing relationship with his mother (Gillian Anderson), a renowned sex therapist. The show is very careful; Sex Education reiterates that its characters are all in a sixth-form college, which technically makes them all just over 16, the age of consent in the United Kingdom. But here in the U.S.—and during a moment when the conversation about sexual consent, and who can give it, is at its most painful and fraught—the legal age of consent varies by state, ranging from 16 to 18. The more you dig into the statutes around consensual teenage sex, the more complex it becomes: the rules are frilled with caveats and gray areas all around the world.

Sex Education is not daunted by this. In its first episode, the headmaster’s son (Connor Swindells) stands up on a cafeteria table and pulls down his pants. Sex Education shows us his penis. It’s not a sexualized scene—he’s not aroused, or touching it, or even talking about sex. Furthermore, while his character is under the age of 18, Swindells himself is 22. Which is useful context, because the camera is close enough to his penis, and spends enough time looking at it, for the viewer to determine that it is lengthy and uncircumcised. In a sweaty later scene, two naked young women feverishly attempt to have sex with each other, but run into some mechanical difficulties. It is, undoubtedly, real and relatable—hopefully even useful for a few budding lesbians out there. But as I was watching, I kept covering my eyes, convinced that it was wrong to watch these teenage girls’ intimate moment.

The depiction of teenage sexuality on-screen has evolved dramatically in just the past couple of years. Sex Education debuted in January; on Friday, Hulu premieres Pen15, a comedy from duo Maya Erskine and Anna Konkle inspired by their uncomfortable middle-school years. Erskine and Konkle play younger versions of themselves, but everyone else is cast to their age—meaning that Konkle, 31, bats eyes across the cafeteria at a boy half her size, while Erskine, also 31, spends an agonizing episode trying to figure out how her clitoris works. Netflix’s Big Mouth is an animated exploration of how hormones rattle and alter children. In its first episode, cartoon penises dance around Andrew, taunting him. In its Valentine’s Day special, debuting today, Jay (Jason Mantzoukas) clambers through an obstacle course made of genitalia, bouncing off boobs and scaling a giant penis.