Bisexual Girls Club

Once, when I was 14 years old, on a visit with my favorite uncle, in Brooklyn, we went over to his sister in-law’s apartment. My uncle was not there at the time. He showed up later back at the house. Going to this woman’s apartment made me very happy because I had a crush on her 13-year-old son. He was not a blood relative, so it was okay for me to flirt with and fantasize about him.

I don’t remember what they were celebrating, but they were making Piña Coladas. While the adults danced and drank in the living room and kitchen, the kids piled up into the 13 year old’s room and played a card game. I think I was supposed to be the responsible one in the bunch, seeing as I was the oldest one there.

I don’t know who’s idea it was to get some Piña Coladas, but it was easy to do because no one was really watching us or stopping us from entering the kitchen and taking anything out of there. I remember laughing with the adults and sneaking my way over to the Piña Coladas pitcher to serve myself some. It was fun because I was going back and forth between both worlds, as I often do. Actually at that age I didn’t usually socialize with adults, unlike my sister who at that 13 was easily debating important historical and political issues with anyone over 30 who had something to say. I was usually too shy or scared to talk much around adults. If I did it was usually to say something silly and have them remind me how much of a kid I was. So, it felt pretty cool to be able to be a part of the older crew somehow. And of course a few Piña Coladas later and I felt invincible. I thought I had a connection with everyone (I’m just describing what alcohol does!). I seemed to put a smile in everyone’s face and I was the center of attention. I wasn’t imagining it all, but I wasn’t completely aware of all that was happening.

I do remember wishing I could kiss the 13 year old. I usually didn’t lower my standards to anyone even a day younger than me (though my crush from 3rd to 6th grade was a boy who was 7 days younger). This boy was different (aren’t they all?). In my opinion, he was a mature 13 year old. And I was obviously a lot less inhibited once I started pouring the drinks back. I remember a conversation about favorite things and the boy and I seemed to connect (I’m sure I must have told him how cute I thought he was, that’s how my troubles usually start), but the next thing I realize (I’m pretty sure I blacked out – though not sure for how long… maybe 10 minutes, maybe 1/2 an hour, probably not much longer than that) was that we were making out. And all the kids were watching, not saying much. So here I am, this goofy (not exactly nerdy, but not exactly cool), skinny kid with braces (though many boys always told me I had a nice butt and nice legs), who usually only got attention from old men as I walked down fifth avenue in my neighborhood (which both disgusted me and made me feel oh so pretty and desirable), making out with the one guy with whom I wanted to (not like there was anyone else that I would have done it with anyway, but still I did think he was absolutely adorable and usually that was just a surefire way for me to completely shut down and shy away) make out.

I don’t remember leaving the place, though I do remember realizing I had forgotten my sweater. I don’t know how many drinks I had. I don’t remember getting back to my uncle’s house with my aunt and cousin (not a blood cousin either – my uncle had three sons who were actually his wife’s kids from a previous marriage – only one, the youngest, 7 years younger than me, was the one who we took to the “party”. The two others showed up back at my uncle’s house later).

The next thing I remember was waking up to G (the oldest of the three boys and a year older than me) thrusting his fingers in and out of my cunt. I was pretty surprised, but not exactly shaken. I remember thinking “What the hell did I do?” How did I get here? How did I feel about that? How was I supposed to feel about that? I remember thinking that if he was already doing it, I guessed I must have been asking for it.

It was very late. The house was dark and quiet. Everyone else was sleeping. I almost thought I would hear a knock on the door from my uncle asking us what was going on and for us to stop making noise. I guess we were being very quiet too. I guess the walls weren’t that thin.

He did it for a while and it felt okay, maybe even good. I mean I was a horny, drunk teenager and it was a sensation that I was curious about I guess. As I lay there thinking about it I was kind of not completely there. I was coming to and blacking out a bit too. It’s hard to take action in that situation.

Finally I asked him to stop and while I was still a little out of it, he started talking to me. He stayed with me till dawn. Eventually I was awake enough that I started to try to make sense of all that had happened. I liked the middle brother who was about a year younger than me. Damn, why couldn’t I have woken up to him with me? I never liked G. He also used to try to beat me up maybe as recent as a couple of years prior to that moment in the bedroom. When I was about 10 he used to bully me and hit me even when adults were around. He would always reach over and punch me and nothing any adults said would keep him from hurting me till he had the last say (usually just a punch or pinch or slap or two on my arm). The only thing I could do was really keep my distance from him and usually tried not to instigate anything. Anyway, I never liked him at all.

I felt stupid too because he had even convinced me to do other things with him when I was about 10, telling me that all the “grown” kids did that type of thing (his description of it actually sounded to me as if all teenagers were having what I now in my adulthood know to be called orgies).

Then suddenly here he was being “nice” to me.

Well, I actually kind of hated him. I kind of felt ashamed for so many reasons. I felt ashamed that any of it felt good. I felt ashamed that it was with him. I felt ashamed that it was in my uncle’s house. I felt ashamed that no one found out and stopped us. I felt ashamed that I drank so much. I felt ashamed for not being able to forget it.

I told him that I had been drinking. He said he hadn’t realized that I was drunk.

Later when everyone was awake and gathered by the television and kitchen area, while they were distracted, he walked over to me and tried to talk to me. I told him that I had been blacking out. He said he couldn’t tell. He said I seemed perfectly lucid and that he specifically stayed with me so long because he wanted to make sure I was ok with what happened once he realized I had been drinking. He said I had asked a lot of questions, like, “Why me?” “Do you like me?” and “Am I pretty?” He said we talked for quite a while though I only remember bits and pieces. I do remember asking, “Why me?”

I had been drinking so much I wreaked of alcohol the next day even after my shower and brushing my teeth. Well, at least that’s what my other 7-year-old cousin (blood relative) told me. “You stink. Are you drunk?” I think my grandmother might have called me an alcoholic that day. It didn’t even hurt when my uncle accidentally closed the car window on my finger. I just stared at it and my uncle finally noticed after I called out his name a couple of times. He told me, “Why didn’t you say anything?” It was funny because I was thinking the same thing about everyone else. Didn’t anyone notice something was wrong that morning? What about the night before? What about that morning in the bedroom? Why was I “getting away” with all this? Why was G getting away with all this? How come the 7 year old was the only one to say something?

G came over to my place on another night when I knew I would be alone in my apartment. I wore a mini skirt. I had to find a rational reason for what happened, especially since I never liked him. So, I figured I must like him or something like that. He brought vodka. I got drunk again. I woke up to him doing stuff to me again. I was blacking out again, in and out of it. Don’t remember him leaving. He said later we just talked a lot after he ate me out a little. I was still pretty confused about what was happening. I hadn’t gotten a lot of that kind of attention from anyone, though I had a boyfriend before with whom I used to make out at the subway station.

We talked on the phone later. He wanted to be my boyfriend. I thought it was a bad idea, but again maybe we were supposed to be together and screw what other people thought. I imagined how doing this bad thing might make me kind of cool (but not, cause I didn’t really like him and in fact was kind of grossed out by him). Maybe I was being unfair to him. After all, he did stay with me the whole night when it first happened. I thought maybe I was supposed to continue along the path I had already started. I was too embarrassed to really tell anyone so I couldn’t really get advise on the matter. Oh, it was all so confusing.

I just figured that since it happened and it didn’t hurt or anything and I was flirting and making out with the other boy that I must have at some point indicated to G that I wanted it and since it sort of felt okay (but very weird and like I said he’s the last person I wanted on me – I kind of hated him). I tried to make a decision (decisions were never my strong point) and he stuck around and tried real hard to convince me that I was supposed to be with him. Apparently he had always had a crush on me though I always thought he had a crush on my sister.

Finally, the second time I told him it was okay for him to come to my apartment, I just didn’t let him in. He knocked and knocked and banged and banged on the door for a while (maybe like an hour) and I ducked under the windows and hid in the back laying on the floor even though he wouldn’t really be able to see me where I was. I covered my ears till he left. I just wanted the nightmare to end.

But still to this day, I am left wondering. Did I want this? Did I ask him to do stuff to me? Did I come on to him? Did I dump him because I had no backbone to take responsibility for what I did? Or did I have no backbone for not saying “NO” in the first place?

I’ve told exactly two people. They say he took advantage of me. But he was only one year older than me. We were both children. The two people I told get very angry with this. They are angry with him for doing this. They get angry with me for not admitting that I was a victim and moving past it. I just think I was a foolish kid and thought I maybe I thought I was exploring my sexuality. I mean, at that age, I imagined having sex with A LOT of people and I thought about sex A LOT. I’m pretty sure I never wanted G, but that night… what did I do to make him think it was okay to touch me that way. I just don’t know. I wouldn’t tell anyone else this if they were in my position, but since it’s me, I really just blame it on my own stupidity, awkwardness, and need for attention.

So, did I ask for it? Did I tell him he could do that? I just don’t know.