I waited until the apartment was clear. Mom had stepped out for a couple hours and Dad wasn’t supposed to be home until 6-ish. My sister was too young to even know what I was doing. The preverbal coast, was clear.
I calmly walked over to the large couch that sat in our small New York City living room. Mom had amassed a ridiculously large collection of books which she stacked (sometimes three deep) on shelves that lined the walls of the apartment. These books ranged in topic from the large stack of 1980’s National Geographic magazines to the several versions of Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings.” Exploring the shelves for good books to read has always been a past-time of mine. And, generally, I’d discover something fun that Mom had already read and would give me a short review, usually boiling down to “That’s one you’ll like” or “It was okay, had some fun bits.”
This time, however, I was going for the small section of romance novels that Mom kept behind the couch. The part of the shelves that the public couldn’t see. I have very vivid memories of Mom eating pieces of chocolate while sitting propped up on a mound of pillows and reading a maroon covered paperback on Sunday afternoons. After devouring the novel, it would get shelved with the rest of them in the shadowy regions of the book collection behind the furniture, to get covered in dust and be largely forgotten about.
That is, until I found them…
I wasn’t looking for them, I was just trying to find an object I had accidentally dropped behind the couch one day and discovered a treasure trove of “Fabio” covered paper-backs. Knowing that I couldn’t get away with picking one of them off the shelves and reading it before dinner while everyone was home, I had to wait for the right time to steal one of them and read (what I hoped would be) some deliciously filthy sex scenes.
I knew. Oh, I knew what was in those books. Some of my friends at school had talked about Porn. Some talked about sex. And some talked about the Romance Novels. The ones you can buy at the grocery store. Those books, with the scantily clad ladies being seduced on a white horse while Fabio runs his hand over their thigh; were the ones with the raunchy chapters. The trick was you had to find the desired pages without reading the boring parts.
That afternoon, I found what I was looking for. I opened one of the books and, as luck would have it, I turned right to a really graphic part where Romeo was really giving it to Juliet. I read all 10 pages of the “Roll in the Hay” before getting stranded on a boring part (I don’t care about Juliet’s dead father or the will that needs to be executed or whatever. Jesus. I just want to read about how she’s getting diddled by the Farm Hand, okay?) After finishing the steamy section I put the book down for a minute and wiped some sweat off my brow, my 12 year old self humming with new feelings and urges. So, adults do this stuff? I’d never even kissed a boy at that point and these buxom brunettes in the tale were getting it in the tail. Wooh!
I only allowed myself one more chapter before carefully placing the book back among the others and walking back to my bedroom to reorganize my Barbie’s shoe collection. I picked up one of my favorite dolls and stared at her rock hard triple-D tits. Then, I picked up a Ken doll and tried to reenact the scene I had just read (and really only understood about half of). I didn’t get the same rush of jittery excitement like I did when I was reading from the romance novel. I felt filthy, like I had done something wrong and then perverted my dolls with my dirty mind tricks as well.
My younger sister wandered into the room, and seeing that I had already started playing with Barbie she promptly plopped herself down next to me and started up a game. I wondered then about how different we were at that moment. To her, the Barbie was just a doll. To me… well. I knew that that thing between my legs could have some really crazy sounding stuff done to it, just like Brunhilda had experienced when Alexander took her over a barrel of salt pork out behind the washing rooms in the story I just read. Barbie has had a TON of sex with Ken! Oh my god! I can make my own dirty soft porn stories! I have all the ingredients at my finger tips and a sister that thinks boys have cooties! She’d probably not even get what I was doing!
I had entered a new chapter of awareness, and I wasn’t going back. Instead, I made a deal with myself to go and read those delicious fuck-a-thon chapters again, as soon as possible! I needed to school Barbie with some tips I was going to pick up. She wouldn’t know what was about to hit her. I wasn’t filthy! I was on a new page of awareness and I craved more information.
April 1, 2013 at 6:06 am by Natalie Allen