SexPot

Age 11:

I wear baggy clothes to cover the curves that are very different from the other girls. I try desperately to make my budding breasts fit into the tiny bras my mother gave me months before for Christmas. B cups don’t feel right at this age. I am uncomfortable with the way some of the older boys look at me on the bus. I can’t help but feel ashamed and I don’t even know why.

Age 12:

W.K., an older high school boy who rides my bus flirts with me and writes me letters daily. Sometimes they are explicit. I feel sexy when he looks at me, but when he tries to touch me on the back of the bus I shy away. I don’t wear such baggy clothing anymore. The B’s have quickly ripened to C’s. For the final band concert I wear a long, form fitting dress that accentuates my curves. One of the trombone players accuse me of stuffing my bra. I’m embarrassed, and want my body to go away.

Age 13:

Over the summer I attend the local drama camp. I meet lots of new people, including three boys. One is 6 years older then me. He becomes goofy and nervous when I’m around like a little boy. I like having that effect on him. It takes him a week to realize how old I really am. This makes me feel older and more mature then the other girls around me. The other is my age and stares at me during group sessions. He’s so nervous he drops me on the ground during improv. I can see his hands shake a little when I’m close to him. This makes me feel powerful. The third is my camp director, and the same age as boy one. He does not get nervous or flinches when I come around. He does not become shy and awkward. But there is something about the way that he looks at me that makes me feel beautiful. When I walk down to the lunch room during one of the final days to have him approve my costume all three boys stop and stare. The dress is black, with a slit and a little too low cut for my age but appropriate for my character. The first two boys are speechless but the third says wow. He’s the only person to ever do that.

Age 14:

I am in a room full of dysfunctional boys. They claimed my scores where too low in math and I need to take an easier class. Seven boys, a male teacher and me for an entire semester. One of the boys grab at me during the lessons. Another always wants to hug and rub my back. The teacher constantly touches my shoulders when he walks by and asks me to stay after class, after the buses have ran and there is no one around. Two of the other boys throw a desk across the room as a threat, leave her alone they say. She’s just a child.

Age 16:

It is obvious as I walk down the street, around school or through a stadium the eyes that are on me. Older men, younger men. They appear hungry, I can see their mouths salivate with a greediness like wolf who spots a bunny. I can no longer fit into my C cup and my mother makes me wear two sports bras when I run. I have never kissed a boy and yet I instantly have been rumored as a slut.

Age 18:

A boy I have known for years doesn’t quite see me as a little girl anymore. He compliments my ability to belly dance on stage during a performance. “Kirby” he says with a wickedness in his eyes, “you should be getting paid for dancing.” The same year when I return home from college my male friends from high school suddenly become attracted me. It makes things a little awkward for awhile.

Age 19:

I am aware of the way men look at me, and the way they see me. I try desperately not to fall into their traps but I secretly love the attention, the compliments and the esteem it develops. I have been loved. I have been appreciated. And I have been discarded. In a hotel room on the 33rd floor I am bruised, tarnished and ruined. It will be nearly four years before I feel clean again, before I feel beautiful and wanted. Four years of being afraid to say no again, of being taken advantage of and lead astray.

Age 23:

I have become one of those girls who tries too hard. She wiggles a little too much or laughs a little too hard. I no longer feel anyone’s eyes on me when I walk into a room. That instant charisma and light that I once had that drew people to me, that made men’s eyes wide and mouths drop open to say wow has gone. Perhaps it wasn’t my physical appearance the whole time like I thought. Maybe it was that youthful naivety I once held.

But, who really knows?

~ by kirbyann on June 6, 2008.