Claiming My Voice: From the darkness, the light emerges.

He was my first kiss. We were too young to be kissing. In our defense, we weren’t REALLY kissing. We were mushing our mouths together and laying on top of each other fully clothed. We thought we were being adult. I had not seen such things but he had and I was going along. That is what I do. I go along…You’ll see.

In a tent in someone’s front yard in Southern California in the summer, I got my first kiss from the neighbor boy. I knew the adults would have disliked what we were doing (it’s why we were doing it in a tent and not out in the open) but it felt OK. Like it was one of those things adults tell us not to do but that is only because they have silly ideas about the difference between what adults are allowed to do and what kids are allowed to do.

In the midsummer heat we’d fall asleep in that tent. He and I spooning – his hand up my shirt. His warm hand on my not-yet-developed breast would become one of the markers for “comfort.” Having a man’s arm wrapped over my body, holding me, will put me to sleep in an instant.

…

I was maybe 13 when I got my first “real” boyfriend. He asked me to “go around” and I said “yes.” On the next Sunday, his parents wanted to take us to Bob’s for ice cream. We sat at the table eating Banana Splits and he put his hand on my thigh. I had never seen anyone do this gesture. I recall knowing his parents must touch each other like this and he was mimicking them. I learned that day that people dating touched each other’s thighs.

Like the boy’s hand on my chest, I came to love this small act. I don’t know what I like better: Me having my hand on my lover’s leg or them having their hand on mine. Either way, I appreciate the physical connection. It helps me connect to them in a way words can’t. Touch helps me feel their soul.

Two weeks later Greg broke up with me. He said the other kids were making fun of him for going around with me. Of course I was disappointed but more than anything, I appreciated his honesty. I was well aware of peer pressure and sympathized with his plight. I was a pariah. I had been shocked he had wanted to go around with me in the first place. (maybe later I’ll tell you why I was a pariah)