The First Touch

After almost two years on the mainland I was back in Hawaii. I know it was about two years because I had graduated from Mary Moppet's pre-school, and I had attended Kindergarten. I did not realize it at the time, but we had returned because my father had killed himself. We got back in December; the only reason I know that is because my birthday was a few days later. It was 1976, and I was turning six years old.

My birthday party was celebrated at my uncle P—'s and Auntie L—'s house and all my cousins were there. Their house was on a hill and the beach was right across the street. The view was an awesome sight, one that I can recall even now with absolute clarity. The chocolate cake with fudge icing and rocky road ice cream were my favorites, and the party with all the new people was a happy affair. That all changed a little later.

After ice cream and cake and a few presents, my mom pulled me off to the side and explained something to me. She told me that my father was dead. She didn't tell me what had happened. I did not learn until later that he committed suicide. She told me that he loved my brother and I more than anything and to be strong. The knowledge - at the time - that I would never have a father confused me. Mom was crying, and it made me sad. When she walked away, I just sat there thinking. My little brother came in and sat beside me, not knowing what was going on or why his normally outgoing brother was so quiet.

"Let's go to the beach!" my cousin N— said excitedly. Several of the other cousins started jumping up and down enthusiastically. N— jumped off the couch ready to do something interesting. Me, I was still processing what I had been told and did not go. I wasn't alone, though, my older cousin, M-, didn't go either. When everyone else left, she came over and sat down beside me. She could tell I was sad and asked me what was wrong. I told her what I had been told. She already knew and told me that she was told not to say anything. She knew my dad, as he was a common visitor to their house. We talked about my dad for a while, and she told me a little about him, this man I did not remember. It was some comfort.

"Come to my room, and I'll read you a story," M- said out of nowhere. Of course, I agreed even though I already knew how to read. I had enjoyed talking to her, and she was a pretty girl who was six years older than me.

We walked back to the room that she shared with her older sister, Rh-. She told me where to sit, and she grabbed a book. She began to read; she would read a page and show me the pictures. It was interesting only because it gave me the opportunity to sit and look at my pretty older cousin. I still remember her raven black hair that was in two pig-tails, the dusky hue of her skin, the dark mystery of her eves, and the loose sleeveless blouse and polyester shorts she wore. I was entranced even before she said, "I'm going to be Mama, and you be my little boy. I will feed you like Mama's do." My confusion quickly became fascination, as she told me to put my arms around her was and lifted up her shirt. I was face to face - for the first time - with a female breast. Her breasts were just beginning to form. She told me to hold on to her and to suck on her breasts like I was her baby.

She started reading again, and I put my mouth against her nipple but was too scared to do anything else. She put one of her hands against the back of my head and gently pushed. I finally started sucking on her breast. I held her close and my hands rubbed her back. I don't know how long this lasted, but she read two books to me while we were like this and would have read more if she had not been called by her father. When he yelled for her to get him a beer, she jumped up and put down her shirt and ran out of the room. Me I was still stunned and in another world. I walked out of the room, more like stumbled, as she came back toward the room. She smiled at me shyly.

I was smitten with my cousin for several years. And even though I wanted to do that again, we never did anything like that again; we didn't have the opportunity. Looking back, I wonder if the adults knew something had happened. I never stayed overnight at Uncle P-s house again; although, my brother did. They key thing that happened to me at this time was that I wanted it to happen again. I began to actively look for opportunities to kiss or touch a girl. I fantasized about it and dreamed about it. My understanding of boys and girls took a decidedly adult-like turn but with a childish understanding.

Another fact that did not hit me until I was already in prison was that my cousin was only twelve. I wondered whether or not she had been abused. I mean how did she know to do that? I felt bad for a long time. In one discussion, though, with another abuse survivor, she told me that it could have been that she saw me hurting and thought, from observing a mother and child, that it was an acceptable way of comforting me. Not sure, but I hope she is okay.

The effect this experience had on my psyche and development cannot be denied. This is not to blame my cousin or anyone else for what I later did. That's not it at all, but I/We must understand how a person's life experiences play a part on a person's later decision making processes, in order to prevent these things from happening again. Noting the experiences of my life and the life of others who have committed crimes like mine and then finding the commonality will allow scientist to develop therapies that take into account what someone with certain life experiences will need. If some therapist would have told me that,

"Hey with your experiences, you have a propensity to offend sexually. If you ever have these urges contact this organization for help. Remember if you hurt someone, not only will you go to prison, you will hurt someone that does not deserve to be hurt."

The odds are when the time came and that first urge came to the fore, I would have remembered that conversation and thought about what I needed to do. The only way to give people, like me, a chance is to understand anything that will help us tailor how we treat people who come for psychological care. We need to find a way to stop these crimes before they happen; this should be the primary goal for all of us because reacting after the fact, well look at me and my victims; it's already to late for all of us.