On top of his inability/refusal to observe my boundary, Chesley was what we called a goober: someone considered funny-looking and funny-acting. He giggled too much, over nothing, and his facial features were not conventionally attractive. Thus, the teasing that I got from other kids about him being my "boyfriend" was a slam at me and how I did not fit the standards of attractiveness, either (I was anorexic, ill-looking, and dressed like the poor kid I was.)
I have not thought of him since we left that town, but today I ran across his unusual surname in another setting and I did a google search for him. Turns out, he is dead, died last year after a long battle with cancer. He was a Master Sergeant in the Air Force, had married and had a daughter, and that is all I could glean from his online obituary except a long list of in-laws and a photo of him. He still looked like a goober.
I have some empathy for him now. His preacher father was a dick, and Chesley was uprooted often as the family moved to new church jobs. He had neither charm nor looks to fall back on, and was not especially bright. I have no earthly idea why he fixated on me, but did not trust it then and I think my radar was likely right. I was actively being molested at the time, and I believe that shows on children if anyone bothers to look.
I thank all that is glorious and good for bringing feminism to my generation, for giving me language and theory to sidestep hopeless heterosexuality and submission to males. I have had a hard row to hoe, but I have been loved well by women and some self-examined men. I have made a difference, I have expressed my soul, and in four days I will have survived my second Saturn return in Scorpio, something my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother did not manage to do.
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