On Playing Sexual Games at the Age of Fourteen

Sometimes I think about the possibility of being a gorilla and how my shoulders hang back and how the flesh (of which there is perhaps too much) hangs off in a healthy way and how I don’t have time for the same games others do, and how that’s not through posturing but from the plain facts of inclination and experience, and how it hasn’t always been nice, and it’s just a fact.

It applies to almost anything but I remember once when I was in grade nine two girls who were in love with me, who sat near me, and the one who “talked about me every day” to her friend when I wasn’t around. How the girls dressed up like a cat and a devil for Halloween and wore shorts and fishnets that began at their ass, while we were only fourteen, I was only fourteen, maybe I was twelve because the girls were in grade nine, that’s definite, and to me it seemed too much and something else I didn’t understand.

I remember the girl that I liked, how I made her laugh by saying the word ‘communism’, how she wore a leather jacket which I didn’t care for but had a smile that used to kiss me on the cheek, which I loved. How we didn’t do any work and watched sad old Borgatti, Harvard grad, dance and flirt with the young preps at the other end of the class.

Old Borgatti came over to me once, on the first day of school, and said something, I don’t remember what, but my response wasn’t engaging enough so he just left and found someone else, some group, some girl who wore shorts that ended at her ass every day, not just Halloween. How my idea of Borgatti is his smug, fat face, and the image loop (I’m not sure if this ever happened) in my mind of him flirting with a young girl, playing keep away with something she loved, some young guy playing too, challenging Borgatti in the way that men sometimes do even when it seems like they’re on the same side.

In those early days when I was still young and wondered which girls were having sex, because you could still wonder then, it was before everyone went sex-mad, sex-crazy, and you heard about girls you thought you knew taking their tops off for older guys in an above-ground pool at a party you fell asleep in a hammock at, the one where you and the other boys opened the door just a crack and the van light came on and you saw half a glimpse of half a man having sex with half a woman, the rest all girls and boys.

As I was saying before I got sidetracked by tales of old handsy teachers and misplaced sexual delinquency, sometimes I think about the possibility of my being a gorilla and my unwillingness to play any kind of game and how the girl with the smile and the Halloween fishnets told me what I later discovered was a lie, that she was seeing someone, someone older, from the United States, and she visited him sometimes by herself and I guess I figured they were having sex because a branch in my head turned off and I thought “Hey, no thank you; no thank you, hey.”

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