Something that I’d felt in the back seats of cars, in the bedrooms of dozens of young boys when their parents weren’t home or thought we were studying, and pressed up against me on a hundred dance-floors. I slapped him. Indian sex I was, it seems odd to say now, afraid. I was finding some footing. “Do you want me?”, I asked. No, not wondering about whether I should fuck my own father, or start an affair within the family, or allow my mother to be cheated on between my legs. I loved it, in fact, right from the time I became sexual at age eleven. I cupped my hand under his chin and raised his face to mine: “Do we have an agreement?” It was then that I could see it: his eyes were teary. On my fifteenth birthday, I had a date with Bennett, my “boyfriend” from school. “And”, I paused, while thinking of my girlfriends and their male lovers and their gifts, “whenever I want to go shopping, you’ll either take me yourself, or you’ll give me your Platinum Card, and you won’t ever say no.” He said nothing, still looking at the promised land. thing . I, on the other hand, started to think. And I liked being the one in control. None. At school, at the mall, at parties,
