Jen

My first times were in the basement of my boy friend, Mark’s house and they were less than ecstacy for this 14-year-old. I caved in, submitted to an ultimatum from age-16 Mark, was relieved it didn’t last too long. The sooner it was over, the less time to get a bellyfull of baby, or so I figured. My first experiences were about as significant as taking Mom’s car up and down the driveway when nobody was looking. Fortunately, The car, the garage, and I escaped getting knocked up.

This is about my parents’ first time, when I was conceived. I have my mother’s bikini underpanties and matching bra from the time, white with little pink rose buds. They fitted me perfectly. I have the agonized love letters of my mother to my father. I have polaroids of nude front and side views of my mother as I progressed from embryo, to fetus, to baby. My staring at those photos of my mother’s 14-year-old body mark the end of my childhood for me.

I am adopted.

The appearance of three, coarse, black, pioneering hairs on my labia was a mini-transition into adulthood. One morning I woke to find a stain on my bedsheets, a stain brighter than the autumn colors of the sugar maple that filtered the light into my bedroom–another mini-transition, as was the white, searing flash as my hymen split. Those photos, however, were my cataclysm that thrust me into womanhood.

My real parents, and they are my real parents, never hid the fact of my adoption, explaining that I was specially selected while other children were simply born into the family. I cannot explain curiosity becoming obsession when I became sexually active. Mom thinks I had a need for a big brother in my first lover and perhaps my repeated wish for brothers or sisters was expressed in this fling. Hogwash.

Though my parents are total zeros as psychoanalysts they are the most loving parents that ever were. They located my birth parents. My birth mother is married, with children and I am a skeleton in her past–a skeleton with rounded, womanly flesh, with warm blood coursing through it, with the prospect of containing a soul, as well–but a skeleton, nonetheless. Oh well. At least she didn’t have an abortion.

My birth father lives a three-hour drive away and is a batchelor teacher at a boarding school for boys. We had an awkward phone conversation and he finally said “This is no good for either of us. We must get together.” He invited me to spend my Spring break with him. My parents drove me up. He was nothing at all what I expected. Maladroit. Bashful. Bookish. Geek. Total hopeless geek! I was to spend an entire week with Ichabod Crane’s reincarnation? Is this all the better my birth mother could do? How desperate was she? Above all, he was so young. My parents were in their 50’s; Wendell was 28. After serving us dinner, he introduced us to a married faculty couple with a guest room for me. The next morning Wendell took me to services at the school chapel. I braced myself for a long week.

His intentions to show me the local sights around Mt. Herman, Massachusetts, were sidetracked by my incessent questions about my birth mother and the exact circumstances of their love affair. In the morning of the third day, Wendell made some phone calls to a Vermont summer camp and announced we would “investigate the crime scene tomorrow. I will collect you at 6:30”.

The caretaker met us and we walked around a desolate, empty camp. I saw inside her cabin and lay in the bunk she slept in. He had me paddle a canoe trip across the lake to the brother camp. Though it was a dull day, Wendell asked me to put on my sunglasses and he placed his on top of mine–“Only in the middle of the night, could my Sandra escape supervision”, he explained. On that trip, I realized that Wendell was charming and boyish. He definitely had something over my current paramour. The caretaker, who had driven around in his van, opened up Wendell’s cabin and I lay in his bunk. Wendell play-acted an outraged counselor and man-handled me out the door. I saw the rec hall where my birth parents first met at a intercamp social. Wendell remembered the exact games and what refreshments were served.

I saw the exact spot behind the dining hall where I was conceived. Sandra’s and Wendell’s initials are still there in the back wall. There was a rotted blanket amongst the weeds. Wendell said it didn’t look15 years old though it might have been. It didn’t look romantic. The light of day did not help nor did the drizzle. Who an I to criticize? Mark’s basement is no castle in the clouds.

Wendell described the warmth of the night, the crickets chirping, the canepy of stars, the feelings of a private world, a completeness of the two selves, the sweet sorrow of parting with a promise to meet the next night. He told of her warmth and softness, the music of her laughter, the heady natural perfume of her body and the one sense that was deprived, that of vision, and at long last, her remaining until the morning when the first light of dawn provided his first glimpse of a female body. That was the morning my birth mother was seen in the lake, returning to her camp and the end of the romance. The caretaker had long since left, Wendell and I were alone. It was a damp, chilly late afternoon. Wendell started and pushed me away. We had been embracing as lovers as Wendell reminised. I had been snapping pictures all day; I regretted not having a tape recorder, as well. Wendell was a tender, sentimental poet–not exactly my type but then it became clear that Mark was less my type. I felt a stern rebuke from nobody and nowhere particular. I felt a desolation as if I were in a featureless dessert with the nearest life far beyond the horizon.

I sat beside Wendell in the booth at supper. I leaned against him the long drive back to his school. I needed so badly to be held. Finally Wendell relented and put his arm around me. I poured my heart out to him. I confessed my first impression of him. I confessed shame for my current boyfriend. I confessed my feelings of betrayal to my real parents who denied me nothing. I confessed my terrible feeling of isolation that was overwhelming me. It was late and his friends had retired when we arrived. Wendell told me to get into my pajamas and bring a blanket and pillow out to the living room. I slept in his arms the whole night on their sofa.

I awoke and he kissed me on the forehead. He gently asked, “Did I do wrong with our visit yesterday? I fear that camp is a past that should have remained mine.” I assured him that I got exactly what I asked for: an understanding fully how I came to be, for a few moments, I became Sandra as I stood in his arms listening to him. For a night, I felt Sandra’s serenity as I lay in his arms. I thought he was very sweet to share himself with me as much as he did. My sorrow was for the kind of person I was. He told me to get dressed while he went to his appartment to fix breakfast.

We spent the day feeding the ducks on the pond, playing with the organ in the chapel, and finally climbing the ladder up the bell tower. Wendell had some more to tell me about his romance with my mother but first I had to tell him my secrets. I started to apologize for thinking him a geek. “I know I’m a geek. Tell me something I don’t know”, he replied. I told him about my poor grades, my shoplifting, and Mark and how much I loved him. Wendell simply listened and held me in his arms. Before I knew it, Wendell had all my secrets. Mark took my body, Wendell helped himself to my soul.

Wendell zeroed right in for the kill: “You have been having unprotected sex, haven’t you?” I nodded and he followed up, “Are you pregnant?” I had to tell him I didn’t know. We went to the drug store and he bought a pregnancy test kit and went to his apartment. While we waited for the test to develop, Wendell asked, ” So tell me about it.” I began to clam up and Wendell said, “Repeat after me: ‘ Mother, I’m pregnant.'” I couldn’t get the words out so he said, “Then keep talking.” The test came up negative but Wendell said I wasn’t off the hook. He pointed out the part of the instructions mentioning the test could show negative for up to the first six weeks.

I asked him if he was going to tell my parents and he asked if I wanted him to. I begged him not and he said, “OK, I won’t. It’s your life not mine.” I couldn’t believe him but he repeated himself, that he wouldn’t but he added, if I simply let the matter drop, he didn’t want to know me anymore.

Wendell said it was time for me to stew. After my turn for a night without sleep, Wendell to my to the library and sat me down to reading a book titled, “Mom, I’m Pregnant” and left. After lunch, Wendell drove me to the hospital for a pregnacy blood test. While we waited, Wendell handed me a book called “P.E.T. Parent Efeectiveness Training.” Inside, he had highlighted a section on privacy in which the parent and child negotiate areas of sharing and areas sacrosanct from prying. I was to take this home, read it and give it to my parents. A day before being pregnant was the farthest thing from my mind. With no symptoms, I had a night of terror. I was beside myself with joy when the blood test came back negative.

We left the hospital and Wendell sent me on a condom shopping spree–not one place but three. He reminded me to get register receipts because he knew I shoplifted.

Wendell inquired whether I wanted another night like last night and if I didn’t, I knew what to do. Whatever I did, I had to make adult decisions and then inform my parents of my decision and why I made it. Wendell didn’t want to hear from me again until I had told my parents something significant that I wouldn’t dream of telling them before.

That was pretty heavy. It was also kindly and fair. He said he could have treated me like a child and simply told my parents. He could have treated me like an adult and stayed out of my business. However, I haven’t been acting like an adult so I haven’t earned the right to be treated like one. Right now is when I am to start acting like an adult.

Wendell eased up the next two days and we went to Boston and Ben and Jerry’s factory and to Chinese and Indian restaurants while he told me about himself. Wendell talked about his days at Mt. Herman as a student and his days at Cambridge England studying Latin and Greek. He had a long time getting over the fact he had never seen me. Sadly, Wendell and Sandra never got together again. By the time they were free to do so, their lives had diverged. Wendell has a girl friend in England he sees every summer but he never slept with her. When it came to marriage, he decided he didn’t want to commit himself, he felt his life was complete with his studies, and a private reason that he told to no one else. He really is maladroit, bashful, bookish, total hopeless geek and I love him.

He is too young to be a father for me and we shared too many secrets. I asked him to be my big brother. Wendell smiled and said since I had been willing to prove my love with Mark he would ask the same of me. I had to begin talking with my parents.

That last night, in his friend’s living room, he handed me a large brown envelope. After I had gone to my room, I was to strip naked and open the envelope. Inside was fourteen poloroids a girl my age and build had taken of herself. We had the same face. There was no doubt who she was. Wendell knew exactly what he was doing. It was my soul that was naked in the closet door mirror and I saw my soul pregnant. Wendell mind-fucked me.

I was happy to go to chapel with Wendell the next morning. It was right for Wendell and I had gained a reverent respect for him. He drove me home and had dinner with my family and left.

That night I showed my parents the P.E.T. book and told them we both needed to read it, especially the part about privacy and the child making their own decisions. They immediately asked me if I had someting to talk about and I did but I assured them it could wait. Just please read the book and let me start working with them.

The next day was Monday. I went with Mark to his house. The condoms were going to spoil his pleasure and he refused to put one on. I excused myself to the bathroom and walked right on out of his house and out of his life. It was a long walk home but I had time to cry my tears and pull myself together. I did the unheard of. I did my homework. And for the rest of the week and thereafter. When Mark called me, I made myself perfectly clear. By the end of the week all the kids were asking me if I had really slept with him. I answered truthfully. I didn’t volunteer Wendell was the only boy I slept with. I was wising up fast.

The next Saturday I bought three elephant ears at the bakery because they are Dad’s favorite and came into my parent’s room Sunday morning with coffee and elephant ears. The look on my parents faces indicated that they were bracing for the worst news imaginable. I felt so sorry for them that I came right out with “I’m not pregnant so relax.” Bingo. They relaxed. Then Dad’s eye’s narrowed and said “So what’s the bad news.” I told them there was absolutely no bad news so they could really, really relax. This could be a great conversation if they would let it be. I have some things difficult to say and please don’t make it more difficult.

I told them I broke up with Mark and did they “want to know why I broke up with Mark?” I told them Wendell got me a hospital blood test for pregnancy and I am absolutely not pregnant but I could have been and certainly would soon be if it wasn’t for Wendell. The blood test is accurate within four days and it was eight since I was with Mark. Dad immediately said he didn’t want me going with Mark. I shut up and simply stared him right in the eyes. When he asked if I was listening and whether I promised never to see Mark again, I asked if he was listening. I had just announced I was finished with Mark and now Dad is telling me I can’t see him. I got up and said conversation means both sides listen and I stomped out to my room. Ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door and I said, “Go away, I’m putting clothes on my unpregnant body.” Dad said, “I’ve come to apologize. Come out when you’re ready.

Breakfast went much better. Dad said,”I’m sorry. You talk and I’ll listen.” I told them about putting Mark to the test with a condom and that he had flunked. It doesn’t matter about telling me not to see Mark because Mark doesn’t care about me so he is all done. The visit with Wendell was painful because I was saw I was going right down the same path as my birth mother. I told them about the trip to the camp. I had come to a decision carry condoms on future dates but that doesn’t mean I’m going to use them. I have some important decisions to make and whether I talk about them depends how well I’m listened to.

Mom said she understood I was the one who would make the ultimate discisions because my parents can watch me only so closely. She went on to say if I talked and my parents listened, they wouldn’t need to watch me. Well, that’s what the P.E.T. book said.

We got up and went out for dinner and I told them all about my visit with Wendell. I also announced I wanted no mention made of my homework made until the end of the semester. When school let out I made the honor roll.

I telephoned Wendell in front of my parents and reported I had told them about Mark refusing to use a condom so I terminated him and about my carrying condoms in my purse and about Mom getting on board with the new rules and Dad would have to get used to them. Mom got on the phone and told him she was very grateful to him and invited him to visit the following weekend.

When Wendell visited, he asked Mom and Dad if my privacy would be respected. When he was assured it would be, he went out to his car and gave me a box. I excused myself and opened it up. Besides the letters and photos were yellowed underwear. I had to try on the underwear. When I emerged, I said, “That’s my mother’s underwear, isn’t it?” Wendell said it was a gift given at camp. I told them that I tried them on and they fit and how scary that is. I also said there were some old letters and some pictures and please let those be private. My parents gave their word.

I see Wendell twice a year. He comes to my parents every Christmas and I stay at his apartment for a week sometime in the summer. The summer after I graduated from high school, I went with him to England.

It was Wendell who suggested I tell my boy friends I like to be held. He also put the idea into my head I can give sexual pleasure without giving my body and I should explore receiving pleasure solo before I do so with a boy.

I write him and Wendell answers. Wendell is no letter writer. I understand the hurt toward Wendell in Sandra’s letters. We live in different world and yet there is an intimacy as such that can exist only between brother-sister or father-daughter. He is neither one but also both. I needed his approval of my fiancee as much as I needed that of my parents.

Sunday mornings were intimate times until I went to college. One morning I announced I made a change of girl friends and that was all I needed to solve my shoplifting problem. It was almost a year before I could talk to my parents about my feelings toward my mother’s things.

Once I called my father to collect me from a high school beer party because my boyfriend became drunk. I was the one who brought the subject up Sunday morning. I announced my decision on the matter and my parents nodded their approval.

I eventually threw the condoms out but I kept the boxes pinned to my bulletin board all through my high school years. I still have the lab report from the hospital and the instructions from the pregnancy test kit.


During the Christmas Break of my junior year at college, I told my parents that I might be dating my future husband. Dad said “Serious?” I said “I need to get some pills” and he said, “Beyond condoms. Now that’s serious.” It gave me satisfaction to say, “I never used a condom in my life.”

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