I was a horny little boy
I was oversexed before I could talk. Playing “tent” under my mother’s dress, I’d stare at a “Ring Around The Rosy” coloring book for hours, trying to picture what the little girls would look like without their clothes on. Next door to us on Stanley Street in Schenectady, lived a Polish family and a little blonde named Karen. We were about four years old when I began pulling her pants down under the elm tree beside our house. One afternoon her grandmother threw a bucket of ice water from the second floor window yelling something about what they did to dogs in the old country. To this day I hate cold showers.