nccotus

lost my virginity on the steps of a mansion on the shores of the Long Island Sound in 1979 after graduating from Kent School.

I was so proud of this in the aftermath but shouldn’t have been.

it was a dismal experience. We were both so drunk we were about to pass out. And I didn’t really lose my virginity. He just put it in me and came off. I didn’t feel anything. Im just lucky he didn’t make me pregnant.

Takes me back to the moment at the New York Port Authority where I had stayed all night after running away from home–back to Kent School. When I met with a pimp–a black man–who buttonholed me for 20 minutes talking to me about his girls, showed me their pictures. Of course I was in extreme danger but my bus back to Kent arrived and I got on the bus and figured I was ok.

I didn’t understand that he probably knew about that bus and followed me back to Kent School in his head.

that was the summer of ’78

Much later I reasoned, sort of tongue in cheek, that that black man pimped me to Harvard, where I became known as a “kept woman” and then, when that ended, a promiscuous one.

And always had trouble with my sexuality after that. It got me into serious trouble.

so, no tongue in cheek. This really did happoen. About the pimp at the Port Authority taking a hold of me in my head

so, I wrote my college personal essay about running away from home. Sent it to all 8 colleges i applied to. Got into all but one wait listed at one.

but something awkward happened at home over the holiday new years 1979 that had me spinning my wheels after filing all of those luscious applications.

I went to Harvard a runaway.

Finally I realized–like, three days ago–that it was Harvard ordained what happened, like in the film, “Dope,” about a ghetto kid determined to get into Harvard and what happens to him as he forms his application and meets with his interviewer only to find the subtext of his situation was so much different from what he expected.

for me, the subtext issue was sex. My high school experience had been so beautifully pure. The girle were 4 1/2 miles up Skiff Mountain from the boys. And I shied away from them. And had little experience of men.

I had the benefit of a black scholarship student from Harlem for my first Kent School roommate who showed me the value of being a scholar and I so appreciated her pithy tutelage in this regard. I used to wonder if that Black pimp saw her in my soul? And guided me for her sake?

He asked me if I believed in God? I said, “my parents are atheists.”

The men in my life at Harvard were never satisfied as I couldn’t get an orgasm. I got this quickly little thrill because of what the first man there did to my clit that didn’t satisfy. I just liked the comfort of the skin contact and the security of the relationship. This man was a New Yorker.

I was devastated when this relationship ended.