The girls and I start sneaking out every weekend, waiting in the dark at midnight by the designated old ficus tree for our young men to come pick us up. The girls take off to Taipa to their boyfriends’ apartments. Nunu and I drive up the hill, park, and spend the next several hours talking and making out in the car.
I get lost in Nunu’s kisses and caresses, as I sit on the hood of his car and he stands between my knees. I love this part. But his hand awkwardly rubbing in that sensitive area more often just starts to hurt, and I move it away. I learned young that if my hand is on the guy’s crotch, they’re satisfied with the arrangement. I’ve been masturbating since I was three, when I learned from my older sister that rubbing on a pillow felt good. So far, the guys are inferior to a pillow for achieving orgasm.
Despite rubbing genitals during sex play as a kid, my hymen is still intact. At fifteen, I’m incredibly old to have not lost my virginity. I can’t think of anyone who is still a virgin at my age. Heck, many of the girls were pregnant at fifteen. I am eager to get rid of this badge of shame, and Nunu is happy to help me. Even though sleeping with a Systemite is strictly forbidden by the Family, ever since we were TRF’d, I don’t really feel like I’m fully in the Family. I don’t feel morally bound by its rules; it’s just a matter of not getting caught. And I want my first time to be with someone I choose, someone I’m attracted to.
After a month of heavy make-out sessions, the perfect opportunity presents itself when Nunu’s parents leave town for a night.
I sneak out of my room well after bedtime and walk down the road to wait for Nunu. As we drive the short way to his parents’ house, I’m all nervous energy and excitement.
We make out in his bed until I decide I’m ready—it’s now or never—and I climb on top. It hurts like hell, but it’s easier to bear the pain if I’m controlling the pressure. Once he’s in, I’m too sore to move much, so he comes quickly. I’m triumphant that I’m no longer a virgin but deflated by the anticlimactic experience. “Next time will be better,” he says. I don’t dwell on my mixed emotions for long. I’m exhausted from the pain, Nunu from his orgasm, and we both fall sleep.
When we wake up, the sun is rising through the bedroom curtains, like a searchlight marking my doom. Damn. I’m late! My mother comes into the girls’ room every morning at 7:00 to make sure we are up, which means that I need to be back in my bed before she opens that door.
We race to the car, and Nunu drives at breakneck speed. I can barely speak with fear during the twenty-minute drive. As we approach the Farm, I see my dad already at work in the stables, so I duck down in my seat as we pass by. Nunu parks behind our house, and I dash to my bedroom window. I tap the glass and see Jen and Em through the pane, freaking out. Quickly, they pull open the latch, and I climb inside. As soon as I throw the covers over me, my mother walks in and starts yelling, “What are you doing still in bed?”
Nunu is spooked by our near miss. He calls the next day to tell me he can’t see me anymore. “I’m sorry. It’s just too stressful to have to avoid your father.”
He probably thinks Dad will go after him with a machete. With all the rumors about us, I can’t really blame him. But being abandoned right after my first time stings. I hide my teary eyes and tell myself to buck up. If my parents notice me moping, they’ll guess something is wrong, and there is nothing I can say. The unfairness of it all. Jen and Em try to cheer me up by taking me out to a bar with their Jockey Club friends.
A month after my near escape, Mom and Dad summon Jen, Em, and me into the schoolroom. “Girls, we have gotten a very serious report that you were seen sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night.”
One of our Chinese neighbors has reported on us.
Not wanting to give us the chance to get our story together, they question us separately.
I follow Mom into her tiny hallway office and sit on the institutional gray metal desk facing her. “So, honey, did you have an orgasm?”
“What?” I sputter.
“Did you have an orgasm with the guy you went out with?” She looks delighted and ready to gossip, automatically assuming that I was having sex if I was sneaking out with boys.
“I— I— No, not really.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. You know, I’ve found that if you dig your heels into the bed and push up while you are having sex, that can make it easier to orgasm.”
I’m staring at her like she’s lost her mind. She just found out I’ve been sneaking out of the house with a boy, and she wants to know if I had an orgasm?!
She sighs, realizing she’s not going to get much gossip out of me. “You can talk to me. I love you no matter what you’ve done. You know, there is nothing you’ve done that I haven’t done myself,” she reminds me with a grin.
She throws herself back in her chair, and her eyes shine as she regales me with details of a sexual encounter she had in a stream with a Native American guy back in 1969, when she was attending Woodstock. Then, just as suddenly, she leans forward, her mood taking a somber turn.
“Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing bad happened?” she asks with an intensity that takes me by surprise.
“I’m fine,” I assure her.
“I just want you to be careful out there. It’s not like in the Family, where everyone is loving and caring. Before I joined the Family, I was raped at a photographer’s studio in New York and nearly raped at knifepoint not long after that. My attacker shoved me into the doorway of the building where my old boyfriend lived, and thankfully I managed to push his apartment buzzer and scream for help. He came running and chased the guy away,” she says conversationally.
“I’m sorry, Mom—”
“It’s no big deal,” she tells me, a lilt in her voice. “I’m fine. It didn’t leave any lasting emotional damage. I just moved on.”
I give her a look but don’t press the matter. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard about these rapes. She’d casually referred to them a few times when she’d shared her testimony about joining the Family, but I wasn’t able to appreciate those stories until now that I’ve had sex. Should I be upset for my mother? It doesn’t seem to bother her. Grandpa also doesn’t consider rape that big of a deal. In a Mo Letter titled Rape, he recommends that women just submit and get it over with, even try to show the rapist God’s love. I think of Heaven’s Girl and feel a chill down my spine.
Mom smiles. “Being raped is one thing you never have to worry about in the Family, thank God.”
Yeah, why rape someone when sex is on the schedule?
I think of all the men my mother didn’t like but still had to share with over the years. In the camper when we were in the US, the Home in Thailand, the Farm. I shake my head. Of course, that’s different. That’s sharing God’s love . . . right?
“Well, FFing could be a little dangerous,” she continues, as if reading my mind. “I remember a time in Libya . . .” She trails off for a second.