I was nine and me and my sisters had moved from California to live two years with my grandparents, in New Haven. I was terribly,terribly homesick, didn't do at all well in school and sometimes just wandered out right in the middle of a teacher's lecture...really spacey and shy and misplaced.I had no friends until well into the second semester of school, so some boys dared another to kiss me--the weiredset girl in class:"that California weirdo." He(the boy)stiffly asked me to go out sledding with him one day after school, but we never got that far--he wound up kissing me,kind of passionately(passionate with annoyance,actually)in his room, until his brother popped up from behind a bunkbed laughing--he'd been taking photos all along,and contniued to--the boy kept his mouth clamped on mine for a few moments more, to have proof he had done this,well, somewhat distasteful thing.(I don't remember so much what I felt, or why I kissed back.It was amazing to have someone's attention, I guess, even though I thought this was a strange form to have to have it in. I remember thinking--inspired by a year of Catholic school--now I am sacrificing my body to live.)
I didn't learn until a few weeks later that it had all been part of a dare. I felt tricked, and incredibly ashamed.Fortunately though my love life would eventually not end then and there--as I had vowed at the time that it would, lol.
