Chapter Text
I've wanted to write about this for so long, and I've continually postponed my plans, suspecting that most people wouldn't understand. It's because of this anticipated misunderstanding that I prefer to begin by making it clear that I wasn't abused, and that my natural curiosity and inclination toward what we call "sexual" has simply been a constitutive part of who I am for as long as I can remember (my memories begin before I was 3, and I don't have, like many people, "memory gaps" at any stage of my life). We are sexual beings from birth, and perhaps the only thing that truly sets me apart is that I do remember that period with a clarity that others have sadly lost; and that I remember it with a delightful mixture of fascination, nostalgia, and profound satisfaction.
My kindergarten was called Abejita Maya (Maya the Little Bee). It was a beautifully adapted and very welcoming house in the heart of a very green neighborhood in Santiago, full of plazas and parks. The house stood on a plot of land that was itself a small park, painted entirely blue and surrounded by lush, shady trees. Behind the house, stretching to the back of the property, lay a yard with trees, flowering plants, grass, and some playground equipment, like swings and slides. The yard was completed by another room (my room), built in a corner and completely separate from the main house, which had its own bathroom (so the children didn't have to cross the entire yard to get to the main bathroom). That beautiful garden full of flowers and trees, and that room with its own bathroom, were the setting for several of my childhood sexual memories, my first steps exploring myself, exploring others, and allowing other children, as curious and eager to learn as I was, to explore themselves as well by exploring me.
My friends and I used to have a game: we'd take turns, one boy would pull his pants and underwear down to just above his knees, and the others could look and touch as much as they wanted. It was usually the same four of us boys, including me, and I remember a fifth boy at least once: Matías, Felipe (Felipito), Xavier, Andrés (the fifth boy), and me. The setting was a corner of the playground, behind some bushes next to a white-painted wooden pergola. I can clearly remember the moment when one of my friends, Felipito, was nervously unbuttoning his pants, glancing at us almost smiling for a second, and then looking down at his crotch as he clumsily unbuttoned his little pants. I can see him pull down the zipper, and how his small hands, without hesitation, slide all his clothes (underwear included) down to his knees. Seeing Felipito's small, naked penis before our expectant and curious eyes, we stretched out our arms and, with our tiny hands, as small as his penis, began to explore his groin: the inside of his little thighs, his testicles, his hips, the beginning of his buttocks behind his testicles—nothing escaped the inspection of our exploring little hands. I don't remember Felipito's face exactly at that moment, but I do remember the position of his body: his legs as far apart as his pants allowed at the knees, his hands lifting his shirt slightly, which allowed us to clearly see his smooth, perfect belly above his genitals, and his gaze fixed directly on his penis, on the hands that were intimately exploring his body for the first time. I also don't know what our codes were, our words, the signals we exchanged to indicate that it was time for "our game." Yes, I do remember that kind of stomach ache, that warmth in my belly, that mixture of fascination upon coming into contact with "something" irresistibly alluring, and yet, somehow, we knew it was "wrong," something we had to do in secret, that if we were discovered, we'd be punished, and that we had to do it quickly. I also don't know if all my memories of "our game" correspond to the same occasion. What I am sure of is that it happened several times, because I remember being in the classroom, sitting in a little chair, and looking at Xavier, knowing something he also knew: that we were going to play "our game" during recess. I can say that I became familiar with the penises, testicles, and butts (especially their butts, which remain etched in my memory) of my dearest and closest kindergarten classmates, two of whom were my classmates for much longer, and who remembered the experience, sometimes with a touch of embarrassment, but generally accompanied by laughter and a very sweet, very private complicity.
Fortunately, I also remember at least three times when it was my turn to be explored. I don't recall, however, any time when the boys explored my penis while I was facing them; I do clearly remember turning my back to them, my bottom slightly raised, and being explored by those inexperienced and curious little hands. I was quite tall for my age, and therefore quite thin; however, my bottom was—let's say—noticeably more prominent in relation to how thin I was; this made me look rather wasp-like. It wouldn't surprise me if I don't remember my classmates exploring my penis, but I do remember them exploring my bottom, because, given the shape of my body, seeing my bottom every time we "played" was their main interest, out of pure curiosity. Thus, almost like kinesthetic memory, I can close my eyes and remember, travel back in my mind to that moment, and feel the tickles and caresses on my little bottom, those small, cold fingers exploring even between them, brushing against my little asshole; and the nervousness of the moment, of the act, completely new and seemingly outside of everything known to me and to us until then; a nervousness that in no way compelled me to escape, to quickly pull up my pants and hide, but on the contrary: it compelled me to hide with them, not from them. With them so they could see and explore me; with them so I could see and explore each one, each one's unique body, with its shapes and soft skin; and etch in my mind, at least fleetingly, a sweet memory of the intimate moment we shared, freely, secretly, one spring or autumn morning, under the trees and behind the bushes of Abejita Maya Kindergarten; and despite the risk and the fear of scolding and punishment.