Experiences and Impressions: Sex and Death

As a young child, most of my experiences with death were fortunately in the form of movies. I remember being told by my mother to 'just go to bed' when I could scarcely breathe because Ali MacGraw said she wanted to go to the hospital in ‘Love Story’. My mom didn’t actually make me leave the room, but I was clearly out of control. I'm sure I didn't care for all the death in ‘Bambi’, either. And the folks who released Elsa to the wild in ‘Born Free’ may as well have killed her, too. For in my mind the lioness was lost, therefore 'dead'.

Sex impressions were fairly few and far between until, like an avalanche, I became sexually active (or overactive) at age 14.

In the fourth grade, I'd say most of us in my class at school were interested in this topic. The gargantuan dictionary in our classroom opened on its own to the page where the entry 'sexual intercourse' appeared.

That same year, we had an older boy in our class. I have an impression of him as being 'dirty'. It's mostly a physical manifestation of his lifestyle in which he was doubtless being neglected. His clothes, body, and in particular, his teeth, all appeared in desperate need of attention. He and I chanced to see the dictionary open to the 'intercourse' entry while standing in close proximity. He made a comment to me about the birds and the bees 'and the fingers and the toes'. I never really got the full implications of this, but assumed it was a sexual reference in his mind.

In the sixth grade, a group of uncouth boys took to encroaching on the personal space of us females on the playground while a substitute P. E. teacher was oblivious to goings-on. The leader of this gang had my pants unzipped and his groping hand poised to enter my panties when I effectively kicked him hard enough to change his mind. He'd said, "Let's get _____!" (This was another girl, a good friend of mine, so I will leave the name blank.) They ran off.

This same kid lived in my neighborhood. He'd evidently decided I'd be more malleable to his will if I would smoke marijuana with him before his intended entreaties. We had an 'open classroom' set-up, with all six subject areas enclosed in a huge space devoid of walls.

One spring day, he saw me look his way from my study area into his. He got a joint out and set it between his lips, mouthing, "this afternoon" with it perched there. Fortunately for me, I'd confided to my mother that I didn't want to walk home from school any more that year, and I'd made it plain enough through insinuation that this was a vital request. That afternoon, the next-door-neighbors' mom picked us up. It was her turn, though we usually rode home only in cold or bad weather. My mom must've clued her in. This villainous boy walked in front of her car while we sat in the car line waiting to leave. "Chicken!" I read on his lips. I was so relieved to be spared his plans.

Later, a different boy tried getting his hand down my pants at a party. We were 13 by then, and we'd gone into the woods behind the house where the party was ongoing. The party-thrower's folks were out of town, as I recall. There'd been plenty of alcohol, so we'd each drunk some. There was a creek that was so pretty in the moonlight. I feel he and I were both victims of this night's events. Because he did not seem polished at all in his ovations, he was more than likely just acting on impulse. Anyway, I objected to this act (by physically grabbing his hand); and so he stopped, clumsily aborting the attempt.

A few days later, we broke up over the phone. We'd only been going together for about a week. I was chagrined at having been so immature as to not have allowed him access. I had come up with a convenient lie by circulating the rumor that I had been on my period at the time. I didn't resent him like I had the crazed neighborhood kid who'd earlier menaced me, though. We were more than likely two kids trying to feel our way, so I don't really feel I could actually have assigned blame in this instance.