There is no turning away from the memory

I don’t remember her name.  I don’t even remember her face.  I was 12 or 13 and there were a group of us in the back of an old pick-em-up truck headed for the swimming hole.  I remember she was very brown from the Oklahoma sun , dressed in a bikini and I thought her to be an amazing beauty.

I must have gotten a whiff of her pheromones. That along with the sight of her bikini clad body awoke something in me I had never felt before.  It was the first time I felt desire, a need to touch the flesh of another human.  I did not really know what it was.  In all actuality, it scared me straight into puberty.  This emotion, this urge that felt like it wanted to consume me.  In confusion and fright I turned away to watch the country side passing by.  There is no turning away from the memory.  It has stayed with me all these years.