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I loved her winning smile the most. She was gorgeous, with her long blonde hair and her shimmering blue eyes. She was a happy person, and her joy was contagious, the perfect remedy to bring me out of my morose nature and my periods of self-imposed isolation and loneliness. We completed each other. More than friends, more than sisters, we were soul mates. Soon we would become lovers, too.It happened when we were 15, and we were supposed to be in a party. My sister didn't want to go without me. She wanted to see Chad, her most horrible boyfriend who had hit her more than once, out of jealousy, out of drunkenness. I had argued with her so many times about him. I could not understand why she had still feelings for that creep. She deserved better, I told her. But she wouldn't listen to me."C'mon, Brenda... Come with me, please." No way, Syl." Why not?" 'Cause I hate those parties... I hate sissy boys... and most of all I hate creeps who hit their girlfriends." He's not a sissy boy.. Telling would have satisfied my ego. But if the word had gotten out about what happened to me at St. Barts it could have caused severe damage to my mentor and her small flock of penguins.Ray Warren, a neighbor boy who was one of my friends, like me, had nothing to say on the subject to the circle jerkers. He like me seemed to have lost interest in these get-togethers. What I had no idea of at the time, was that Ray was making sexual advances of his own.We used to hang out together and spend time talking about a range of things. Sex often came up. One day while we were hanging out in my bedroom—it was before my experience with Sister Natalie—I told him about how I sometimes heard my mom and dad going at it after they thought we had gone to sleep. “See that glass?” I said pointing to the water glass on the table between our beds. “When they’re doing it Charlie and I hold the glass against the wall and listen in on them.”“And it works?” Ray asked.“Sure does,” I answered. “Wanna see?” I.
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