Parties & Boys

My impulsivity, particularly regarding physical contact with boys, really began to ramp up between ages 12 and 14. The alcohol fueled this at times, as well as my raging hormones. Boy-girl parties became common for gatherings, and my introduction to “Spin the Bottle” and “Seven Minutes in Heaven” was set.

In 7th grade, I kissed someone during spin the bottle and I caught mono.  I spent three long weeks recovering at home; long, boring weeks sleeping, sometimes through feverish dreams. Maybe it was a weird sign I didn’t heed, that I was too young to deal with the opposite sex and complications that can arise. 

There were a couple of boys, here and there, that I would spend time with. Once I started down that road, I seemed to place myself into situations that would lead to opposite-sex attention. I developed early, and in fairness to myself, seemed a bit of a target for male attention as well. Sometimes the physical contact started innocent enough at parties. Sometimes it started during parentless afternoons while drinking. Sometimes it lead to unwanted advances and touches. Sometimes by multiple boys at once. Who could I blame? I obviously gave the impression it was okay with me, only asking for them to stop when I felt like screaming. They usually stopped. 

I continued to drink, attend other parties, and do stupid stuff. I kept my grades high enough to keep the screaming down at home, and low enough now to have any additional expectations placed on me. 

At home, my little brother was around 3 years-old, and my mom had returned to work full time, sending him to a preschool nearby. We became latch-key kids again, which made it easier for me to do what I wanted. If I got my chores done and stayed below the radar, I was free to spend time with my friends, including staying overnight for one or two nights at a time. 

It was during this time that my mom and stepdad made the decision to buy a house in a nearby suburb, and we would move on one cold day in November of 1982. Thankfully, we were still in the same school district for our high school, and my middle school was attached to the high school, so my older brother and I didn’t have to switch schools again. It was a nice house, but it took us away from the neighborhood we had friends in, and we now had to drive to school; meaning, my brother began driving me to school. That part was fun to me, at least for the short time we were there. My memories in that house are limited. Mainly a party one weekend at a senior friend of my brothers, getting way too drunk and throwing up all night in the bathroom of said house. 

Then the sale fell through on our old house. They tried to rent it out while trying to resell it, but we would ultimately move back to our house on the cul-de-sac and sell the new house we had lived in for about 6 or 8 months. 

When I was 14, I was a freshman in high school.  My brother was a senior, likely reluctant to have his kid sister in the same school.  It was a joke at the time to give freshman the wrong directions, and just overall, give them a hard time when they rose to the heights of finally being in high school.  I’m sure I was exasperated at times, but I was too excited and curious to be bothered much. 

At my mom’s (absolute) insistence, I tried out for cheerleading, secretly hoping I would not make the team, and I would be able to put a nail in the coffin for that to happen in the future.  As it was, I made the team. My mom was so proud of having a cheerleader-daughter, while I was almost crippled with anxiety thinking of standing in front of the school chanting and performing stunt. I would end up cheerleading for two years.  

During my freshman year in 1983, I met a junior that seemed to like me. We talked on the phone and wrote each other notes, which I kept in a tin hidden in my bedroom. A friend and I discovered she only lived a couple of houses away from where his parents lived. I spent the night with her one night, and we snuck out her bedroom window to walk over to his house. 

His house was a scene I had never been privy to before, but one I would see many times again. All high school kids; drinking, smoking, playing loud music.  At that moment, it was exactly where I wanted to be and was happy to jump in drinking and smoking with the older kids. Later in the night, I went to the boy’s bedroom. That was the first time I had tried to have sex, but I so was young, and my body would not physically allow penetration. That should have been a sign to me as well.  

The next morning after we had returned to my friend’s house to sleep, I walked over to talk to him before I had to go home. He walked out of the shower with another girl. So, that was that. 

I would be 14 years-old, going on 15 in a few weeks, when I met a boy that would assist in the further crumbling of life, as I knew it. 

At what age did you have your first sexual experience? Did you feel like you were ready, but realize now that you weren't?

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