It was the summer between seventh and eighth grade. I was your average hormonal boy-crazy teenage girl; clueless, cute and absolutely dying for an older boyfriend. Well, I got a little more than I could handle that summer, and my sister and I kept that secret for a lot longer than we should have.
The boy I liked was my sister’s age, which was two grades above mine, but he went to a different school than us. I met him at the skating rink through mutual friends, his name was Nick. He came over to my house one day and we were in the basement playing ping-pong. My mom called down to say she would be right back, she had to take my sister to her horseback riding lesson. I couldn’t believe she was leaving me home alone with Nick, my dad wouldn’t be home from work for hours.
Somehow we ended up on the couch and he was kissing me. Kissing was ok, he wasn’t my first kiss. I didn’t get nervous until he started asking for more, but I told him I didn’t know how. He wanted to show me. I told him I didn’t think I wanted to. He knew I would like it. I told him no, I wasn’t comfortable doing that, I didn’t want to. He held my head down there and moved it the way he liked it. I cried.
The only person I told was my sister. She didn’t believe me. She took him to her homecoming dance as her date. Neither one of us mentioned my little secret for a very long time, years actually. The damage was done.
Some secrets shouldn’t be kept.