mimicked a Jodeci song. “I didn’t mean to.”
Derek was rarely mean to me, but he wasn’t exactly sweet, either. My presence was tolerated, so to hear this tenderness in his voice threw me off, like the touch of his hands on my ankles.
“I’m okay,” I said, resting my weight on my knees, which dug into the carpet.
“Promise I’ll be gentle.” He smiled. “Let me show you a move. Get on my back and put your right arm around my neck.”
I did so and was quickly back on the ground. This time I didn’t complain. I relished Derek’s single-focused attention, and we jostled until he conquered me, lying over me while my belly and the side of my face touched the carpet. My legs were spread slightly, and I remember my feet meeting his knees. Peering back up at him with my left eye, I could see him smiling, and I was happy he was having fun with me. It was a first for us, a breakthrough in our relationship.
Then I felt him holding his breath; there was a stiffening, a tightness in his torso. He let my wrists free and placed all his weight on me. I felt his hips moving and a growth in what I simply called his “privates” at the time. His breathing grew heavier through his nose, and my thoughts raced faster than the beating of his heart on my back. I couldn’t see his face anymore. The TV screen flickered as he began digging his groin against my pajama-clad back.
Derek thrust faster and harder, and my cheek dug deep into the abrasive fibers of the carpet with each push. Derek didn’t pet or caressme. He didn’t say a word. He just kept grinding as his breaths filled the silence around us. Then he jolted and stood up and walked away. I heard water splash against the ceramic sink in our parents’ bathroom.
I lay in that spot for minutes, not lifting my cheek from the carpet. I didn’t know what this was. I had no words then to describe the “moves” he had shown me. I was certain that they were to remain in the darkness of the living room and that I had asked for it because I didn’t play video games, because my wrists were perpetually limp, because his friend called me “The Fag One.” This is what happens to sissies , I thought. If Dad finds out, you’re going to get whipped for acting like a girl again.
Unsure of Derek’s return, I peeled myself off the living room floor. In our bedroom, the sounds of Chad’s snoring and I Love Lucy ’s laugh track from the tiny TV on our dresser lulled me to sleep.
Chapter Three
I ’m your boyfriend now, Nancy!” Freddy Krueger said, his tongue ramming through the receiver of Nancy’s phone.
I watched his slimy tongue attack Nancy’s earlobe with my mouth buried in my palm and my eyes peeking through the gaps between my fingers. A Nightmare on Elm Street reran often, especially on Halloween or Friday the thirteenth, and I was both enamored with and disgusted by Freddy’s antics. There was no scarier villain to me. Freddy stayed with me for years because he had a sense of humor, an actual charm that made me chuckle, even though he was a predator, a pedophile who took away a young person’s ability to dream.
The predator in my early life expertly blended good and bad qualities. Derek knew what attracted me and wielded that knowledge to target me. My inclinations made me all the more vulnerable to him, and my vulnerabilities made me easy prey.
Derek had me exactly where he wanted me the morning after our interaction on the carpet. As on all other mornings, I ate Cap’n Crunch in my plastic cereal bowl across the round kitchen tablefrom him. As on all other mornings, Derek ignored the sound of me slurping the sugary-sweet cereal milk. But our silence felt irregular. Derek, chewing on the two eggs he’d scrambled to top a piece of burnt toast, was no longer just my father’s girlfriend’s son. He was no longer a fifteen-year-old basketball player. He was no longer my kind-of brother, my live-in babysitter, the guy who sent us to our room when we
Derek was rarely mean to me, but he wasn’t exactly sweet, either. My presence was tolerated, so to hear this tenderness in his voice threw me off, like the touch of his hands on my ankles.
“I’m okay,” I said, resting my weight on my knees, which dug into the carpet.
“Promise I’ll be gentle.” He smiled. “Let me show you a move. Get on my back and put your right arm around my neck.”
I did so and was quickly back on the ground. This time I didn’t complain. I relished Derek’s single-focused attention, and we jostled until he conquered me, lying over me while my belly and the side of my face touched the carpet. My legs were spread slightly, and I remember my feet meeting his knees. Peering back up at him with my left eye, I could see him smiling, and I was happy he was having fun with me. It was a first for us, a breakthrough in our relationship.
Then I felt him holding his breath; there was a stiffening, a tightness in his torso. He let my wrists free and placed all his weight on me. I felt his hips moving and a growth in what I simply called his “privates” at the time. His breathing grew heavier through his nose, and my thoughts raced faster than the beating of his heart on my back. I couldn’t see his face anymore. The TV screen flickered as he began digging his groin against my pajama-clad back.
Derek thrust faster and harder, and my cheek dug deep into the abrasive fibers of the carpet with each push. Derek didn’t pet or caressme. He didn’t say a word. He just kept grinding as his breaths filled the silence around us. Then he jolted and stood up and walked away. I heard water splash against the ceramic sink in our parents’ bathroom.
I lay in that spot for minutes, not lifting my cheek from the carpet. I didn’t know what this was. I had no words then to describe the “moves” he had shown me. I was certain that they were to remain in the darkness of the living room and that I had asked for it because I didn’t play video games, because my wrists were perpetually limp, because his friend called me “The Fag One.” This is what happens to sissies , I thought. If Dad finds out, you’re going to get whipped for acting like a girl again.
Unsure of Derek’s return, I peeled myself off the living room floor. In our bedroom, the sounds of Chad’s snoring and I Love Lucy ’s laugh track from the tiny TV on our dresser lulled me to sleep.
Chapter Three
I ’m your boyfriend now, Nancy!” Freddy Krueger said, his tongue ramming through the receiver of Nancy’s phone.
I watched his slimy tongue attack Nancy’s earlobe with my mouth buried in my palm and my eyes peeking through the gaps between my fingers. A Nightmare on Elm Street reran often, especially on Halloween or Friday the thirteenth, and I was both enamored with and disgusted by Freddy’s antics. There was no scarier villain to me. Freddy stayed with me for years because he had a sense of humor, an actual charm that made me chuckle, even though he was a predator, a pedophile who took away a young person’s ability to dream.
The predator in my early life expertly blended good and bad qualities. Derek knew what attracted me and wielded that knowledge to target me. My inclinations made me all the more vulnerable to him, and my vulnerabilities made me easy prey.
Derek had me exactly where he wanted me the morning after our interaction on the carpet. As on all other mornings, I ate Cap’n Crunch in my plastic cereal bowl across the round kitchen tablefrom him. As on all other mornings, Derek ignored the sound of me slurping the sugary-sweet cereal milk. But our silence felt irregular. Derek, chewing on the two eggs he’d scrambled to top a piece of burnt toast, was no longer just my father’s girlfriend’s son. He was no longer a fifteen-year-old basketball player. He was no longer my kind-of brother, my live-in babysitter, the guy who sent us to our room when we
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