I'd had a crush on Patrick for so long and all I'd wanted was for him to notice me, to kiss me, and he finally did, only something had gone wrong. He was tall and the hill was steep so it was hard to balance and I was afraid I was going to fall backwards, but I didn't. More than 20 years later, I don't often think about what happened on that spring night. When I got to my house, I walked up the front steps and through the door, shutting it quietly behind me. I couldn't believe this was actually happening! I ordered a hot chocolate and he offered me some of his cheese fries, and gave me the candy cane he'd stolen. Leaning back against the door, I slid to the ground. But he walked fast and was a few steps ahead of me, so I took double steps, stumbling to keep up with him.
I scrambled to gather my clothes and put them back on, and ran after him. It's almost always the same. Neither happened very often but when they did, I was so excited about these brief glimpses and conversations. I kept it in the wrapper and tucked it into my purse, and when I got home I hid it underneath my bottom desk drawer, next to my diary with the tiny gold lock. He was tall and the hill was steep so it was hard to balance and I was afraid I was going to fall backwards, but I didn't. I didn't want to say it but I did, and he led me to the top of hill with a stream trickling by below. I couldn't believe this was actually happening! But he walked fast and was a few steps ahead of me, so I took double steps, stumbling to keep up with him. It wasn't until I was in my late 20s that I told my therapist about it, and I was in my 30s before I ever told the full story to friends. There was no label for what he did so it became a violation I couldn't name, and I could convince myself that it wasn't a big deal. I thought, walking down the dirt path next to him, and popping a Wint-O-Green Lifesaver in my mouth just in case. But I've learned that the more I talk about it, the less power it has. A few months ago, the night before my first date with a guy I'd known for a while and really liked, I had the dream again. One weekend in May I heard that there was going to be a keg party in the woods by the pond on Sunday night since we had Monday off from school. Walking up to the clearing by the pond where the party was, I saw right away that Patrick was there and my stomach did flip-flops. At 15 years old, I didn't understand what had happened. Still in his football gear, his jaw was clenched and he was tearing the pep rally "Go team! He led me to a table near the back, by the smoking section, and slid into the booth across from me. I'm back in those woods, and Patrick's there, too, a few steps ahead of me as I wind down the dirt path, stumbling in the dark. Being by myself and seeing him like this was terrifying, but also electrifying. I was trying to decide if I liked it or not and leaning towards not when he told me to give him a blow job. Afterwards, he walked me home like he'd promised. My best friend couldn't go but I had a feeling that Patrick would be there so I decided to go by myself. I froze as he passed by and continued down the hallway ripping signs. Maybe he'll kiss me! Looking back, I can't say that this one incident is solely responsible for damaging my sexuality and destroying my ability to trust. I ordered a hot chocolate and he offered me some of his cheese fries, and gave me the candy cane he'd stolen.
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