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There was something especially cool about being friends with them. ""So, no normal 20 year old wants to hang out with someone who is 15. Stay away from him."This was the sort of thing that always led to my leaving the room in a teary huff, maintaining loudly that she Just Didn't Understand. One Saturday, the guys planned a picnic in a nearby forest park. Even worse, I couldn't say why I didn't want to go with him. It seemed just about every woman I knew had a similar story, a time when wanting attention meant getting the wrong kind entirely.
We were still at an age where our parents insisted on treating us like children. Once again, she was treating me like a child, someone unable to make her own decisions. It didn't seem like such a big deal, as my best friend was doing nothing sneaking around to be with her boyfriend. Suddenly, I wasn't that scared, invisible girl anymore, watching from the sidelines. I remember it was a gorgeous fall day, crisp and cool, and the first time I'd had Brie cheese and red wine. All I had was my instinct and discomfort — a bad gut feeling. When I write novels, there is always a clear trajectory: the beginning, middle, climax, and end. "We'll go somewhere."And that's when I said it."."My own voice — big, firm, filling the space — was a surprise to both of us. When I turned 21, I remember making a point, regularly, to look at teens and ask myself whether I'd want to hang out with them, much less date one. As a teen wishing to be an adult, it is easy to get in over your head.
Before long, we had our own inside jokes, a shared eye-roll at yet another lover's quarrel in a small space.
We talked about music, about high school, his experience then and mine now.
In tenth grade, we made friends with a group of older guys who hung out on the main street of town, which ran parallel to the local university — guys who'd once gone to our same high school and had never left the social scene. I remember how quiet it was, birds soaring overhead, no other sound. I grew to dread the moments we were alone, especially when I needed a ride home at the end of the night to make my curfew. In the initial years following, I never really talked about this with anyone other than my high school girlfriends and various therapists.
When they weren't doing BMX and skateboard tricks in front of the post office, they were spending what money they had at the nearby arcade, or spinning on stools and shooting straw wrappers in their favorite burger joint, just across the street. We had gotten in the habit of him driving me home, and my suddenly wanting to make different arrangements seemed to inconvenience everyone. As I got older, however, the more I realized that my experience was not an uncommon one.
And just the thought of how hot the teen sex would be is enough to drive us over the edge with passion.(I know how that sounds: I cringe now just typing it.) But at the time, to us, it wasn't weird or taboo as much as this epic, forbidden romance. Before long we were all hanging out together, driving around in his car: T and me in the front, my friend and her boyfriend in the back. What I do remember is sitting on a couch with T., him putting on a Elton John song and telling me, in words I can't recall specifically, that he wanted to be my boyfriend. I just recall being almost to my house, when I told T. I could see my house now, coming up ahead."We need to discuss this," he said. Like me and Sydney, she will most likely yearn for attention at one point or another. But how can I teach her that it is just as OK to need that scrutiny to stop? While they made out, we made conversation, thrown together in the awkwardness of nearby coupledom. Today were fucking your mom, next well be fucking your granny! Kaitlyn Hunt, the woman who was arrested at 18 for having a sexual relationship with her 14-year-old girlfriend, is reportedly trying her best to move on to safer, and more legal, pastures.
How wonderful it felt to have an "adult" who valued our opinion; thought we were not just cute but interesting. I was wearing a Bundeswehr tank top I'd gotten at an Army supply store and faded jeans, a thrift shop crucifix around my neck. But as we sat there together in the sunshine, the wine buzzing my head, I suddenly felt … With real life, however, and memory especially, it is harder to keep things so neat and organized. In the first, I snuck out of the house with a guy friend who lived down the street. My friend came back, we went home and I slid back into my bed. The second incident I remember happened when he was giving me a ride home. I'd been quiet for so long, worried about hurting his feelings and the ripple effects of whatever actions I took. You don't need to offer an explanation, even if someone asks you for one. You can't just hang out with a guy and not expect him to get ideas, I told myself. Especially for girls, who are often taught that being polite and sweet should override all other instincts. That if something feels wrong, that's all the reason you need to get out of there.