Nelson
My pre-kindergarten class was all atwitter with the afternoon’s activity: Stone Soup story time and an actual party with stone soup. As four-year-olds, we were psyched. We had heard the story earlier in the week and when we found out we were going to actually make stone soup, our jaws dropped. This is the kind of thing that kids live for, after all. That morning our teacher, Miss Patty, gave each of us an ingredient just like in the story and we lined up eagerly in our classroom’s small kitchen. She let each of us take our turn dropping our ingredient into the soup; my ingredient was paprika, I shook just the right amount in. Miss Patty smiled approvingly at me and I felt smug. We all sat on the story time rug and held our mugs of soup happily. Our class had become the village in the story and now we sat to hear the story once again, victorious.
I sat next to my friend Jillian and we sipped our soup daintily. We giggled and made sure our dresses covered our criss cross applesauce legs. That’s indian style for you plebs out there. I wore a red jumper with a white collared shirt underneath and shiny patent leather Mary Jane shoes with those white socks with the tiny lace trim on them. My hair was probably half up half down as my mom always styled my hair this way when I was a kid, saying that it showed off my face and it prevented it from becoming a mess. Jillian and I were trying to identify the ingredients in our mugs when I noticed that someone had sat down next to me.
Nelson.
He had dirty blond hair and that kind of round face that only came from baby fat, or beer as I later found out upon viewing frat boys. Nelson was always nosy on the playground, trying to break into the clubhouse we fashioned in the bushes where we girls were trying to have a serious game of house. He had really blue eyes and would always stare at me when Jillian or some other friend pushed me on the swing. I looked at him sitting next to me for a second and turned up my nose at him. I chattered away with Jillian until Miss Patty quieted us down for the reading of Stone Soup.
We all sat riveted. The only noise besides Miss Patty’s voice were the tiny slurps and sips of our soup. The story was even more magical than we remembered. Miss Patty told the story with such grace, her blond hair flipping around as she moved her face in specific expressions; her voice was soft and scary and gruff and silly all at once. She was a fantastic teacher, it was truly her calling. We stared at her and at the picture book in her hands as she turned the pages.
I put my mug down in front of me and pulled my jumper skirt over my tiny knees. Entirely focused on Miss Patty and Stone Soup, I barely noticed Nelson stand up next to me. His small hands unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants and he dropped both his pants and underwear. He got really close to my face with his penis and looked at me.
“It’s for you!” he half shouted at me as all of his boy glory looked me directly in the eye.
I had seen my dad’s penis before, accidentally catching him coming out of the shower, but this was the first penis I had seen that wasn’t erased by even my child mind’s creepy parental situation filter. I couldn’t look away, my eyes glued to the tiny member in front of me. Of course, now it seems tiny but at the time, I was convinced an anaconda was coming for my face. I stared, terrified and awed by this brazen behavior and then he inched a centimeter closer.
I screamed.
The next few moments seem blurry in my memory but all I know is that as soon as I screamed, mayhem broke out in the classroom. Jillian, everyone in the room really, looked over and began to scream as well. Miss Patty stood up and tried to calm everyone down as all the kids dropped and threw down their mugs of soup and tried to get away from the tiny child penis. I was glued to the floor, trapped by the power of this moment; here I was at age four with my first dick in the face. It was a big day to say the least. I continued screaming as tears began to flow and I only moved when Miss Patty rushed over and picked me up in her arms. She told Nelson to put his pants back on and to wait for her at the art table. She sat me down in the chair she’d been sitting in and reassured me that everything was okay and to just hang tight.
Over the next few minutes, Miss Patty somehow rounded up all of my classmates back onto the rug, cleaned up soup spills, and spoke quietly to Nelson for a bit. Everyone was back on the story time rug and Nelson was sitting in the timeout corner. Miss Patty came back to her chair and sat me on her lap as she continued to read Stone Soup to the class. I was still slightly shaken from what had happened but I settled into her lap and helped her turn the pages as she read. I knew Nelson was in the corner but I tried to avoid looking at him. I felt him staring at me but I kept my eyes on turning the pages for Miss Patty.
Then Miss Patty shifted me on her lap and moved the book from one side to the other. Now I had no choice but to look at Nelson. He was looking at me with a sort of nonchalant interest, as if he were enjoying making me squirm. I looked him in square in the eye and he looked back. He half smiled at me and despite my horror at what had happened, I was slightly charmed. Mad at myself, I turned slightly to look back at Miss Patty. The story had ended. Miss Patty asked the class questions about what they thought of the story now that we had finished our soup activity and everyone chattered away at her.
I sat quietly swinging my feet slightly and looked at Nelson out of the corner of my eye. I was confused by what had happened but some part of me was curious as to why he wanted to show specifically me his penis. Nelson stared at the wall only to look at me every so often. I thought he was weird and gross but some part of me liked him for what he had done. When I told my mom what had happened, I once again cried and put on a really good show of being really upset. I ignored Nelson at school and we circled each other warily. He was always looking at me in the kind of way men look at me now when I wear something low cut. He was four but he was the first guy to ever really want me.
Once the surprise had passed, nothing but wonder remained. I was much older the next time I had a penis in my face but the reactions of both parties involved were much the same as when I was four; he was single minded in his pursuit and lusty, I was scared yet enthralled.
That time, I wasn’t the one who screamed.
