In My Father's House

Page 349

in my father's-house/ 370b fencing matches. But my real weapons were found on the battleground of the parked car, the darkened dance floor, the soft lawn. Sometimes I toyed with their passions, letting them embrace me, with whispering words replete A promise, letting them kiss and touch until they held me wildly and groaned. And I smiled malevolently over their shoulders as I said, "No." But if they were afraid - virginal or wary of entanglements - I would coax them on, forcing them toward a moment of shivering, psychological nakedness, an instant of lost identity. When they revealed their reluctance I would say, "Oh, you're just a boy," and would draw away. I pictured myself as a formidable figure, unafraid of what had already been thrust upon me, I was priestess of what they feared and reverenced most. Oh, I was not kind. But, you must understand, I felt myself to be the victim. I did not imagine that I was really hurting others. It was a game, only a chess match, to see who would win or lose. I had forgotten that the game was Life - that I had reduced or been reduced from a madestic existence to a mere play. And certainly, I must play to win. \ \ y \ V •'