now and I know that some of those boys did grow up to have daughters, and some of those daughters are the age now that I was then. What I think now is this: I hope that those little girls have people in their lives that are looking out for them, because every little girl is worth protecting. Even the daughters of douche bags.
So it was in the sixth grade that I learned two important lessons. A) When a boy/man shows interest, beware, and never believe anything they tell you, and B) Boys/men hold the power in the world.
To this day, I have no idea when a man is flirting with me. I assume it never happens, although people tell me otherwise. If I do happen to notice when a man shows interest in me, I go straight into bullshit mode. I immediately establish myself as “one of the guys,” which gives me instant protection from rejection with the “friend” label, and diminishes my sexuality. “No, of course I’m not interested in you, we’re friends, and that’s why you’re not interested in me.” No mess, no fuss, no chance of heartache. This is the way my mind works.
I never said I didn’t have issues.
So with Garnett, I felt fabulous. We were close friends, but he treated me like a lady rather than just a buddy. I’d never had a relationship with a man that was so intense and didn’t include sex. I knew he respected me and was interested in what I thought. I felt special.
Until the night I saw Ron Jeremy suck his own dick.
Chapter 5
Garnett was moody. Sometimes he was funny, bright and a joy to be with. Other times, he would get agitated for no apparent reason, pacing back and forth beneath the beams of the basement’s ceiling and mumbling to himself. At those times, he would leave me alone while he went to meet someone to sell them drugs. Fifteen minutes, he’d say. Two and a half hours later, he’d come back with no explanation. Sometimes he was extremely calm and gentle. Other times he’d be amped up, pacing the basement floor and talking to himself again. I never knew what to do when that happened because he was between the staircase and me, blocking my exit, and something told me that it was in my best interest to be as invisible as possible while he worked through whatever was haunting him. Usually, I just quietly wrote in my journal and got high, waiting for him to calm down.
Occasionally, he’d return with a surprise for me: Imported chocolate, some trinket I’d had my eye on, or a video for us to watch.
“Miss Kim,” he would say. “I hope you haven’t seen this one already.” Then he’d slide in the tape, arrange the table with our chairs on either side, turn off all but the Christmas lights and begin the movie.
Then, one evening, he called to tell me he would be home soon. A couple of minutes later, he walked down the stairs with a tape in his hand. He stood next to the TV, looked at me, opened and closed his mouth twice, popped the video in and sat down in his usual spot across the table from me. No formalities, no lights, just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. I had no idea why he was acting so strange, but figured a ninety-minute break from talking wasn’t a bad idea.
I sat there, calmly getting high and staring at the infamous porn star, Ron Jeremy in his Penishead costume. I was raging inside. Same shit, different day. Garnett was just another man playing games.
I could never quite figure out what his objective was. He never made any advances toward me, and our relationship was platonic, but he was obsessed with pornography. We never talked about it, but he would occasionally show me a movie or give me a book of erotic stories and have me read a particular one to myself. I think he just liked to watch me. I have no other explanation.
He started taking me with him to certain places to meet people. He would introduce me as his lady friend, and would give me a rock of meth to smoke while I waited for him to take care of his customer in another room. After a few visits, he
So it was in the sixth grade that I learned two important lessons. A) When a boy/man shows interest, beware, and never believe anything they tell you, and B) Boys/men hold the power in the world.
To this day, I have no idea when a man is flirting with me. I assume it never happens, although people tell me otherwise. If I do happen to notice when a man shows interest in me, I go straight into bullshit mode. I immediately establish myself as “one of the guys,” which gives me instant protection from rejection with the “friend” label, and diminishes my sexuality. “No, of course I’m not interested in you, we’re friends, and that’s why you’re not interested in me.” No mess, no fuss, no chance of heartache. This is the way my mind works.
I never said I didn’t have issues.
So with Garnett, I felt fabulous. We were close friends, but he treated me like a lady rather than just a buddy. I’d never had a relationship with a man that was so intense and didn’t include sex. I knew he respected me and was interested in what I thought. I felt special.
Until the night I saw Ron Jeremy suck his own dick.
Chapter 5
Garnett was moody. Sometimes he was funny, bright and a joy to be with. Other times, he would get agitated for no apparent reason, pacing back and forth beneath the beams of the basement’s ceiling and mumbling to himself. At those times, he would leave me alone while he went to meet someone to sell them drugs. Fifteen minutes, he’d say. Two and a half hours later, he’d come back with no explanation. Sometimes he was extremely calm and gentle. Other times he’d be amped up, pacing the basement floor and talking to himself again. I never knew what to do when that happened because he was between the staircase and me, blocking my exit, and something told me that it was in my best interest to be as invisible as possible while he worked through whatever was haunting him. Usually, I just quietly wrote in my journal and got high, waiting for him to calm down.
Occasionally, he’d return with a surprise for me: Imported chocolate, some trinket I’d had my eye on, or a video for us to watch.
“Miss Kim,” he would say. “I hope you haven’t seen this one already.” Then he’d slide in the tape, arrange the table with our chairs on either side, turn off all but the Christmas lights and begin the movie.
Then, one evening, he called to tell me he would be home soon. A couple of minutes later, he walked down the stairs with a tape in his hand. He stood next to the TV, looked at me, opened and closed his mouth twice, popped the video in and sat down in his usual spot across the table from me. No formalities, no lights, just wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am. I had no idea why he was acting so strange, but figured a ninety-minute break from talking wasn’t a bad idea.
I sat there, calmly getting high and staring at the infamous porn star, Ron Jeremy in his Penishead costume. I was raging inside. Same shit, different day. Garnett was just another man playing games.
I could never quite figure out what his objective was. He never made any advances toward me, and our relationship was platonic, but he was obsessed with pornography. We never talked about it, but he would occasionally show me a movie or give me a book of erotic stories and have me read a particular one to myself. I think he just liked to watch me. I have no other explanation.
He started taking me with him to certain places to meet people. He would introduce me as his lady friend, and would give me a rock of meth to smoke while I waited for him to take care of his customer in another room. After a few visits, he
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