Dirty Little Secrets

by Cohen, Kerry

• ISBN13: 9781402260698
• ISBN10: 1402260695
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2011-09-01
• Publisher: Sourcebooks Inc

Summary

What really happens behind the statistics of teenage promiscuity? Why will no one talk about the trend of young girls using sex to prove their worth-to boys, to friends, and to themselves? Kerry Cohen, psychotherapist and author of the provocative memoir Loose Girl, answers these questions while providing real-life stories from teenage girls in their own words. Dirty Little Secretsis a ground-breaking examination of the subject and a genuine discussion about how we can make changes for ourselves, our daughters, and our culture.

Excerpts

<p>LETTER TO MY TEENAGE SELF</p><p>I see you. It's summer, that salty, hazy time when the sun's heat on your skin feels like the promise of something. When light breezes feel like soft kisses on your face. You're tan, sun kissed, highlighted. You're pretty, but you don't think you're pretty enough, not enough to make you worth loving.<br>A boy thinks you're pretty, too. You know that. I see you, the way you throw him glances, shy smiles, the way he looks back, eager. I see you, the stirring inside, the way you perk up. You're thinking, Maybe this one will save me. Your father is unaware. Your mother is one thousand miles away. So you go with the boy, because he's there with you. You go off into the long beach grass, behind storage sheds, into the bedroom of the rented beach house when your dad is gone. Your hands are always on him, and when they're not, your mind remains on him. Every kiss, every touch, makes you want more, more, more, and soon nothing is enough, nothing feels good enough, nothing fills you. Just like always. And you start to push for more. You start to push even though you know you shouldn't, even though you know you'll push too hard. You always do. And sure enough, the moment comes. You say, "Stay with me. Want only me. Make me better, worth something." And so you've sent him away.<br>I see you two nights later, as well, all the color gone from your face. You watch him, want him to look, but he never does. His friend, though-his friend looks. He smiles, leans in, and whispers in the first boy's ear. For the first time, the boy you still want glances at you and looks away. Your stomach is in knots. It's all you want, for him to come to you. So when his friend does instead, you think, This is close enough.<br>You look back, twice, three times, at the boy you like as you go, but he still doesn't turn to see. This new boy, the friend, doesn't see you looking away, or he doesn't care. He pulls you by the hand. You can't remember his name, but you know it's too late to ask. He ducks into a laundry room. I see you, your blank expression, the way you acquiesce, the way you let him take off your underwear, do what he wants, the way you turn your head, waiting for it to be over. Your father is somewhere. Your mother is nowhere. I can almost hear your thoughts: It doesn't matter. It's just one more boy.<br>Afterward, you walk back to the beach house. I see you. I do. I see the way you let your hair fall over your face. You walk quickly, eyes on the ground. "I'm sorry," I want to tell you. "You're loved. You're worthwhile. You don't have to be anything for anyone else." But you wouldn't hear me, because you're there and I'm all the way over here. You'll have to keep walking, keep hurting, and someday you'll reach a point where you say, "Enough of this." You'll think it's possible that you deserve better. You'll turn to head down another road, also difficult, but worth it. A road you will question often, wondering, Is this really any better? Many times, you will change directions again. Many times, you will think, I'm not worth this. But then you'll realize again that you are. It will be a long, tiresome road, but eventually you'll come to know what I know. For now, I see you. For now, I think, If only someone else had seen you, too.</p>