The year was 1988 and I was thirteen. At the time I was still living in New York City and going to Louis Armstrong Intermediate school, otherwise known as I.S. 227. I guess writing the school name on top of papers would have taken up to much time and too much space so they gave us the numbers.

Anyway. I was a hefty kid, but I was active too. I didn’t wheeze when I ran and I often enjoyed playing basketball or softball at the local park. Only in New York can you show up to a park and get caught up in a pickup game of softball. Think about it, 18 to 20 kid need to be there in order to play and we played nearly every day.

The event starts off with softball, but it wasn’t at the local park. At my school, there was always a yearly game of softball between the teachers and the students, kind of an annual event or ritual. I decided that I would take my shot at being on the student team as that would be my final year in the school.

Counting my odds, I figured my best bet would be to play catcher. Everyone wanted the glamor positions; shortstop, third base, pitcher, centerfield. I had no problems being behind the plate and rather enjoyed not worrying about making a mistake in the field and getting cut, even though I had a pretty good glove at the time.
Things started with a comment. They often do. I was standing around before batting started and the kids in the field were throwing the ball around. The vice principal who was in charge of putting the student team came over to me.

“Keith,” he said. He called me Keith. Everyone called me Keith back then. It was before Katie. It was even before the nickname Tiny which would come later and in a different state.

“Yes, Mr. Miller,” I said as I watched the field. I hardly ever looked directly at someone when they spoke to me, not having that kind of confidence in myself and figuring he was going to give me bad news.

“I wanted to tell you that I am quite surprised by the effort you gave out here this week.”

“You are?”

I noticed out of the corner of my eye the Mr. Miller nodded. “I sure am. I thought you would be lazy and sluff off, but you really gave a hundred percent effort.”

I didn’t know if this was a lead in to tell me that I was going to be cut or that he was going to make the team so I kept quiet.

“I wanted to talk to you about something and I don’t want you to be upset.”

Conversations that start that way never turn out well. “Okay.”

“You could be quite the athlete if you worked on your weight a little.”

I rolled my eyes like obnoxious thirteen year olds are known to do. I’ve heard the weight thing for quite some time and it wasn’t like I was going out of my way to be fat.

“Look at you. Aren’t you tired of being heavy?”

I shrugged.

“Aren’t you tired of having boobs? I mean look at them. All the girls in school are jealous because you have bigger tits than any of them.”

I was annoyed and it showed. I thought it was a little bit blunt of him to point out my growing chest and calling what I had tits. But he was a vice principal, so I didn’t feel like I had any recourse but to listen to him and keep my mouth shut, especially if I wanted to make the team.

“I didn’t say anything to embarrass you,” Mr. Miller said. “I’m just concerned and want you to take better care of yourself. I made sure that I didn’t say anything in front of the other guys, but I want you to think about it and maybe lay off the candy and soda a little.”

“Thank you,” I said, even though I thought he was out of line and should keep his opinions to himself.

Like that he was done and started lining kids up for batting practice.

It was bad enough that he said something about my weight, and even worse that he mentioned something about my budding breast. I knew I was developing, but it wasn’t like there was anything I could do about it. I was getting curvy and busty and all the wrong things on my body were growing.

But the conversation ended and I thought it was over. He said what he thought he needed to, I got aggravated, and then we played some softball and before long I pushed it out of my mind. That’s the way things were supposed to go for a tough New York Kid.

I remember that night standing in the bathroom and taking my shirt off. I had no hair on my chest, I hadn’t hair anywhere other than my head for that matter, and I looked at my reflection. More precisely I looked at the two conical mounds on my chest that grew outward and were topped with two quarter sized nipples that sometimes would grow erect at inopportune times.

I grabbed them, I squeezed them, I was almost 100 percent certain that they felt nothing like breast. It was just fat, wasn’t it? I frowned. It wasn’t as if touching them gave me enjoyment. I tugged at them, hoping they would just pop off. I pulled the skin just under the base of my breast in an attempt to flatten out the region. Nothing worked and I figured I was stuck with them. My aunt was under the idea that they would go away once I was in full swing of puberty, which seemed to be taking forever to get there.

I figured I wouldn’t give it another thought, took my nightly shower and headed off to bed.

The next day at school was like any other, I suppose. I was in special ed because of “emotional” issues. At first they put me in special ed because I was dyslexic, then they found out I had a genius IQ and didn’t know what to do with me. I was the only kid both in special ed and the gifted program. But, my class consisted of eleven other kids and we all stayed in the same room as teachers came to the class in order to teach us.

The day was going fine. I was looking forward to the end of the day and more softball. A lot of the kids in class were talking about the upcoming school trip to Six Flags Great Adventure, but I wasn’t going so I didn’t join in the conversation. I had put yesterday’s conversation out of my mind and that should have been an end to it.

But it wasn’t. Evidently the conversation between Mr. Miller and myself wasn’t as private as I had thought. Cornelius, a rather large black kid from my class, was playing first base and overheard the whole thing. What’s more, he spread the conversation around to the whole class during lunch while I was at the library. Unbeknownst to me, there was a surprise waiting for me after lunch that I wasn’t quite ready for.

I made it up to the fourth floor where our classroom was and made it to my desk. The teacher wasn’t there yet, but that was normal. I sat in my desk and went to get out my notebook.

Cornelius made his way to my desk and hovered over the side of me. “I heard you had a great set of tits,” he said, his voice carrying louder than I thought it should.

“Shut up,” was my snappy come back.

“Come on, let me see them.”

“Fuck you.”

I noticed that my other classmates were making their way to my desk and surrounding me.

“Come on,” this girl Lisa said. “Let’s see if they’re really bigger than mine.” She made a grab at my shirt, but I batted her hand away.

“Quit it,” I said loudly.

“We just want to see for a second,” this kid Dave said as he tried to grab my shirt from another angle.

All of a sudden I had an entire class of kids attempting to pull up my shirt against my will. I did the best I could to grab the hem and hold it down as they fought me in order to uncover my chest.

“He has tits,” one of the kids shouted out, but at that time I couldn’t discern who. “Let’s see if he has a pussy too.”

Now I was fighting to keep my shirt down and my pants up.

Two excruciatingly long minutes passed by until the teacher, Ms. S., finally showed her tall blonde Scandinavian ass up.

“What’s going on here,” she shouted. “Break it up. Leave him alone.”

She had to physically pull a few of the students off of me before the others got the idea.

I sat there shaking in my seat.

“Keith,” Ms. S. said. “Go to Mr. Miller’s office.”

I looked up at her in confusion.

“Go,” she commanded, evidently not pleased.

I couldn’t believe it. The entire class tried to rip my clothes from my body and I was the one getting in trouble. Of course I know better now what was going on, but at the time I felt as if I was the one being punished.

I made it to the vice principals office and waited as they sought things out. I remember sitting in his office and rocking back and forth while he made several trips out of the room.

“What happened?” Mr. Miller asked me once.

“They tried to pull my shirt off,” I said with my voice trembling.

“Who tried?”

“Everyone.”

And that was the extent of my reporting. I remember him standing outside of his office and the other vice principal coming up to him. “What happened?”

“Oh Keith was just traumatized.”

I remember that. He said it so dismissively. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but I was too shaky. I stayed in his office for two hours, waiting to see what trouble I was in. I wasn’t suspended or anything, I was just sent home. I never mentioned the event to my aunt, or anyone else for that matter, and the class was barred from going to Six Flags, which only made the students hate me more.

So, having breasts growing up wasn’t always sunshine and roses, but I thought I would write this to show people why certain words hit a button with me. I don’t know if some would consider this rape. To have an attempt at people doing something to your body against your will. I don’t. But I am often wrong.