THE COMIC BOOK INCIDENT

Of the girls I've known, Patricia was the most sexually complex. You could say she was both sexually generous and dangerous.
She was very open about her body and its sexual power, which was beautiful, and in some ways a positive example. On the other hand, her actions were without consideration of any consequence. She seemed to leave a trail of wreckage behind her, too.

Once, she told me she'd been babysitting for a neighbor's kid. "He's a precocious and horny little brat," she said. Not thinking much of her comment, I asked what she meant. "Well, just the other day, we were hanging out, looking at his comic book collection and he said since he showed me something, I should show him something. I asked him what, and he said he wanted to know why I had bumps on my chest."

I should stop her story here and point out that Patricia had a sense of her body and it's physical presence. She was not short nor tall, but medium. Her breasts were not larger nor small. Perfectly medium. Her hair was straight, naturally mousey brown, but died various incarnations of bright red. All together, she could have very easily been a girl that was considered fine looking, but "nothing special." Yet, she seemed to radiate a very physical sexual energy, enhanced by wearing short skirts, short shorts. She'd wear tall socks or leggings that seemed to draw attention to her legs, and tight tank tops that hugged her breasts. Without a bra, one could clearly see the outline of her two nipple piercings.

That detail of her outfit was what apparently caught the attention of her young charge. According to her story, the kid wanted to see her without her top. Patricia, knowing that sex equals power, agreed. She bartered that if she did show him her breasts he'd have to always behave, always go to bed when she said, and never question her rules. He sheepishly agreed. "And besides," she said to him sternly, "if you don't, I'll tell your mother." Of course, the threat was a bluff. She'd never tell the mother, but she knew that the kid would do anything to avoid parental trouble.

"So I showed the brat my tits," she said. She seemed to be bragging. Clearly, exposing herself to a minor was illegal as hell. She could get fired, or worse, suspended or expelled form school, and even jailed or fined if the parents pressed charges.

Part of me was aroused by the idea of her peeling off her top. When I was the kid's age, it was clearly a fantasy come true. The baby sitter showing an adolescent boy what he so desperately wanted to see. It was so wrong, and yet so part of human nature and coming of age, it also had a sense of being normal--almost special and kind. It was, like Patricia, complex and wrought with contradictions.

To be honest, I am nearly positive she was totally lying. She made up stories and said things just for shock value. I don't doubt she wore a tank top while babysitting, or that she wasn't wearing a bra, or even that the kid noticed the outline of her piercings. I don't doubt they were reading comic books. Did she flash him? Did she actually take off her top? I doubt it. No one else would. Then again, Patricia was like no one else.