The Making of a Soft Butch
My initiation into the sexual arena occurred before my age reached double digits. Our family had just moved into a home after renting an apartment for the first years of my life. There were no kids my and my brother's age in the old neighborhood so we were each other's primary playmate although he, being two years older and school-age, had other friends to play with.
I was thrilled to note that our new neighborhood was full of children of all ages ranging from grade school up through high school. Yet, having been reared in a devoutly religious home by parents whose lives consisted of family, work and church, my brother and I were grossly unprepared for what lay in store.
Upon moving in, we were immediately confronted by the established pecking order. My brother's initiation was first. He had attended a predominantly white grade school where the culture was decidedly non-aggressive and was thus ill-equipped to deal with the physical challenges of our new neighborhood. He was quickly targeted as the neighborhood "mark". The more streetwise boys in the neighborhood not only picked on and terrorized him but, also, feigned friendship and walked out of our home with many of his possessions (i.e.; Hot Wheels cars, etc.).
I quickly surmised that the real world was a threatening and dangerous place. My parents (i.e.; my mother who worked nights and was at home during the day), who had no idea of the trauma my brother and I were experiencing, couldn't protect us. [ Of course, we wouldn't violate the code of silence that is common among children and "snitch". So, we suffered in silence.] and my older brother could not protect himself or me from the onslaught of the neighborhood boys. So, I learned to protect myself. This was, perhaps the primary impetus for the persona I soon adopted, the subsequent gender disconnect I experienced and the ball of rage I became.
Now, I realize, I began to identify with the perpetrators and aggressors, all boys. I completely disavowed the non-violent philosophy that my parents espoused, as impractical and learned to hold my own in the neighborhood. I developed a strong contempt for my brother, who I regarded as weak, and, refusing to be victimized again, I sought to rid myself of all vestiges of the fear that had initially gripped me by emulating the boys and becoming a tomboy and major risk-taker instead. My nickname was, "Tom".
The balance of my childhood was spent relatively happily with me "hanging out" out with the boys and participating in all of their "rough and tumble" activities. I had very little time for the girls, their games (i.e.; hopscotch, jacks, jump-rope, etc.) and their feminine ways. When I did "hang out" with the girls, I was always the ringleader and initiator of many capers. I was powerful.
My relationship with my brother began to deteriorate at this point resulting in incessant conflict and, often, physical aggression. We fought every day. He took pleasure in "pushing my buttons" and provoking me to the point of anger and, it seemed that, he, who was both bigger and stronger than I, directed all of his pent-up frustrations and anger toward me instead of at the bullies outside. With them, he adopted an easygoing, happy-go-lucky persona and willingly became their whipping boy. In short, he, like an underdog who exposes his belly to the top dog, "took down". They gave him the nickname, "Nerdo". I learned to hate him.
My identification with maleness also translated to me becoming a huge "Daddy's Girl". In my eyes, Daddy could do no wrong. He was the smartest person I knew and I feasted on his every word. I wanted to be just like him. By comparison, my mother, who I resented for her ignorance of my plight, was a non-entity. I totally devalued her personhood and femininity. This would, during a rocky period in my parents' marriage, also result in the unhealthy triangulation of loyalties in my family wherein my father and I aligned ourselves against my mother thus further alienating me from my primary teacher of femaleness and implicitly sanctioning my rebellion.
My initiation soon followed. The older boys influenced the younger boys to initiate sex play in pre-adolescence. Because I was often in the company of boys, I became the designated target of many of their attentions. Suddenly, a dichotomy developed. On one hand, I was "one of the boys" when it came to games, sports and activities. But, on the other hand, I was a participant in many furtive gropings and fondlings that I thought would be kept secret but later learned were swiftly reported back to the other boys. Soon, I had more suitors than I knew how to handle and had too many dalliances to count and this all before the age of ten.
These experiences were mildly enjoyable and inconsequential, so I thought, during this time. However, when I entered adolescence, the dynamics changed. As I began to physically mature, older boys began to seek me out. Unbeknownst to me, my "reputation" proceeded me in many quarters (i.e.; the neighborhood, school and church). Now, I began to desire a different type of attention from the boys. I wanted to be treated like the other girls and have normal crushes and boyfriends. But, it was too late. People's expectations were already established. Through my late adolescence and teens, all of my "relationships" with boys proceeded with the usual kissing and petting and quickly reached critical mass when I would be coerced, cajoled, and otherwise strongly encouraged to have sex with them. Thankfully, I was never forced, though I did have a few close calls.
The one thing that my mother taught me that stuck with me during these times was the old adage, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?" So, I refused to have sex with any of the boys and was soon labeled a "tease". I could imagine that, among the boys, there were bets and competitions to see who could "get the draws" first though none of them ever did.
My misery was reflected in my grades and general malaise. I had gone from being a straight "A" student in grade school, even skipping kindergarten and going directly to first grade, to a "C", "D" and "F" student in middle school. My parents tried pep talks, lectures, restrictions and groundings to motivate me to improve my grades but, I was too depressed to care. By the time I entered high school, at age twelve (nearly thirteen), I was completely disillusioned about life. I had become a virtual loner only associating with other outcasts. I had a growing list of all the persons who had offended me in any way and was beginning to fantasize about "getting even" with them all. I had taken to carrying a knife and had frequent violent dreams in anticipation of "getting with" the next person who crossed me and making them pay for all of my previous slights.
Then I met him, M. M was a senior at my high school. He was tall and handsome and interested in me. We met at the local skating rink, where all the teenagers "hung out" on Saturday night, and tried to meld our bodies together on the dance floor during "slow jams". M was the answer to the cry of my heart. Ours was a two-month, whirlwind romance. We talked on the telephone daily, exchanged letters and engaged in passionate sex play at my house after school before my mother came home from work (She had taken a part-time, day job to supplement she and my father's income.). When he raised the issue of sex, I was more than willing. He was older and more mature so, he broached the topic of birth control. I knew nothing about birth control since, it was assumed, I would not be having sex. M reassured me that we could go to Planned Parenthood and get "the pill". He also agreed to drive me there (He had his own car.) in the near future. We were both looking forward to taking our relationship to the next level.
In the "nick of time", a school friend invited me to a concert at her church one Friday night. The artists were Marvin and Vicki Winans who were ministering in song and word. I had always enjoyed gospel music so I agreed to go. I enjoyed the music so much that first night that I asked my friend's mother if I could go again the following night. She agreed to pick me up again. That Saturday night, I was converted. Suddenly, at age fourteen, my slate was wiped clean and I could start anew. I called M and notified him of my newfound faith and the fact that I was breaking up with him. He tried, to no avail, to convince me otherwise.
I became involved in the church of my youth with a vengeance. For once I, for the most part, was not being judged on my history. All of the boyfriends of my past had long since left the church so, I was free. The next several years were spent in abstinence from sexual expression of any kind, except for one caveat . . . Friday night, late-night, cable television. (You know, "Emanuelle", "Young Lady Chatterley" and "The Happy Hooker") Friday night was the only night of the week I could stay out as late as I wanted (because I was at church or out with church friends) and stay up as long as I wanted. (I always slept in on Saturdays and got a good night's sleep on Saturday nights in preparation for Sunday.) When I got home from church and "hanging out". My mother would have already gone to work and my father would have long since gone to bed. I could always find some late-night, adult movie(s) to watch on HBO and, especially, Cinemax. I was hooked. While I was not acting out sexually, I did maintain an outlet for my sexual expression. In short, I went underground. This was my little secret and no one had to know.
I met C during the summer of my freshman year in college at a church service. It was the stereotypic, "across a crowded room" scenario. I was seated in my pew enjoying the service when I felt eyes on me. I looked toward the choir stand and locked eyes with a young man who was unabashedly staring at me. I wasn't immediately impressed because there was another young man there that I had a "thing" for. He was, coincidentally, my brother's girlfriend's twin brother and was a gifted tenor soloist in the choir. His sister, and my brother had casually introduced us knowing that we were both very active in church. We had talked on the phone once or twice and I looked forward to great things in the future. But, alas, it was not to be. I was, apparently, too aggressive for his tastes. So, when C approached me at the end of the service, I was open to the conversation. I was heading back to school soon so, we exchanged telephone numbers and addresses.
Our correspondence began after my return to college and we quickly became "an item". (My parents' had met via mutual friends and their courtship began via letters also.) We wrote of our hopes, dreams, plans and ambitions and we had so many shared goals. We both knew early on that marriage was in our future. After an unfortunate loss of scholarship funding at school, I returned to my hometown to work and regroup. C and I began seeing each other daily and becoming more and more interdependent. We made all of our decisions with the other in mind and combined our resources. But, there were some minor rumblings in Shangri-la.
C, although six years my senior, was not the most responsible man there was. He was constantly racking up moving violations in his car and wasting our precious resources on tickets and court costs. He also, contrary to the things he had communicated to me via letter, seemed to be lacking in direction and drive. He also seemed to lack the sense of self-confidence and commanding presence I usually found attractive. We also seemed to have a different vision for the future. But, we had already invested more than a year in each other, and, we were both saved. Surely, we could work out any differences there were between us with no problem. So, I gave him an ultimatum. Since, I was, for all intents and purposes, functioning as a helpmeet to him already, it was time to solidify our relationship by getting married.
Throughout our courtship, we remained chaste and I kept my little secret. I never once thought about being sexually intimate with C. I wonder now whether I was ever physically attracted to him at all. We became engaged and made the requisite announcements to my family, his family, my pastor and his pastor and scheduled a date late the following year to be married. The next fifteen months were spent in planning and working to finance our wedding. Our differences and reservations were moved to a back burner as we feverishly worked to make our dream wedding a reality. The following December, we were married amidst a great cloud of witnesses. But, in all of our planning, we neglected to plan for the honeymoon. My parents had co-signed for the lease on our first apartment. So, we could have just gone home. But, feeling that we should do something special, the night of our wedding, my uncle bought us a room at a local hotel. One would think that a night sequestered from the world and alone together for the first time would be heaven on earth. Unfortunately, the reality fell far short.
We hastily packed some things and were dropped off at the hotel. Finally, it dawned on me that I could now give full vent to the sexuality I had been suppressing and redirecting for the past five years. Plus, I had been smart, I found an older guy who could educate me in the sensual arts. I was armed with a romanticized view of the sexual act with very little mechanical knowledge or expertise. So, I pulled out my CFM kit with the requisite candles, red satin shorty nightgown, and bath beads and prepared myself for the night of my life. C, unfortunately, had not prepared for the night at all.
I went into the bathroom to run our bathwater anticipating a night of sensual exploration. I went back into the bedroom to light more candles and asked C to pour the bath beads into the steaming water. Shortly, I heard a great rush of something in the bathroom. C had poured the entire can of beads into the tub. Now the entire bottom of the tub was loaded with partially dissolved bath beads. I knew this was a sign that something was amiss.
As it turned out, C was just as inexperienced sexually as I was, perhaps more. I was very angry at his cluelessness but, I tried my best to ignore the faux-pas. We undressed and stepped into the bath. He was immediately aroused simply by visual stimulation. I noticed the pre-cum at the tip of his semi-erect penis right away. It bothered me. I took the lead in the bath and proceeded to gently wash him everywhere. In hindsight, I was amazingly detached from the whole experience. He followed suit and began washing me all the while becoming more and more aroused while I felt nothing.
We stepped out of the bath and returned to the bedroom. He was, by then, at full-mast and me, nothing. We lay across the bed and continued our foreplay. Then, we attempted penetration. I wasn't sufficiently lubricated. He was wearing a dry condom. We didn't have any artificial lube. It was horrible. Each faltering attempt at penetration resulted in a searing pain to my delicate parts. This definitely killed the mood for me. I tightened and closed up like a clam. Thus, the death-knell on our night of passion was sounded. We slept.
Since we weren't having sex and hadn't planned any other activities, we ended up checking out of the hotel early the next day and going home. Over time, we grew more comfortable with each other physically and our sex improved. But, other than the pleasurable feeling one gets from vaginal penetration, I never achieved anything but minor orgasms with C. C just wasn't aggressive, versatile or imaginative enough to bring it to me the way I like. The most pleasurable sexual experience I had with him was the one occasion that he gave me oral sex. He didn't stay with me until I reached my climax and used it as a means to achieving his own end, but, I still thought of his lingual exploration of my center as the most gratifying of our mutual explorations.
Copyright © 2003. Used with author's permission.
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