Her first time was a celebration — though she wasn’t sure of what —

I knew I shouldn’t accept the beer offered by the sexy Hispanic guys in the park. I was only 18 — it was my birthday, in fact — and they were older. They didn’t speak much English and I didn’t speak much Spanish, but as best I could tell they were celebrating a soccer victory. And I do mean celebrating.

I knew I shouldn’t hang out with a bunch of rowdy, shirtless drunk guys whose hormones were raging, but I was feeling really alone, having broken up with the third or fourth guy who’d said he loved me but I must not love him if I wouldn’t put out. But these guys, rough and tough as they were, seemed harmless, and they were hot and sweaty and, you know, hot.

I guess I... Read More