This is a true story of my childhood fantasies but I must absolutely note that fantasy was ALL I was ready for. The fact that children think about sex and engage in sexual play should not be news. Adults involving children in sexual situations is always inappropriate and almost inevitably damaging, not to mention criminal. Okay, that said --
My sexual life began very definitely the summer before my 11th birthday. Our neighbors were hosting their niece Katie, a bratty little kleptomaniac about a year older than me. She brought over her Barbies to meet my Ginny dolls. I thought maybe we'd have them play house. "I'll be Ken," she said. "Take your Ginny's clothes off." I was happy to. That, in my opinion, was what dolls were all about - undressing and then dressing again. What I was unprepared for was what Katie showed me came in between. I was mystified as I watched her place her Ken on top of my doll and move him back and forth, making little grunting noises all the while. "They're having sex," she told me. Ohhh. I knew about sex. My mom had given me her old copy of "Our Bodies Ourselves" only a few weeks before. The sex described in that book didn't seem much like what Katie was making the dolls do, though. "Sex is boring," I told her. "Let's do something else."
Poor Katie. Looking back, I wonder what kind of inappropriate ugliness she'd been subjected to. Or then again - maybe she learned her dirty games the same way she was teaching me, and was passing them on as innocently as I would later do. "I know a good game," she said. "Let's play rape." Rape was another word I knew but which as yet had no real understanding of. "How do we play that?" I asked. And thus began my first sexual initiation.
We played that game over and over for the few days Katie was in town. I would walk through the long attic where I had my bedroom, whistling aimlessly or pretending to be in a hurry. Katie would jump out from behind a piece of furniture. "You're coming with me," she'd yell. I'd scream and struggle all the way over to the bed. We'd lay down, her on top, legs on top of legs. She put her hand over my mouth and thrust her pelvis into mine again and again. Then we'd trade roles and start again. It was incredibly exciting. I didn't know what that feeling was between my legs, or how to make it stronger. I wasn't attracted to Katie, in fact I was somewhat frightened of her, but her air of menace fit the game perfectly.
I taught this game to another girl I knew, and we played it almost every day until we were 12 and she moved away. We added variations and became more explicit as we got older. We always bickered over who got to be the girl. Our favorite narrative, we eventually found, was of a favorite uncle coming into our backyard tent at night, sticking his tongue in our mouths, raping us while we protested, and muttering instructions to never, ever tell.
My sexual life began very definitely the summer before my 11th birthday. Our neighbors were hosting their niece Katie, a bratty little kleptomaniac about a year older than me. She brought over her Barbies to meet my Ginny dolls. I thought maybe we'd have them play house. "I'll be Ken," she said. "Take your Ginny's clothes off." I was happy to. That, in my opinion, was what dolls were all about - undressing and then dressing again. What I was unprepared for was what Katie showed me came in between. I was mystified as I watched her place her Ken on top of my doll and move him back and forth, making little grunting noises all the while. "They're having sex," she told me. Ohhh. I knew about sex. My mom had given me her old copy of "Our Bodies Ourselves" only a few weeks before. The sex described in that book didn't seem much like what Katie was making the dolls do, though. "Sex is boring," I told her. "Let's do something else."
Poor Katie. Looking back, I wonder what kind of inappropriate ugliness she'd been subjected to. Or then again - maybe she learned her dirty games the same way she was teaching me, and was passing them on as innocently as I would later do. "I know a good game," she said. "Let's play rape." Rape was another word I knew but which as yet had no real understanding of. "How do we play that?" I asked. And thus began my first sexual initiation.
We played that game over and over for the few days Katie was in town. I would walk through the long attic where I had my bedroom, whistling aimlessly or pretending to be in a hurry. Katie would jump out from behind a piece of furniture. "You're coming with me," she'd yell. I'd scream and struggle all the way over to the bed. We'd lay down, her on top, legs on top of legs. She put her hand over my mouth and thrust her pelvis into mine again and again. Then we'd trade roles and start again. It was incredibly exciting. I didn't know what that feeling was between my legs, or how to make it stronger. I wasn't attracted to Katie, in fact I was somewhat frightened of her, but her air of menace fit the game perfectly.
I taught this game to another girl I knew, and we played it almost every day until we were 12 and she moved away. We added variations and became more explicit as we got older. We always bickered over who got to be the girl. Our favorite narrative, we eventually found, was of a favorite uncle coming into our backyard tent at night, sticking his tongue in our mouths, raping us while we protested, and muttering instructions to never, ever tell.
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