How to Lose Your Virginity ...And How Not To (19 page)

Chapter 12
"NO MEANS NO."

Very early in the collection process I expected to eventually hear an account of a sexual assault. However, I was completely unprepared when it happened during interview 15, two weeks after I started the project. The first story in this chapter is number 15. These were the most difficult to listen to but I feel that, for these women, and men, they got the most in return for sharing their experiences. And they did so with a very real sense of empowerment in that, "This horrible thing happened to me but it must be told."
I feel that it is also important to note that many of those interviewed whose stories appear in this chapter stated that, given time and after some healing, they’ve gone on to healthy and fulfilling sex lives. That a tragic event hindered their sexual development and maturity, but it didn’t arrest it completely.
The Rape Abuse & Incest National Network, RAINN, operates a National Sexual Assault Hotline, 24 hours a day at 1-800-656-HOPE (4673).
Or you can search for your local rape crisis center at http;//www.rainn.org

PAM’S STORY
Pam, 41
My dad was in the hotel business, so I moved around a lot as a child. We were living in Chicago and at the time vacationing in a little town called Williams Bay, up in Wisconsin. In the summer months they have a little town festival with firemen shooting hoses at barrels up in the air. Stuff like that. Stan Kazowski was running one of the little carnival booths there. I just thought he was dreamy.
I met him again when he was out one night fishing on the pier behind where my parents and I were staying. He was obviously not supposed to be there. It was for our building, but he was pretty cute and he asked me out.
He was 19, I was almost 15. My parents knew I was going out with him and his father was the sheriff and they had his phone number so they must have thought I’d be safe. They didn't know there would be a car involved. That part was secret.
I walked three blocks to the town center where we met in a little park. He had a guy named Randall with him, who years later I'd still know. I still know Stan in a way; I obviously don't speak to him anymore. Anyway, they took me to the Thumbs Up bar in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, where they served Michelob in Michelob glasses.
This was the first time I was in a car with a boy. First time I was ever in a bar. First time drinking save for sneaking a sip of my dad's scotch. For every beer I had in front of me there was two more waiting. I had never been drunk before. I thought that being drunk was like a thing, like you were sober and then you're drunk. I didn’t know that you could get more drunk. I didn’t know about falling down drunk. Didn’t know about falling down the steep staircase to the bathroom drunk.
We left the bar, we were in his car. I’m talking about a ten-minute drive from one small town to another. He pulled over by the lake and this was the only time I had ever been that drunk, when you lose muscle control, when you're a puddle. I puke on me. I puke on him. I puke in the backseat. Somehow this is still gonna go down. I guess he couldn’t break my hymen because I heard him tell me, "I’m gonna get this done no matter what." The next thing I knew it was over and I was in my own puke, in the backseat.
I got home at seven o’clock in the morning and my parents were furious. They screamed at me and I immediately got in the bathtub. They’d been on the phone with his sheriff dad all night.
The sheriff dad knew how old I was. I didn’t hear anyone mention statutory rape and my parents just assumed I was in the wrong. Whether I had sex or not wasn’t even discussed. It was my first date and I’d been out all night; that’s all my parents needed to know.
I remember not understanding it. I didn’t know I wasn’t a virgin anymore because I was still thinking I was saving myself for marriage. I wrote in my journal that we were in love, that we were dating. My mother read it and when we got back to Chicago she made an appointment with the gynecologist to get "the pill". She went hysterical. I went down to my dad’s office, he’s the executive of the entire hotel, and I burst into tears. My father said, "Honey, think of the pill as insurance." My mom thought I was naughty and my daddy gave me carte blanche. So I turned into a tramp. It wasn't until I was in graduate school that I realized or even admitted to myself that I was raped. At least it was the ‘70s and I didn’t get sick.
BOBBI’S STORY
Bobbi, 22
I was going over this friend’s house to get high. We went over to this other guy’s house instead. I think his name was Danny. Six hours later, I woke up without pants. That’s my story.
I don’t know if my virginity was stolen. I don’t know if it was consensual. I don’t know ‘cause I don’t remember.
I was pretty upset because before this happened I had anticipated the first time would be something special. After this happened it wasn’t special anymore. I saw him one other time at school and I just walked away. After that I had a lot of sex because I stopped caring. It took me a long time to realize I should care. I was 15, no maybe 14.
Looking back, I wish I had never got high. I wish it didn’t have to happen the way it did. I probably would have been a virgin for a very, very long time ‘cause, other than the drugs I was a good girl.
I could have been in a blackout saying, "Yes." So, I don’t know. It’s a pretty steep accusation calling it rape if you’re not sure so… don’t do drugs. That’s my advice.
HERBERT’S STORY
Herbert C, 82
It happened when I was young, with my brother. And in all respect, all gay people, it started with a cousin, or brother, or some shit. I will knock your socks off with this one. My brother, he was a drunk. We lived in the same room, my brother, my older brother, and a younger brother. And Arnold would go out and he would come home drunk and, I don't know if I wanted it, I didn't want it but he was drunk and he would make me take all my clothes off and he would hack off on me. Which, he was my brother, I would never say a fucking word about it to anyone.
I never sucked his dick, but he would get on top of me and hack off. And after he hacked off he'd take off again and go drink some more. Now this went on and on and on. Then one night he came home, I don't know, maybe he was in a pissed-off mood. He was drunk. I was asleep in my bed and he crawled over me and stuck his prick right between my legs. I said, "Keep away from me." I said, "I love you. You're my brother." I got pissed off. I start yelling. My father came in and, "What's he doing?" "He's doing dirty things." My father took him, bent him over and with a strap, beat the fucking ass off him.
Then again, maybe I started liking it and I used to look forward to it. Here I am today as gay as they make 'em. I’m 82 and I like prick. I love black, I love Spanish. I'll suck anybody clean.
MAC’S STORY
Mac, 46
In a place called Woodman Mobile Home Park near Ashtabula, Ohio, that's where I grew up. My mom was an alcoholic – a barmaid. And the neighbors – two girls, they always abused me – beat me up. This was abuse, boy I’ll tell you. I got scars on my back still, cigarette marks.
These girls were my babysitters. My mom would go to work and these girls would sit there and get me all worked up and then they threw me out of the damn trailer in the wintertime and then they'd take me back in and tie me up. They really liked to play with your head. They were sick like that.
I was just a kid and hell, one was a senior. The other one was like in 10th grade and I was... shit, in sixth grade. Oh, they were sick bitches. One was a real fat-ass. They’d ask favors to go do this and do that. But it was them messing with your head. It got to the point where you think you did something right and then all of a sudden you're getting your ass whooped. If I did something wrong they’d tie me up.
I told my mother the story and she took me to the doctor. She thought I had a problem, making up stories like that. Who could come up with those bizarre stories? This went on for about a year and a half. Then the one girl got cancer and her family moved to New York to get special treatment at some hospital. And that’s when it stopped. That’s what saved me because that broke up their little party when the one left, she was sick in the head more than the one who stayed. Matter of fact, I saw the sick bitch about four years ago working in some damn gas station back home. And she recognized who I was too. Man, I was ready to go kick her damn ass. It wasn't fun what they did to me. It sucked. It messed with your head and as soon as you didn't play their game you got your ass beat.
It was like sex was good, but not the way they were doing it. I actually got off the first time and she was on me, rubbing me, shit like that, trying to get off, and then they'd beat the hell out of me. Turned the whole damn thing around. Actually I was getting off and... "Whoa. I think she stabbed me or something." You know what I mean? Stuff coming out of me, like what the hell happened?
I’d have sex with both of them and they used to laugh all the time about it, about getting naked and shit with me. Then they were doing each other. I mean, I'm a kid, you know? I didn't have pubes. When I told my mother about how they would beat the shit out of me, oh my god, she looked at me like I was an idiot. Like, Jesus Christ, who'd make that one up?
But yeah, my mother worked at a bar. She was an alcoholic. That was a fucked-up life. It's hard to deal with women now. These girls were my neighbors. One lived on one side, the other lived on the other side. Jesus Christ, I was in the middle.
Friends of mine, they thought I was off the wall. They didn't have those hidden cameras back then or little tape recording pens, you know? So all the bizarre shit they did and the more I told, the more idiotic I looked.
They'd laugh and shit, "Oh, you got a little hardon. You're not gonna tell your mom. You’re not gonna or we'll kick your ass," then they'd tie me up and start playing with me and shit. That messed my head up.
And I knew what was going on. Well, kind of I knew. I hung with boys so, at that age you always talked about it. I told these guys and even they didn't believe me. But these girls were good. They knew everyone would think I was a nut if I talked about it. Nobody believed that shit. But I still got the cigarette marks on my back to prove it. I didn’t make those up. If I didn't listen or do what they wanted then I got that domination shit.
You know, speaking of the cigarette burns, I was like, "Mom, look at this." I still don't know how they got out of that one. They turned it into me messing around with something and me getting hurt. You know, they turned everything around. Like at first I thought it was cool and I told my best friend about it, but then the girls they started sticking me with pins and burning my damn back.
That’s a sick way for a kid. But that's how I busted the 'ole cherry. I don't know... hey, top that one, huh?
JEN’S STORY
Jen, 22
I was 15 and hanging at our local mall. When you left the first level you could walk across the parking lot to another little strip mall. At the time there was this field with a bunch of trees and everything in the center. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and I was walking from the mall, down the block to my boyfriend’s house and I was jumped from behind by two guys. They knocked me out and I woke up ass naked in the middle of that field. It wasn’t even a big, secluded area. It was just, you know, some trees and bushes and stuff.
They came at me from behind and whack. I only know there were two of them because I caught them from behind, just a quick glance before they attacked me from behind the trees. I don’t remember any of it. I picked up my clothes, got dressed, and continued on to my boyfriend’s house like nothing happened.
I didn’t tell anyone for a couple years. I was too embarrassed, too ashamed. That was seven years ago. I was young and back then we just didn’t talk about it.
I don’t think I had a concussion because I didn’t throw up or anything, even though I was hit in the head a bunch of times. It wasn’t a concussion but I was definitely knocked out for a bit. Physically, I felt it for a few days afterward and emotionally I was hurt for a long time after that.
I was too embarrassed and too ashamed to go to the hospital. I just kept the whole thing to myself. My boyfriend didn’t question me. He just figured I was hanging out at the mall a little bit longer than I planned.
I wasn’t able to talk about it until I was raped again when I was 18. So much bad shit has happened. Fuck it. You can’t change it. I’m not going to be miserable because of it.
I was hanging out with people I shouldn’t have been. I had just gotten out of a mental hospital that my mom put me in when we were fighting. She thought I was going crazy so she went through like seven doctors to get me committed. Then she went through six hospitals to find me a bed. When I got out I went to a party and that happens to me again.
Ah… I’ve been through so much shit. Fuck it. Life sucks. It goes on.
CARLA’S STORY
Carla Q, 30
CARLA Q: I lost my virginity when I was two or three.
SHAWN WICKENS: A family member?
CQ: Who cares? I was adopted. This is how it goes... anyways... so I got cancer now. The Huntsman Cancer Institute, you know that man Jon Huntsman?
SW: Not really.
CQ: Big money in Utah. Jon Huntsman, you know the cancer center? They want to do a study on my ass because you know what? I got cancer ‘cause from all the fucking... that's why I got cervical cancer now, from scar tissue and abuse.
SW: This was repeated abuse over time?
CQ: Uh-huh. And I got… I'm 30 now. I was 21 when they diagnosed me.
SW: Are you in remission now?
CQ: Hell no, I'm sicker than it gets.
SW: So you don't remember who it was...
CQ: I know exactly who it was. The fucker that bought me. But what does it matter you see, ‘cause I'm in Salt Lake City, Utah. And the state of Utah took custody of me out of... I was out of Baltimore, out of DC. I was a fucking six-inch fucking scarecrow with fucking these liberty spikes, boom-boom I've been on the streets since I was 10 and off and on and then again, and then Utah took custody of me, brought me the fuck here.
Some people don't lose their virginity, they just get raped or robbed or fucking...
SW: Did that give you sort of a skewed view of sex, because of your introduction of it?
CQ: Up until now, probably, but not now. Like this, I've never been a hooker. I've never been a whore. I've fuckin' gone on the streets and said, "Fuck this shit. I ain't gonna sell my body for nuthin'." But fuckin' runned it and gunned it and fuckin' stole dope and shit. But it ain't like I've been with a bunch of fuckin' motherfuckers since. Yes, it skewed my perception but you know what, once when I got with somebody that I had made love with then I knew the difference. Like that. But, what's a fucking virgin, you know? A sin is a sin is a sin, you know what I mean? I lost my virginity when I was 3 maybe when I was 30. Shit. Impress me, maybe I'll lose it again.
SW: Anything else?
CQ: Zip-zap, you're in the wrong state. Tat for a tat.
Let me tell you when I lost my virginity to a woman. Carla here wants to talk about the bisexualness of fucking... It got quiet in the bar, let me wait a minute.
When I was a shy guy, too. I made love to a woman... I did it. I said I made love to a woman but I was missing the dick... didn't get the prick. That's all good ‘cause at the time I wasn't looking for the stick. And that's why those little ladies over there have some massive gaydar on me, right now. They're giving me the fucking flame, you know, and I know every one of their names and I don't give a fuck, Chuck. ‘Cause I already fucking pigeoned the duck. I'm feeding you your need, I'm giving you your dope, you know what I'm saying, ‘cause shit, none of us say, fuckin’ let's hang on a rope.