From the moment I was conscious enough to know pain, pleasure, and revenge, I've since plotted some oh so subtly. Let me tell you a painful part sorry my story.

My mother was a teacher and my father, a farmer. They met when my mom was assigned into the mountain where my father was the current barangay captain. I don't exactly know the details of how they fell in love, but from the little my mother told me, my father was captivated by her beauty even though she had a boyfriend that time. Luckily for my pop, my mom didn't fancy converting into Islam, nor marrying a moslem. She broke off with him and turned her attention to my dad. He was a catholic, their clan a devout one. She's a Christian. His love wasn't fazed by religion, so he converted when they married. A marriage officiated by her pastor brother-in-law. They spent their first and second night on one classroom the school allowed her to use during her stay there. Exactly 9 months later, their son, who they named Carl was born. Two years, a lot of teaching and farming later, along came Jo, their second child. They thought it was enough already but what do you know, 22 months later, year 1981, their youngest, Cassie, was born. This would be where her story, mine, begins.

I was just a baby when my yaya accidentally dropped a folded banig on my face. Most of the weight fell on my forehead, and unfortunately, my mother didn't notice it. I didn't know how I was able to plot and exact my vengeance but at the time all I knew was I needed to make a noise so loud my mother would pick me up and not my yaya so she could see the swelling on my forehead. So I wailed. Cried the tears a baby sheds as though nothing could make her stop. Through my tears I watched the worry on my yaya and I cried even louder when she tried to pick me up. I only stopped when my mother came rushing in and cradled me against her chest. I couldn't stop nor explain the satisfaction I felt when she noticed my swollen forehead, gave my yaya a terrible scolding and sent her packing immediately. That day was the day I understood the concept of tactical revenge.

I was maybe four years old when I was exposed to flesh games secretly common to children in our area that time. We've already gone down to the town where we would settle, and my father has just gone abroad. My mother had stopped teaching and raised us up with her niece who occasionally stays with us. My memory still fails to bring up the little details of how we, my brother, my sister and I, were introduced. What I could remember was that we were one day led into an empty drum on an empty lot by our playmates, some at least 11 years old. They were our neighbors, and my mother trusted them. The leader, Kito, was one handsome guy for me that time. Yeah, as little as I was back then, I already noticed. All I knew was that it was hot inside the drum, we were told to take our clothes off, and he said we have a new 'game'. Apparently, we were the only ones who didn't know, as the others were excitedly pairing up. All that registered was that my sister was being fucked and so was I, with Butse, the boy I was playing with most of the time. I didn't feel anything that day. I didn't know the excitement the majority of our playmates felt. I didn't know it wasn't supposed to be. I didn't know anything. All I knew was that it happened again and again. Every time there's a chance for a group sex, it happens. When it was just me and Butse, and when there's privacy, it happens. I knew it wasn't exclusive. I knew I was touched by others, the elder brother of Kito, Butse's other friends. I shudder when I think of others I might have allowed to touch me too.
It wasn't all too bad. I became aware of the aroused state. I become excited when I know Butse would be there because I know he'd pull me out somewhere and we'd play. I didn't care about my brother and my sister anymore. All I knew was letting the addiction to the game get to me. It became a want later on. A want to do it everyday, the feeling just overcame and overwhelmed me. I enjoyed it. One thing though, we kept our mouths shut around my mother. We were told not to tell her because she'd forbid us to play with them ever again. And we didn't, after all it was only a game. So before I entered kinder school, I had already learned, experienced, and enjoyed what most adults would have known only after marriage. And it wasn't all boys, either.

The memory evades me, but what I do remember is that this girl playmate of mine, came into our house one day and we played. The next thing I know, we were on the floor of the outdoor bathroom, naked, and she was trying to fit her vulva into mine. We twisted and turned around, frustrated because there was nothing to insert, and excited because of the girl to girl thing that we were doing. We lacked the only tool we knew that time, and yet we both came after a while. My mother was right outside the cr, gardening. I guess it's what made everything exciting. It didn't happen again, though. But I think that's when I was made.

Here's the worst part. One day our mother went to the market. We were left alone in the house, my siblings and I. With nothing to do, we decided to play the 'game'. It was supposed to be a race between my sister and I. And an endurance one for my brother. So we closed all the windows and doors, stripped, and lay side by side on the bedroom floor. My sister would count to 100 while my brother fucked me, and I'd do the same when it's her turn. We kept it up till my brother became exhausted and we had to stop because my mother was due to return. The incest didn't happen again either.

The 'game' stopped after two or three years after it began because the leader was going away. And nobody was audacious enough to call everybody together and get the ball rolling again. By then the addiction had gotten to me. And I had come to control my desires a little. There was no relief though, when the desire overwhelms me and my boy is nowhere to be found as he was also sent away by his parents. It was only then that we were able to live the way kids should live and play. The safe one. The innocent one.

My first exposure to kiss didn't happen with my parents. I would have wanted it to be them that I witnessed. I think I was seven years old. Anyway, I was having a pajama party with my cousin near our home and her husband, a fireman, was about to go to work. I was downstairs when she called me up to fold my beddings and he was dressing up. I finished, and when I was about to descend the stairs, they kissed. It was I think a romantic one but what I saw was a sloppy, wet, and noisy kiss. I grimaced and silently swore I'm never going to kiss a boy like the one I just witnessed. I also made a promise not to stay with them again unless I have my sister or brother so I wouldn't be alone when they make that yucky kiss.

Funny thing I remember is, it was the one thing that I didn't allow my game partners to do to me. Since we were playing a game, a kiss on the mouth became for me the most private act that only adults do, and us kids don't.
Haha. What a joke. A joke.