“If you show us yours, we’ll show you ours,” Scott offered.

I immediately knew what he meant. I looked to Darlene for help. She averted her eyes. I was on my own.

Carrie giggled, “You mean our bottoms?”

My body tingled and my heart raced. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what I wanted. I considered what they said and debated the issue in my head. I tried to imagine how it would happen. Would we do it one at a time? Would I strip in the bathroom and then come out naked? I unconsciously pulled the shirt I had just gotten for my 10^th birthday over my bent knees as if to give myself a layer of protection. I didn’t like the idea of getting naked.

Mark said firmly, “Come on, it will be fun!”

My friend Darlene, her little sister Carrie, and I didn’t move. This was new territory and I didn’t know what to do.

Mark and Scott, our babysitters, were not much older than we were. They huddled up and whispered to each other. I strained to hear what they were planning, but they were quieter than the buzzing in my head.

Finally, Mark said, “OK, then let’s play spin-the-bottle.”

“What’s that?” I asked hesitantly as I dropped Mr. Potato Head’s hat.

Scott pushed Mr. Potato Head and Connect Four out of the way, and the pieces scattered. He began the instructions, “OK, so sit in a circle, spin this bottle (he whipped out a glass coke bottle from somewhere) and you have to kiss who the bottle lands on.”

In this version of the game, you only kissed a person if it landed on someone of the opposite sex. Carrie and I were squirming and giggling anxiously.

Scott spun the bottle first. It landed on Darlene. She ran and hid behind the bed. No one said anything about it or asked why she hid. But I knew why. She was overwhelmed and scared. She stayed there for the rest of the night. I looked over at her every now and then and noted how terrified she looked. I considered joining her, safe in the corner. Part of me was just as terrified.

Then Mark spun and it landed on little Carrie. He leaned in and Carrie hammed it up and swooped in for a fast peck on the lips. She rolled over backwards laughing and throwing her 8-year-old body on the ground.

Then it was my turn to spin…I’m going to have to kiss one of them. I spun the bottle. I felt a surge of adrenaline. I don’t remember which one it landed on. I remember leaning in quickly with my heart racing and feeling the soft tickle of his lips against mine.

I momentarily felt like a much older kid. Like my brother at one of his parties. Boys and girls and kissing. I felt 17 in that moment. I’m like Chad! This is what it feels like to be older! I remember thinking how this was the start of a whole new way of living. Having fun with boys in a new way.

After several rounds of kissing, one of the boys said, “OK now you have to French kiss who it lands on!”

“French kiss? What is that?!” Carrie exclaimed.

Scott explained how you put your tongue in the boy’s mouth and move it around. Then he flicked his tongue around to demonstrate.

Carrie and I screamed “Ew! That’s gross!” It did look pretty gross. I didn’t want his tongue in my mouth. This was headed in a bad direction. I began to feel like they were coaxing us to do something maybe we shouldn’t be doing. My skin was crawling with excitement and fear. I wanted to continue to have fun and keep face with these kids, but I also had a sinking feeling and a desire to join Darlene.

I saw Darlene peek out from behind the bed. We didn’t say a word to each other. She looked like she was about to cry.

The game continued with higher stakes. When it landed on me, I kept pushing Scott away squealing. Finally, I gave in and put my tongue out. He thrust his tongue into my mouth, which was a slimy, slippery feeling. I was surprised by the tingling sensation and warmth it created in my entire body, but it reminded me of an eel or a snake. I shrieked and ran to the bathroom to rinse out my mouth. Carrie came running in after me.

The boys marched into the bathroom disapprovingly. “Come on and be serious. Don’t be a baby. It isn’t gross.” Was I pretending to be grossed out? Was I just pretending not to want to kiss them? I thought that deep inside I wanted more. Perhaps I was trying to hold onto the warm feeling that had taken over my body. Or perhaps I was really repelled. Maybe both were true. I wanted to continue and I wanted to stop. I was acting repulsed because part of me was repulsed. But then I kept going despite my hesitation. I was living out my confusion and ambivalence.

We were lured back to the circle. After a long time of French kissing, the rules changed again. The boys announced that each time the bottle landed on you, you had to take off an article of clothing and French kiss. I resisted but caved under the pressure of the boys and the sexual tension that had built up in my little body. I removed one sock at a time, trying to delay taking off my shirt, pants, and underwear. I experienced more tingling, more warmth, and more reluctance. We kept kissing as we undressed. My confusion mounted and the sinking feeling intensified. This doesn’t feel right. But they are saying this is fun.

We all ended up naked. I tried not to look at their penises but I couldn’t stop myself.  It was way too much to take in and way too stimulating, like looking directly at the sun. But I couldn’t look away.

Scott then said, “Come here with me.” He opened a sleeping bag and motioned to me.

I stood there staring for a moment. I felt like I was in an altered state. My body was throbbing, aching. I had never felt this way before. It was like I was on fire. The feelings were too intense. Had we crossed a line of what is ok? I wondered if I was being a bad girl. It was getting later and I began to think past the moment. It occurred to me my friend’s parents would be home soon.  I stalled, unsure what to do. I wanted to make Scott happy. I wanted him to continue to like me and pay attention to me. It felt really good to be wanted. I was so confused I just wanted it all to end.

He said again, “Come on…it will be fun.”

We slipped into the bag and started kissing in this intimate way.

By the time we got into the sleeping bag, I had disconnected from my body. He was on top of me, but I felt numb. The only thing I was aware of was growing pain in my mouth. My jaw felt stiff and keeping it open hurt. My body was throbbing from hours of over-stimulation. It was likely around midnight at that point.

Scott asked, “You wanna do it?” Startled, I stopped breathing for a moment. Things shifted. I was now on guard.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice trembling.

I didn’t understand all the mechanics of it, but I knew it meant he put his penis between my legs.

Scott’s tone changed to one of authority, “A girl and I do it all the time in the bushes before school.”

I thought about them in the bushes and wondered how no one saw them. I tried to imagine the girl who did this. Did she want to do it? I wanted to know her and understand her. What kind of girl does it in the bushes with a boy before school? I imagined them climbing out of the bushes and going to class covered in leaves and twigs.

I said, “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true! Let’s do it. You’ll like it! We do it all the time, It’s no big deal.”

The weight of his body pinned me down. I turned my head to the side as I thought about what to do. With big decisions, I needed space. I really wanted to go join Darlene and retreat, but I didn’t know how to extricate myself from the situation.

And then he said, “Really! We do it all the time. All the girls here do it.”

From my vulnerable position, I saw Darlene out of the corner of my eye peeking out from behind the bed again. I held my legs together as he pressed against me.

Now I was done. Like a light switch. My body had hit tilt and was no longer allowing any pleasure signals. Only pain and overwhelm.  And just as suddenly, I no longer cared much about what Scott thought and what he wanted.

He pressed again, but then we heard the Jordans pull into the driveway.  I felt a wave of relief come over me. Scott would have to leave.

We all got dressed quickly and Darlene emerged from hiding.

Mark said waving his arms at us, “You can’t tell anyone we did this ok?”

Scott looked at me and said, “Yeah, you can’t tell anyone. This is our secret thing.” We all agreed to keep it secret. I couldn’t wait for them to leave.

While the Jordans talked to Mark, Scott pulled me into the hallway upstairs, took off his pants, told me to kiss him with our pants down. I sighed deeply and obeyed. Then we pulled our pants back up and promised to see each other again. I wondered if this was going to be a regular thing somehow.

When the boys left, Emily Jordan came into the bedroom and Carrie said, “Mom the boys kissed us with their tongues!”

Emily had a faint smile and a spacey look on her face; she was oddly mellow. She sat on the floor with her legs crossed as we all sat in a circle and described the events of the night. I noticed how hard it was to admit what we had done. I realized that what we did was not normal and guilt and shame took over. I tried to stay focused on Emily, but my body was vibrating all over from over-stimulation. My tongue was numb.

My thoughts trailed to the next morning and I thought about telling my mom. I tried to imagine how she was going to react. I had fallen into a deep guilt and had a sense of impending doom. Emily reassured us that it was okay and told us to sleep. I was up most of the night planning out how I was going to face my mom.

In the morning, I was very quiet and did not interact much with the Jordans. My mom came early and I climbed into the back of her station wagon, crying. I sat hunched over like a wounded animal while she talked with Emily.

When we got home, my mom brought me up to her bedroom and we sat on her olive-green bedspread side by side. She looked at me very seriously, in a way that is unusual for my mother, an expression saved only for very important talks.

She said, “Tell me what happened. Why are you so upset?”

Tears streamed down my face. I couldn’t look at my mom the shame was so strong. I asked, “Can I write it?”  I was unable to talk.

“OK,” she said and she handed me yellow lined paper and a red pen.

She left the room and I wrote a truncated version of the story. I gave her just enough information to understand some of what happened. I did not write about how long it lasted, that we got into a sleeping bag together naked, that he pressured me to “do it,” how close I came to doing it, or any of the sexual feelings I was having.  I only wrote about the spin the bottle game, kissing, and that we all ended up naked. I didn’t have the courage to write the whole story, but figured a partial truth was better than a lie. I felt some relief in that I would be able to give my mom a glimpse of what had happened. Expressing myself through writing was easier for me, and this was the only way I knew how to share this experience.

My mom came back in and sat beside me. I sat frozen, watching her every move. She lifted the paper slowly as if she was hesitant to read it. She read what I wrote with her mouth open a crack, jutting out her bottom jaw. I read her face as being full of disapproval, disgust, and anger.

When she got to the end, she held onto the paper tightly, then told me to go take a bath. The association between the long night and having to take a bath struck me. She thinks I’m dirty. I recall staying in the tub for a long time trying to scrub the filth off me.

For the next several years, I started confessing things to my mom. Mostly little things that felt big, such as accidentally hitting a boy in the balls with my hand while playing soccer. I held an enormous amount of guilt and ran back to my mom time and again with new transgressions to confess. I clutched onto her tighter and tighter, fearful that I had done something unforgivable. I needed her to approve of me. I needed her to love me even if I did bad things.

We never talked about the sleepover again, but it was on my mind even years later. I made assumptions that boys only wanted sex. I felt sex or even kissing was overwhelming, exhausting, and dirty. I had difficulty setting limits with boys and later with men. Or I avoided them. Since I felt disempowered, I ended up in several situations where men literally thrust their tongues into my mouth against my will. Men I hardly knew. And I never had a trusting sexual relationship until I was much older. I had one-night stands. I had repeated “sleepovers” throughout my adulthood. I got stimulated and my goal was to get rid of the feelings. Sex was not pleasurable. It was an overwhelming sensation I had to squash. And after sex, I just wanted the guy to leave. I never wanted to see him again.

I have told a few therapists about this incident. Some have said that the boys were not that much older so it was more like play. Or that it didn’t go that far. It was not until years later that I talked about it in any real way with a therapist; that’s when I began to see how devastating this experience had been. I was too young to become that sexually stimulated. Like many other children in these kind of experiences, the shame took over and made me feel bad about my body, my sexuality, and who I was as a person. It did go too far. It went further than my 10-year-old brain and body could manage. This trauma has made intimacy nearly impossible for most of my life. Trauma is a very individual experience and no one can tell me how I felt. I am now beginning to understand how much this event impacted me and how it created a sequence of events that were further traumatizing. Just because my body found aspects of it pleasurable does not take away the shame and confusion it created. In fact, the pleasure I experienced is what caused the most confusion. It has taken me years to understand this and I hope others can learn through my experience how confusing and traumatic early exposure to sex can be. I hope it will validate the feelings of other women who have experienced similar events.

Kristin Schultz holds a doctoral degree in psychology from William James College. She regularly writes in her field. She has taken several creative nonfiction writing workshops through Grub Street and Pioneer Valley Writer’s Workshop. She will be attending Vermont College of Fine Arts to earn her MFA in writing starting this summer. Kristin has been active in mental health advocacy and awareness. She has presented in various venues through the National Alliance on Mental Illness and she has participated on a panel for Recovery is Real. She has published in Recovering the Self Journal. Her upcoming memoir chronicles her mental health recovery journey.