And in spite of her rape experience, Sunny seemed fearless. She loved adventure and she seemed very comfortable in her own body, whereas I was always self-conscious, especially about my body.
The best thing about Sunny, though, was the way she made me feel. She adored me and admired me. I could tell how she felt about me by the way she looked at me lovingly, by how impressed with me she was. By the way she seemed proud to introduce me to her family and friends, like she was lucky to call me her friend. She thought I was smart and funny, and she often told me how happy she was that she’d met me. I’d never had anyone treat me like I was so special to them and it felt wonderful.
Sunny was the kind of young girl that men leave their wives for, have nervous breakdowns over, or even kill for. She was tall and lean, with just the right amount of curves and long, tan, gorgeous legs that went on forever. She had full, sensuous lips and huge, childlike eyes with long lashes, and a small, almost button-like nose. In the summertime, she wore short shorts that showed just a peek of her firm buttocks and halter tops that revealed more than a peek of cleavage. As we walked down the street, men would whistle, yell, and nearly drive off the road when they saw her.
But Sunny seemed oblivious to the effect she had on men. She wasn’t out to get one; in fact, she didn’t even like them. Ever since her rape, she told me, she’d been turned off to men.
I wondered, as I’m sure anyone else who knew her story did, why she wore such sexy clothing if she didn’t want to get the attention of men. It seemed like a contradiction. But no one, absolutely no one, could have accused Sunny of flirting or leading men on. She made no secret of her disdain for and distrust of them.
I, on the other hand, was crazy about men—especially older men. This had been the case for as long as I could remember. I was attractive but I paled in comparison to Sunny. Although my face was pretty, especially since my freckles had disappeared, I constantly battled with my weight, generally remaining about ten pounds overweight. Boys my own age seldom noticed me and the ones who did weren’t interesting to me. I thought they were immature and boring. Older guys often noticed me, but since I looked so innocent and wholesome, they seemed not to want to run the risk of tarnishing my virtue and getting into trouble. Little did they know how much I longed for my virtue to be tarnished. So there we were, two complete opposites: a girl who dressed like a bimbo but wanted nothing to do with men, and a girl who dressed like a schoolmarm but seethed inside with hot sexuality.
Meeting Sunny changed my life, not only because I had found a soul mate like Pam and no longer felt lonely but because of what it did to my daily routine. Instead of walking to school in the scorching heat or the freezing cold (it seemed that Bakersfield only had two temperatures), I was now picked up every morning by Sunny in her competition orange VW, and after school I went to her house instead of my dark, lonely apartment.
Sunny’s house was a large, rambling ranch-style home with a separate “wing” for the kids. After school her three siblings, Brenda, Neal, and Sean, all gathered in the kids’ den to play music, dance, and talk. I loved all the noises and energy of this lively bunch.
Sunny was the oldest and often acted more like a mother than a sibling. It was clear that all three younger kids looked up to her and respected her. All the siblings liked each other, in fact, and treated each other more like friends than brothers and sisters.
Sunny was especially fond of her brother Neal, and I understood why. He was adorable. He was twelve and entering puberty, and when I remember him today, I think of a young Leonardo DiCaprio with his wide open moon face and ready smile.
Sean was a different story altogether. He was a freshman in high school, tall and lean and very serious. He was gorgeous, with his dark curly hair and dark brown eyes, and he was probably a lady killer, but you never knew what was on his mind. He was more quiet and distant than the rest. You could see his pain.
Finally there was Brenda. Just a year behind me and Sunny in high school, she was petite and shorter than her siblings. She was very animated and engaging and I loved her right away.
The whole clan welcomed me into their home with open arms. We pantomimed to The Sound of Music, waving our arms around as we sang in operatic tones. Then we’d scream to “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” by the Rolling Stones or “Don’t Bring me Down” or “The House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals.
I spent so much time with Sunny and her siblings that they began to feel like my family—the family I’d dreamed of having all my life. I started spending the night at Sunny’s house several times a week, partly because it just made more sense than Sunny having to drive me home late at night and then pick me up in the morning, and partly because we just loved being together so much. She had a tiny bedroom with only a twin bed but we managed to both fit on it, often spooning the way I’d