shalonalamos  

It wasn’t until I entered the seventh grade that I found out that the good feeling I was feeling was called an orgasm. A lot of the boys in my Health class referred to it as a “nut”. I really didn’t understand why they called it that but I wasn’t about to try to figure it out either. I was glad to know the feeling actually had a name. I was still uncomfortable letting people know that I was experiencing this pleasure daily. Everyone made it seem as though this was only for adults and I wasn’t close to becoming one.

I never considered myself ugly and I was much more attractive than most girls my age, but for some reason I didn’t feel that way. I wasn’t able to own the name brand clothes that everyone else wore because my mother couldn’t afford things like that. I was never big on brand names so I didn’t let it bother me too much anyways. Everyone I knew wore their hair in the cutest hair dos. During the time the “Fan” was the hottest thing to rock, and the higher yours was, the more popular you were. My mother had cut my hair back when I was twelve and I’d been wearing it in a short, layered style every since. I wasn’t secure with my image so it made it difficult for me to fit in at times.

There was a girl in my science class that I thought was so pretty. She had hazel eyes and long black hair. Her skin was the color of caramel and she always smelled sweet. During class, I would sit and stare at her, tuning out the things that the teacher was saying. She looked the way I wished I did. No one ever gave me a second glance, except for the really ugly boys.
One day, I was staring so hard the girl must have felt it because she looked over at me and caught me.

“Hey, are you gay or something?” she asked me with this mean look on her face. I looked away before anyone could figure out that she was talking to me. Not knowing what gay was, I feared looking back at her so I faced the front of the class and pretended that I didn’t know who she was talking to. I focused on what the teaching was saying and kept my eyes on him for the remainder of the class. After that day, I never looked at her again.

In my physical education class we were all required to dress out in the locker room. They had separate ones for the girls and boys. The girls’ locker room was painted red and blue and had red lockers. Each locker had its own combination lock on it. The room smelled of dirty socks, making it hard to breathe at times. There were no bathroom stalls to change in, just showers that only had small curtains. Anyone could just pull it back while you were in there changing. Many of the girls would change by their locker in front of everyone. Being insecure about my body made it very uncomfortable for me to dress out so I wore my gym clothes under my regular clothes. I didn’t want anyone seeing my body because I had fat thighs and a flabby stomach.

While the other girls dressed out I would watch them. I admired their bodies because many of them looked the way that I wish I did. I noticed that one girl had the curves and breasts of a grown woman. When I watched her I made sure that I didn’t get caught looking.
I continued to watch naked women on television more and more. Looking at the women’s bodies made me get aroused. The way that their curves were and the way they made love to one another was beautiful to me. I loved when the camera zoomed in on their vaginas. I was so fascinated to see how each woman’s vagina was formed differently. I began to examine my own at night when my mother was asleep. I knew if she caught me she would throw a fit and
probably accuse me of being a whore and who knows what else.

Once I knew she was out cold, I would tip toe into the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the toilet, I would prop one leg up on the wall in front of me and the other up in the air. Putting my hand mirror between my thighs, I would look at my area. I became familiar with every part of it. Now that I was well acquainted with it, I mastered my skill of masturbating.

I knew I couldn’t act on my fantasies about women because my mother would not approve. I had to be like every other girl and date boys, but that wasn’t really where my heart was. As hard as it was to do, I had to forget about girls and focus primarily on boys.

Not long after I started my seventh grade year, my mother began dating a man from our church named Vincent. She had never really dated anyone seriously because she enjoyed being single. When I was ten, she dated a man named Bruce who was no good. He had gotten my mother pregnant but as soon as the baby came he vanished. Before long, my mother found out that while she was pregnant with my sister, Bruce had gotten another woman pregnant and she was having her baby a couple of months after my mom had hers.

After that incident, my mother refused to be with another man sexually unless it was her husband. I was happy my mother was seeing someone from our church because he wouldn’t treat her like those fools on the street. Vincent seemed very different from the rest so he had my stamp of approval. They dated for a few months and things were going very well.

One day my mother came to me with some good news. “Tiffany, guess what?” she said, full of excitement.

“What, Ma, what?”

“Vincent and I are getting married.”

“Oh, Ma, that’s great. When is the wedding?”

“Well we aren’t actually having a wedding. We want it to be something simple. We are going to go to Orlando and have a private ceremony.”

“Can I go?” I asked.

“No, sweetie, I’m going to need you here to watch your sister ‘til we get back. We’re only going to be gone a day.”

“Okay, well I’m happy for you, Ma.”

“Thank you, baby.”

I gave my mother a hug, letting her know I meant what I said. My father was never in the picture since I was born so I was excited to finally have someone I could call Dad.

Before Vincent and my mother got married he really didn’t have too much to say to me. He let me do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. Soon after the marriage he began giving me orders. He told me I wasn’t allowed to listen to “worldly” music. If he saw me watching a movie that wasn’t PG13, he would make me turn it off and go in my room. It didn’t take long for me to stop liking him.

When I came home from school I would walk right past him and not say a word. He started telling my mother that I was being rude and needed to know my place as a child. My mother would try to talk to me about my attitude towards him but I wouldn’t hear it. On a few occasions, my mother made us sit together and talk about what problems we had with each other. Vincent complained about me not speaking when I came home and about my smart mouth. My mother told me if I didn’t get it together she would start punishing me until I did. My mother’s beatings were no joke, so I decided to pretend to like Vincent so I could enjoy the little freedom I had.

Vincent continued to get on my last nerve, but I put up with as much as I could until one day he crossed the line. My mother wasn’t feeling well and spent most of the day in the bed. When Vincent came home from work he started aggravating my mother by trying to touch and kiss on her. She repeatedly told him she wasn’t feeling well and wanted to be left alone. He ignored her and kept rubbing and kissing on her. My mother reached for the phone to call one of Vincent’s friends to tell him to come get him. Before she could dial the number, Vincent snatched the phone from her. He pulled the phone so hard that he yanked the cord out of the wall. My mother tried to get out the bed and run to the door to get the cordless phone but Vincent pulled her back in the bed and told her she wasn’t going anywhere. She pulled away from him and ran towards the door. Vincent caught her before she reached it and slapped her in the face, knocking her down on the floor. I heard my mother screaming so I ran towards her bedroom door. When I opened it, I saw Vincent standing over my mother, screaming and yelling at her. My mother told me to call 911 so I ran to find the cordless phone.

As I rushed in the kitchen to get the phone, Vincent was right behind me and my mother was right behind him. He tried to beat me to the phone but he was too slow. I tried to dial 911. Before I could get the last 1 dialed, Vincent snatched the phone out my hand, threw it towards the wall, and pushed me on the couch. My mother quickly pulled him away from me and pushed him into the glass coffee table. Vincent fell on the glass, causing it to shatter. My mother and I kicked and punched Vincent while he was on the floor. A neighbor heard the commotion and banged on our door.

“Is everything okay in there?” he yelled. I ran to open the door and told the man to call 911.

Within a couple of minutes, two officers were at my door. One officer spoke to my mother and asked her what happened while the other talked to Vincent. The officer that questioned my mother went outside to his police car. When he returned, he handed my mother some forms and she filled them out. I went and sat outside on the curb. I was glad my sister was with my grandparents for the weekend because she didn’t need to witness what took place.

Moments later, the officers cuffed Vincent’s hands behind his back and escorted him to the police car. I rushed back inside. Mama sat on the couch crying uncontrollably. I hugged her, told her I loved her and that everything would be okay, and she didn’t need a man like that in her life.
When I went to school the next day I bragged to all my friends about how I finally got rid of Vincent. I told them how he hit my mother and about how my mother and I jumped him when he fell on top of the coffee table. Everyone laughed when I told them that part. I was excited because I knew with Vincent gone I could have my old life back again. I was sad for my mother though, because I knew she really loved him, but he put his hands on her and that was something my mother told me she would never accept from any man. She told me that no real man would put his hands on a woman and if a man ever tried to lay one finger on her, she would make sure it would be the last. I had to admit I didn’t want my mother to be alone, but she deserved someone who would treat her better than Vincent did.

When I got home I rushed in the door, threw my backpack on the living room floor, and ran into my mother’s bedroom. She was standing in the closet pulling out some jeans and a t-shirt. I asked her where she was going and if I could come. Before she answered she told me she wanted to talk to me. She motioned for me to sit on the bed and I did. She sat next to me and began speaking.

“Tiffany, I’m sorry you had to see what you saw last night. I never wanted you to witness anything like that,” she said, taking my hands into hers.

“Momma, it’s not your fault. Vincent is a terrible man and I’m glad he is gone,” I said, squeezing her hands to let her know it was okay.

“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m about to go bail Vincent out of jail and when I’m done, he is coming back here so we can talk about some things,” she said. Did she just say what I think she said? I thought to myself.

“There isn’t anything to talk about. You told me you didn’t want to be with a man who is going to put his hands on you, remember?” I asked, standing up from the bed. My mother’s statement nearly floored me. How could she consider letting that man back in our house after what he did? He must have had her brain washed or something.

“I remember, but Vincent is my husband and it’s not that simple. We made a commitment before God and we can’t just break up whenever things go bad,” she said. Tears formed in her eyes. It hurt my heart to see my mother go through this. I could tell she was torn between her marriage and her children, but in my eyes, your children came first.

“God will understand. Momma, please don’t let him come back here,” I begged.

“Baby, I hear what you’re saying and I know you and him don’t get along so well, but I love him and I want to work through this. Can you please give him another chance for me, please?” she begged. I loved my mother more than anything and I would do anything for her. I could tell she really wanted to save her marriage but I didn’t understand why. I couldn’t see what she saw in Vincent in the first place. He only had a sixth grade education and he couldn’t hold down a job. He wasn’t romantic or all that good looking. His sex must have been really good because he lacked in every other department.

I let my mother finish explaining why she was making her decision and told her that I would give him another chance. My mother gave me a hug and told me she appreciated what I was doing for her. After that, she left and went to get her husband out of jail.

When Vincent came back things only got worse. I could tell he was angry about being arrested, but he had no one to blame for that but himself. He made sure he made things difficult for me. He changed my curfew from eight to five, not giving me much time to hang out with my friends after school. I wasn’t allowed to go over my friend’s house to spend the night and no one could spend the night at ours. He told me I wasn’t allowed to talk to boys and if he ever found out I was dating or having sex, he would punish me. I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I started sleeping with a knife under my mattress just in case he tried to put his hands on me like he had my mother.

On several occasions I tried to tell my mother that Vincent wasn’t the man she thought he was. Her reply was pretty much the same each time.

“Tiffany, if you wouldn’t get such an attitude every time he says something to you, the two of you won’t be arguing so much.” I couldn’t believe she was taking his side. I was her child and I should come first but it was obvious to me who she put first: Vincent! It hurt to know that my mother loved her husband more than she loved me. There was nothing I could do about it.