Aaron Peters was the first boy who ever kissed me.
It’s June and I’m 13 years old. And I had been practicing in the mirror since I was seven.
Except, it had never crossed my mind that my breasts would somehow be involved.
And I mean, my breasts were the last things I even thought about honestly, which is why I didn’t actually take Timothy seriously.
Only Timothy Harris spent every waking morning, at 10am in Mr Roger’s class, absolutely focused on my chest.
“It’s like you have no cups…”
A late developer I was.
Except he looked at my eyes, and then at my legs and would take his hands and rub it on himself.
And I wanted desperately not to say, “your mother’s a whore who fucked a pastor.”
And of course, his mother showed up to school that afternoon to talk to me about what it means to be a “born again” Christian.
“You’re young and God forgives, but we shouldn’t say things like that.”
“Say things like what?” I asked her.
“Do you mind if I ask you something? Do you own a Bible?” She asked me.
“Yes,“ I told her.
And honestly right now I feel I have to point out everything I’m about to write here is true.
Everything.
“Keep it, and put it in your drawer,” she said.
And then she went to the door and closed it.
She took my hands and placed it in hers.
And then she smiled.
“There are things a woman does that has everything and nothing to do with God. I want you to remember that,” she said.
I nodded.
And then she left.
Until next time.
“I want to get down on my knees and start pleasing Jesus. I want to feel his salvation all over my face.” —- Cartman (South Park)
