Read part 1 here.
I lay there for a few more minutes, my eyes moving from Michael’s expectant face to the offensive object that I had no interest in exploring further.
Michael, I was certain, hadn’t had sex before so he was as unsure as me, but his pride wouldn’t let him say so. He pulled me down and spread my legs wide – by this time I was already sweating profusely – and carefully brought his member close to my opening, pausing for a minute to carefully examine every part of all three holes in my nether region.
I took the opportunity to try making him see sex really wasn’t my idea of a birthday gift. I’d always been a brilliant girl and so, in my most convincing voice I started, ‘Michael, you know, mom and dad say only adults should have sex. I think 13 is rather young, don’t you think?’ I asked, my perfectly white teeth shining up at him.
He only looked down at me with a smirk and pushed my legs wider apart. The next thing I felt was a sharp, stinging pain, worse than anything I’d ever experienced my entire life. I screamed and tried to push him off of me but he just kept going, thrusting and thrusting.
Every thrust came with worse pain. ‘Michael, stop pleaseeeeee’ I cried, but nothing could stop him at this point. He was far too gone to hear or feel anything but his own selfish pleasure. Deeper and deeper he went, louder and louder I screamed.
There was blood. I was coughing and crying and coughing simultaneously. My sweet boyfriend finally let out a loud guttural scream that sounded like a lion’s howling. Those were the worst two minutes of my life. He fell off me and lay panting, looking very pleased with himself.
I was wrong after all. Michael had been doing this sex thing since long before me, otherwise, where did he get all that energy and expertise from? I hated him at that point.
I lay there crying and feeling very sorry for my poor 13-year-old self. If only I’d been patient, perhaps my vagina might have widened with age, perhaps I wouldn’t have had to do it with a selfish rapist like Michael, perhaps I wouldn’t have had to suffer so much pain. There was a lot to think about at that point, but first I needed to get out of Michael’s.
He had dosed off already so I gingerly got off the bed and went into the bathroom to wipe away all the blood. I came back out and looked at his oh-so-beautiful sleeping face, a satisfied smile still lingering around his lips and thought for a second about strangling him.
But no. I wouldn’t let him define my choices. I wouldn’t stoop to his level of callousness. I needed to eat, I just wanted to eat and forget that I’d been doing adult stuff a little too early.
I would always remember the first day I had sex, I thought as I got dressed, wincing in pain every now and then. I’d remember also how it made me a little different, how it changed my life – perhaps for the better, or worse (depending on how you look at it). I would never ever forget, I thought as I cried all the way back home.
I would grow up to remain a sexual, highly passionate woman, I somehow managed to forget – with years and years of determination to – but my impatience and thirst for things that did not belong to me died that day with my last bit of innocence. I had seen and been conquered.
No Fields Found.