The Kiss

This is an experince I have been reluctant to reflect on for awhile. When I did mention it, it was nonchalantly and accompanied by a shrug. Few details were revealed. I resented the pity from others, their sudden uncomfortableness that I sensed. Their inability to handle a situation that seemed to carry so much difficult baggage. I am recalling one of the few times I wasn’t persuaded or that I didn’t make bargains. At age thirteen, I refused sex with a boy who had been dating me for insufficient days. He was only twelve.

Our first date outside of school, in the early days of summer vacation, where the kids spread out over the town instead of being contained to several buildings, was hurried. There was not a hint of romanticism. We joined at the end of a boardwalk that connected to my neighborhood, and after an exchange of some crude humor, we commenced strolling towards the beltline. There was a noticeable gap between us, as we did not obviously have a love for one another. I dated him out of pity and feared that it would worsen his depression, and he knew I was socially awkward and easy to manipulate. When our meager meal at McDonald's finished, he said he wanted to take me some place. A place he wanted to show me. I did not initially view his statement as a concern, as exploring abandoned and unknown areas interested me. As a child, I adored a secret shack tucked into the woods behind my house. I reckoned we shared the same adventurous nature. I obliged. He led me to a chain link fence in front of a forest parallel to an elementary playground. He scaled the fence with ease; I wondered how many people he’d shown this place before. Mimicking his strategic movements, I followed. We then crossed a field dotted with flowers. I smiled at the beauty of the surroundings while trailing behind him.

Eventually, he revealed to me a sort of compartment. I first noticed how ancient it looked, and struggled to identify exactly what it was. It appeared to be something between a train car and trailer. You entered it by walking up a ramp, as long stalks of grass flicked your calves. The inside of it was a color scheme of browns; the rusted metal, the dirt, and the dusty soot that coated the rotting wood planks. The musk was pungent, stale, and it disgusted me. Unease came over me when I discerned a crumpled American flag print blanket lying upon the grimy floor. The boy retrieved a yellowed paper from the floor and held a lighter to it. I did not understand this, what kind of a high could he get from smoking a piece of dirty paper? I patiently watched before he sat and joined me on the blanket. I don’t remember any normal details of our conversation. I forgot everything mundane when I heard him casually order, “Have sex with me.’’

I blankly stared, trying to muster a smile or a slight chuckle. The boy had dark holes for eyes that bared no warmth. Surely he couldn’t be asking this, not at this age, not at this place. Not on a blanket used by many sleazy prior couples. He repeated his demand while inching closer. “…What?” I shyly asked, though I needed no explanation, I needed to distract him. Nowhere offered an escape. I couldn’t easily segue out of this conversation like I had done in the past. Even then, nothing in the past resembled this. “Come on Missfrizzleswag,” He breathed, ‘’It’s not a big deal.” Analyzing his words, I tucked my mouth. “But it is,” I argued, “You’re only twelve, I’m only thirteen. We’re in some weird train car, everything is dirty.” I grew flustered. “This just isn’t right.” He didn’t seem to consider my protests, only interpreting them as an unnecessary defiance. “Missfrizzleswag , you can’t disappoint me like this, why else would I bring you here?” He was trying to make me feel stupid, that I had lied to him. The smell traveled into the slight gap between my lips, I winced. How many other terrified girls tasted this also? How many other girls looked for ways to leave as the American flag print blanket was their only barrier from the filth? “You don’t even have any sort of protection-“

“That’s not a problem, you’re not gonna get pregnant,” He dismissively groaned.

I began to rise from the blanket carefully.

“I’m a Christian too, I would feel so guilty if I did this. Especially so young and rushed. My family would disown me.”

I pressed my back against the wall, searching my mind for more explanations.

He firmly grabbed my forearms, his grasp devoid of affection, only intimidation.

“Missfrizzleswag, you’re beautiful,” He added, softening his tone. What value was my beauty to him when he only saw me in this state? That I was only pretty in his eyes when I could be used?

“I can’t!” I shook my arms within his grip.

“I don’t want to die a virgin, Missfrizzleswag.” His frequent use of my name further scared me. Only people who were my friend said it out of kindness, he was endangering me. I repeatedly said I couldn’t. My last line of defense.

He only managed to silence my fervent objecting by clamping his mouth on to mine, suctioning out my air, his breath smelling of smoke. The smoke from the paper on the bottom of a decaying compartment, discarded like how I expected I would be. The compartment in the depths of a lonely forest, where the only sounds I heard were the echoes of my sputtering and his shallow breathing. I had never experienced the heavy weight of a face on mine before, the jabbing of a nose into my cheek. He released and I sensed my mouth sag. His only comment, which came in a low, gruff, emotionless voice, was “You taste like weird lipstick.” Startled by everything, I did not inform him that nothing was on my lips, or that I only seemed like a bad kisser because during those moments I was consumed with panic, recognizing I had lost my ability to maintain my innocence. He gathered his things as I faced away from him. Reviewing the situation, I realized that the kiss was what protected me from the worst he was capable of. He still wanted his satisfaction, a forceful kiss being his last resort. Few words were spoken as I returned home. We parted about a block away from my house, and although I was shaken, being alone was relieving. Due to a reasonable assumption that my refusal to sex had permanently stunted the growth of our relationship, I never responded to his messages afterwards. And at school, I avoided eye contact with him.

        It’s been many years since. I can’t say that I’ve tried to forget, the event just eventually left my mind. In a sick way, it was like a rite of passage. The only permanent consequence was losing my first kiss to him. I can never change that. Even then, I consider the kiss a significant rescue more than a burden on my memories from my youth. It was my first escape, my first test of how strong my opinions and morals were. In retrospect, the kiss wasn’t a sign of my weakness; it was my notoriously stubborn self doing whatever it took to withhold him from what he begged for. I am expected to regret many things. I am expected to want sympathy. All I want others to learn from me is to defend themselves in the toughest of situations, in the smallest of rooms. With the danger a mere inches from their face. The image of seeing the bewildered boy stumble home in silence, shocked by his inability to get whatever he demanded, will always compensate.  

TLDR: Always stick your ground even when no escape is present and your reputation is at risk.