By: Yessenia Perez

I was twelve when I decided I would kiss a girl after I turned eighteen…just to see what it was like. I had only a mild sense that this might mean I was different from my girlfriends, who had started making out with boys by then. It’s not that I wasn’t fascinated by their tales of preteen passion. I just thought it might be more fun to be passionate with a smooth cheeked girl rather than with one of the pimply faced boys who went to school with us.

I grew up in Buenos Aires, Argentina, a nation rich in Latino culture, which remains solidly opposed to homosexuality. As a kid, I didn’t know any openly gay people. Homosexuality was never even mentioned. As such, when my inborn interest in girls became more evident to me, I repressed it…but with that promise to myself that at eighteen, I would check it out. In the interim though, I decided it best to do as my girlfriends were doing and date boys.

I had my first boyfriend at thirteen. His name was Jairo and his hair hung in giant ringlets around his big innocent brown eyes. Jairo was popular with the girls because he wore a white glove on one hand and could dance like Michael Jackson.  As such, I considered myself lucky to have captured his attention and looked forward to our time after school when we spent lots of time making out. Making out was fun! And since that’s all we did, I jumped right into a second relationship a year later with Roberto. At fifteen, Roberto was older and more mature than Jairo; and while our relationship started out similarly, it soon became abundantly clear that Roberto was not going to be satisfied with simple making out.

Our school was partnered with a sister school in the northern part of Argentina. This part of Argentina is economically depressed and our sister school was always in disrepair and in need of additional resources. Furthermore, students at the school didn’t have many of the personal amenities that we had as members of the Buenos Aires middle class. So, every summer, a group of students from our school would travel north to our to help paint and repair the school. We also took books and other supplies and food and other personal items for the students and their families.

These two-week long trips were chaperoned by only one adult - a completely irresponsible man-child named Ronaldo. Not more than twenty-seven years old, Ronaldo spent his evenings getting drunk and high rather than monitoring our activities. Thus, while our days were busied with various repair and beautification projects, at night we enjoyed a freedom that was rare in Buenos Aires.

I was looking forward to making out all night with Roberto in our shared tent. However, when the sun set on that first day, it became clear that Roberto had different ideas. Within minutes of adjourning to our tent, Roberto’s penis was out and he wanted me to touch it. I was ok with the idea that boys had penises, but the idea of touching one was possibly the grossest thing I could imagine. Due to my disgust, I resisted. So Roberto grabbed my hand and put it right square on his master member. I quickly pulled my hand away only to have him grab it and move it again to his private part. This game continued for a few more minutes before I started crying. “I’m not ready for this,” I pleaded as tears streamed down my cheeks. “Please, stop!” Roberto conceded that night only to try the same thing the next night and the night after. I cried each time; and after the third night, Roberto broke up with me and started seeing another girl on the trip named Maria. Every night, for the rest of the two weeks, grunts and groans could be heard coming from the tent Roberto shared with Maria. I felt betrayed and embarrassed and heartbroken…but also slightly grateful that I had been able to avoid any real intimacy with that ridiculous penis - thing.

After returning from the trip, I forgave Roberto for his indiscretions with Maria and we got back together. I must have thought things would be different - that his dick might start to seem appealing. In retrospect, this is funny. But it is the only explanation for my willingness to reunite with him.

Not long after we got back together, we were having great fun dancing and making out at a party. At some point, Roberto led me by the hand to a private room where, once out of the sight of others, Roberto again attempted to guide my hand toward his penis – and again I cried. “I’m still not ready Roberto!” I screamed. That’s when he said it.

“You know, I think you might be a lesbian.”

Tears began pouring from my eyes and searing my cheeks.

“Fuck you Roberto!” I shouted. “I am NOT gay! I’m just not ready to have sex with you yet! I can’t believe you would say something like that to me. You are such a fucking asshole!”

Secretly, I knew he was right. I knew boys would never excite me like the smell of my girlfriend’s perfumes or the sight of hair bouncing lightly over the breasts of dancing girls did. I knew I would never WANT to touch that thing that dangled between Roberto’s legs; and so that night was the end of me and Roberto.

A few months later, I met Karina. When it came to sex, Karina was one of those advanced teens that everyone remembers. She was beautiful and had long been popular with the boys…but she liked experimenting with girls too.
When she turned her attention to me, my “vow” to wait until I was eighteen to kiss a girl was quickly broken. We moved quickly from making out to sex, during which I experienced none of the disgust and hesitation that marked my experience with Roberto; and there were no tears shed this time. When we finished, I could think of nothing I had ever done that was as awesome as being with her.

In the weeks and months that followed, Karina and I spent every afternoon together, secretly rendezvousing in my bedroom, in the hours after school but before my parents returned home from work. With her, sex finally made sense – and she taught me all she knew, which was a lot.

The following year, Karina and I took the same school trip north that I had taken the previous year with Roberto. Finally, I was able to take full advantage of those private tents and that lax adult supervision…as we groaned and sweated those perfect nights away.

Unfortunately, my relationship with Karina could never be completely perfect. For one, we had to maintain a degree of secrecy because of the conservative nature of Argentinean culture. This secrecy was partly broken when my older sister, Marta, walked in on us one afternoon. She confronted me weeks later about the horrible consequences that would result if I chose to live a gay lifestyle. I angrily told her I didn’t care as being with Karina was the only thing that made sense to me. But I begged her not to tell my parents. At only 16 I was terrified of their reaction. She agreed and as it was, I didn’t come out to my mom until many years later…and my dad died before I was able to come out to him, something I regret, even though my mom tells me that he knew, as parents usually do.

Another problem with Karina was the simple fact that she wasn’t actually gay. She was a teenager experimenting with different things; and all through our relationship, she cheated on me with guys and other girls too. This was heartbreaking for me, but because my sexuality was still ultimately repressed, I didn’t feel like I could expect anything different. Eventually, I moved to Spain and we broke up – my first real breakup – and despite the imperfection of our relationship, it was very difficult.

Although I have never doubted my sexuality since my relationship with Karina, I did once have sex with a man. I was 19 and we were both drunk and it was AWFUL, just as I had remembered my experiences with Roberto. I realized then how grateful I was for my relationship with Karina. Without her, I have no idea how many awful experiences with men I may have attempted before accepting the truth of my sexuality. Karina saved me from that; and even though I still had to deal with the homophobia that is rampant in my native culture, I knew the happiness I found with women was irresistible and an undeniable part of me.

I have lost contact with Karina, but I know she still lives in Buenos Aires, where she eventually married a man with whom she has several children. I moved back and forth between Spain and Argentina – studying and playing music before eventually re-locating to the United States – first Vermont, then New York City and now Los Angeles. Here in Los Angeles, I have a large community of friends – both gay and straight – and I no longer feel repressed in my sexuality. In fact, I now laugh when I reflect on that night with Roberto, when he so rightly suggested I might be a lesbian.