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<P>He told me that there were plenty of differences between boys and girls besides one sex being smarter than the other (he was referring to the male sex). We sat on the plush chocolate carpet surrounded by textbooks, pencils, and papers. It was the perfect academic buffet of learning and quite possibly could have motivated me to study my homework. But, what I concerned myself with were not equations and integers. Rather, I studied Danny's perfect dimples and smoothly carved chin. Although I was never considered the type to attract such fine-looking specimens, I was nonetheless quite fascinated with male beauty. Unlike the other girls at school, I hardly wore make-up and I was hardly noticed by anyone. But I didn’t mind being a nameless figure in the hallways; it gave me a sort of freedom to observe these youthful men as they walked to class. I enjoyed watching their rebellious, rough, charm unfold behind the ripped frayed demin of their jeans, the musky smell of dirt and sweat that lingered on their glistening bodies, and the unsteady treble in their voice as they age and mature. Such a boy sat next to me, and the only reason that I could think of as to why he would rather be in my living room instead of hanging out with some other girl was because he needed help with his homework. But we were having fun, despite his sexist comments, to which I replied, "You know you're only saying that to make me angry." Then I laughed. I took off my reading glasses and put them aside. I unlaced my shoes and kicked them to the corner of the room. Danny did the same. </P>
<P>"No, I'm not," he said so matter-of-factly. Then, Danny’s lips quivered into a sneaky grin. "Actually, you really wouldn't want to know if I meant what I said because if I did mean it, then you would be studying math with a sexist. And that isn't cool."</P>
<P>"You're not a sexist."</P>
<P>"I could have taught <I>you</I> about all of this stuff." </P>
<P>"What makes you so sure that I'm not smarter than you?"</P>
<P>"Look at me. I personify genius. You personify... well, pretty things..."</P>
<P>For a moment, I snapped out of my feminist freight train of fury to note that he called me pretty. While Danny did not proclaim my beauty outright, he did say that I represented the prettier things. <I>Hm, </I>I thought. <I>Maybe I’m not so nameless after all. Maybe I- </I>Then, I stopped; I wasn't going to be fooled by such contrived statements. </P>
<P>"Who says? Who says that boys are intelligent and girls aren't?"</P>
<P>"Scientists and smart people across America."</P>
<P>"And where did these scientists and smart people study?"</P>
<P>"At every school in America." </P>
<P>I knew this would be pointless. But, it was a game bound to escalate into something explosive, whether it be a fist fight or… I boldly pressed on. "Well, they're basing their knowledge on some old stuff. I mean millions and millions of theorists before them said that stuff. They also believed that the earth was flat." </P>
<P>"I don't think so. It’s not just about theory and who said what. I mean, look at me. A guy’s body has plenty of things going on with it; a girl is just supposed to make babies and care for them. That’s what your body does."</P>
<P>"I don’t understand how you equate physical attributes to intelligence? That doesn't make sense." </P>
<P>And that was how we ended up naked in our bedroom. Danny invited me to look at his greatness. Then, he would examine my own pretty thing. And from there we would determine a just and scientific conclusion to our argument. </P>
<P>Unfortunately, my room was an altar to pretty things. There were pink flowery curtains with braided purple tiebacks. I also owned a small collection of soft mythical creatures built of cotton and glittery fabric. And I did house several chatty Barbie Dolls in a small makeshift apartment that I created out of shoeboxes and glue when I was 7. While I was a woman on a mission for the greater good of our gender, Danny smiled when he saw the room, re-assured of his own ridiculous theory. We stood in the middle of this fantasyland, unaware of how to begin the examination. </P>
<P>"Should I turn on the lights?" I asked. </P>
<P>"No," Danny replied quickly. "There's still some light outside."</P>
<P>Honestly, I was afraid. I had never been naked with a boy before, especially a boy like Danny. Danny seemed more composed, as if he invited girls from school to undress for him before. But, the downward gaze of his eyes and stutter in his voice confirmed that he was freaking out on the inside, as the rarest of opportunities were presented to him: to see a pair of breasts, a vagina, and a bum. </P>
<P>"Let's do this on the bed," he told me. Quickly, we dove under the sheets like marine biologists, in search of the exotic things to come. Our heads bobbed up and rested on the soft, white pillows. So, we lied down together in silence. The taupe-colored sheets clung to our clothes, our bodies. I suggested we undress underneath the covers. Danny agreed. I unbuttoned my blouse; I heard him unzip his pants. Even as we acted modest we continued to sneak peeks, hoping to catch a shadowy glimpse at pale flesh and freckled heat. The abruptness of the covers jumping up and down, calm and quiet then chaos, made me giggle. But, when Danny looked at me, revealing for the first time a bit of humility and subtle panic, I quieted down. We were playing around the red button of which we both wanted to push, but who was to push it first? </P>
<P>Finally, we were finished. Our shoulders were just a taste of the bareness hiding underneath the sheets. And we stared into the opaque universe of the ceiling and waited some more. </P>
<P>"I'll go first," he fake complained. </P>
<P>What I didn’t realize was that Danny's rush to get it over with was really an eagerness to peep at my goods. I lied there frozen, and thinking, <I>Okay. He likes me. He really likes me. Just play it cool.</I> But, before I could finish my thought, Danny’s head leapt back up like a satisfied doggy finishing his dish. I wondered if he was amazed or disappointed at what he saw. I wondered what exactly he was looking at. If I looked down at my own body, would I see the same thing? Or would I choose to gawk at the small strands of hair on my legs or the odd pimple on my thigh? </P>
<P>Then it was my turn. Still baffled by the secret my body and Danny shared, I hoped to discover something that would connect me to the nude fantasy lying in my bed. I didn’t need to swim too deep to find Danny's intelligence, protruding from the rest of his prepubescent-eque body. And if genitalia did measure one's intelligence, then Danny had nothing to worry about. He could have been the smartest boy I knew. I gasped and realized the rest of his body wasn't important. Suddenly, a flash of heat brushed across my face. And I felt this incredible surge bubble out from between my legs. As if my whole body was being burned with electricity, lighting up and melting away all muscle and bone. </P>
<P>My head crept back up to see Danny staring straight at the ceiling again. His arms were folded across his chest. As I continued to watch him, he turned to me and asked, "So, you wanna do it?" </P>
<P>I replied, "Sure," just as cool and carelessly as he asked. Suddenly, Danny shuffled his body on top of my own, like a million roaches moving together across my chest and stomach. My arms were glued to my sides, and I watched a wave of confusion overcome Danny’s once perfect face, and I felt something poking against my inner thigh, desperately pushing itself into a place to fit. </P>
<P>I moaned in a sort of annoyance. Danny finally slid himself inside, and then again he slid himself in and out. This moment seemed so unprepared, even as I imagined it hours ago. The sensation I felt was nowhere near what they described in magazines and books. I braced myself in thought of returning to a newer body, a body of a woman. <I>It will be done soon, </I>I thought to myself. <I>It will feel better any second now </I>– and then suddenly the door opened. My mother was home early from work. </P>
<P>My mother was an awfully uneducated woman when it came to matters like these. Although I didn’t know-and still don’t know-what book or therapist can really address a situation such as this: To have found my underwear on the floor, to have watched my developing bosoms being suckled and squeezed, and that last sharp blow, the expression of boredom on my face, so still and motionless. And that <I>boy</I>, used in an euphemistic sneer, possessed by his brute force and his uncompromised, swollen member. If only it was that exciting; it would have made me want it more. </P>
<P>She screamed and lunged at him with a feverish rage that I'd never seen before. My mother was a frail Mid-Westerner, very smug in her notions of what the world ought to be. And her world didn't include Danny, especially his penis inside of her only daughter. And it showed. As she was wrestling him on the bed, I had already leapt into the nearest corner. Never had I seen a woman so determined to rip someone to shreds. It made me afraid of what my body could do. I thought to myself as I held back the tears, So much fuss over something so small. My mother used to call it womanhood. But, after that incident, she called it nothing at all. It was disgusting and odd like a protruding belly button. And when it finally received attention, its mystique disappeared. It was used and not as fresh or nice. So no, I didn't return to my body for a long time after that. </P></FONT>
