I don’t know why Linda took a liking to me. But soon I started hanging out with her instead of babysitting Patricia, even after their family moved a few blocks away.
I guess you might say Linda was a bad influence. She taught me how to smoke one day, telling me, “If you’re going to smoke, at least do it right.” And she was the one who introduced me to Richard.
Linda and I were sitting on her front porch one evening when two guys drove up in a convertible. It was Linda’s friend Ronnie and his friend Richard. They both were tall and lean and had long sideburns and pompadours, the way Elvis wore his hair. And they were both good-looking, in a bad boy kind of way. They asked us if we wanted to go for a ride.
Linda ran in the house to freshen up her makeup (she always wore lots of it no matter what she was doing). Richard got in the backseat and directed me to join him.
We drove out to the country—which wasn’t very far away— and parked on a side road of a farm. Within minutes Ronnie and Linda were making out. Richard and I sat in silence for a few minutes and then he slid over next to me and put his arm around me. I loved the feeling of him next to me, the smell of his aftershave. It was spicy and masculine. I wanted him to kiss me, badly.
I’d heard lots of people talk about their first kiss. First kisses are a rite of passage for most girls, and maybe most boys as well. But for most girls, a first kiss also usually happens with a boy close to their own age, and it’s usually an innocent kiss—short and without tongue. My first kiss, in contrast, lasted at least five minutes and there was plenty of tongue. I’d just turned twelve, and Richard was twenty-four.
The moment Richard gave me my first kiss, passion rose up inside of me that was so powerful it scared me. My passion was met with his and we sank into one deep kiss after another—only stopping now and then to catch our breaths. I couldn’t get close enough to him and couldn’t hold him tight enough. I wanted our bodies to merge, to feel relieved of the constant pain of my emptiness and loneliness.
It was romantic and intense and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world at the time. Richard reminded me of Elvis, and I was in love with Elvis. Nothing about it seemed sordid or shameful, the way it had with Steve. We were out in the open air, not hiding away in some dark bedroom. And we were making out right in front of other people.
Several hours later, Ronnie drove us home. Richard and Ronnie stuck around a while and we hung out on Linda’s front porch and talked a little. It was only then that Richard found out I was only twelve.
He was shocked. “My God, girl, you look at least sixteen!” he exclaimed, looking at me in disbelief.
I was furious with Linda for letting it slip. I was sure that I would never see Richard again. But before the night was through we had a plan for all of us to go to the drive-in the following night.
“How are you going to get out of the house tomorrow night?” Linda asked me after the guys left.
I thought for a moment. “I can sneak out my bedroom window,” I said, all confidence. I hadn’t done it before, but I was sure I could pull it off without my mother missing me.
Mom and I put Cubby on the service porch at night so he wouldn’t be in danger of being attacked by wild dogs or get into any trouble. I needed my mother to keep me safe and out of trouble too, but ever since we’d moved to Janice Drive she had pretty much left me alone. It felt like she’d had it with me and simply didn’t care what I did. That suited me just fine, though— I’d had it with her too. At this point we were just coexisting, seldom even seeing each other, much less interacting. So it was as easy as I thought it would be to sneak out of the house. I just went into my room and closed the door like I was going to bed for the night, took the screen off, and slipped out. I knew my mother wouldn’t check on me before going to bed, which meant I could stay out as late as I wanted.
I felt so grown up as we pulled the car into a slot at the drive-in. As the sun started to set, more and more couples pulled up. Soon, as if some kind of silent alarm had just gone off, we all started making out.
That night, as I experienced one long, intense kissing bout after another, I actually felt like my breasts were heaving, just like they wrote about in romance novels. I desperately wanted Richard to touch my breasts. I even moved my breast closer to his hand to encourage him. But when he did touch them, I shrank away in genuine horror. It triggered memories of how Steve had always touched my breasts and how he had made a big deal out of how big they were already.
Richard apologized profusely, but I was traumatized. I slid over to the opposite side of the car, folded my arms over my chest, and look straight ahead, pretending to ignore him. I felt so many feelings. Anger, fear, confusion.
We were silent for what seemed like a long time. Then he slid over close to me and whispered in my ear. “I’m so sorry, I promise I won’t ever do it again.”
I believed him. And I was
