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Sickening beasts, smelling of musky urine from them pissing on their own beards, I hated them as a child. Oh, how heavy that smell would be when the summers turned hot. I turned my face from that foul smell then screamed as I was struck hard in my ribs by horns! Again and again I flinched from those hard impacts as the goat butted me over and over. I tried to call out to my … I tried to call out … I tried to call … I tried … ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** There was a wet cloth on my lips. A few drops of water dripping into the back of my throat. I wanted to drink the Nile River dry and I received tiny drops. But oh, those few drops were a blessing I would have wept for, if I had the tears to weep. I was so thirsty. ‘How can I be thirsty if I’m dead?’ I thought. ‘If I’m thirsty I must be alive, yes?’ I opened my eyes to find that I was in fact in Heaven. I must be, for an angel was looking down on me. Her eyes were dark, her face was dark but aglow in the soft light of an oil lamp. Her. But his reluctance was no match for my romantic poetry: I told him that he didnt have to worry about me falling in love with him, and that if he wouldnt sleep with me Id find someone else who would. As it happened, we split the difference. He agreed to have sex with me, and to the best of my knowledge at the time, he made good on our deal. The experience was so underwhelming, so strikingly devoid of the blissful, painful, or intensely emotional sensations Id been promised, I wondered what was wrong with everyone for imbuing intercourse with so much import. But I was thrilled to be done with it. I was fifteen years old and I had lost my virginity, ahead of everyone elses schedule, if not my own. Or so I thought. For the following year I told anyone who asked that I was not a virgin. Id had sex, Id done drugs, my parents were getting a divorceI was not popular, but you couldnt say I was prissy. Then, the summer before I turned seventeen, I went to work on the kitchen staff at a hippie.
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