It was weird. Something she wasn’t used to. Not yet anyway.
But she wonders then… would anyone get used to it? Would anyone stop having that jingle - dingle sensation on their stomach?
They had become a couple the summer of ’08. Their relationship was popular as soon as they got back to school. They were the king & queen of the prom on their graduation.
They had been together for over 3 years. And she still wasn’t used to His touch.
She still feared it. Like a little kid fears darkness and loneliness.
He went to some college somewhere in the map. She really didn’t care, she was just glad he was gone.
She stays home and study to become a Teacher.
Her family still pays her college tuition, but she has a job that covers all of her other expenses, such as clothing, travels, movies, night-outs, books, and other stuff she needed. She has 2 cats and 3 dogs, her house is one-floor, and has 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, a kitchen, laundry room, and a huge backyard. She is happy… until He arrives and takes her for a date.
He is only staying in town for the weekend, one day with her, another with his family. She nods and acts like a good girlfriend who loves dearly her boyfriend.
They hold hands during the movie; they kiss in the dark of the night, and grab some dinner on the local McDonald’s. They meet some old high school friends on the restaurant, and they are forced to have some conversation. She just wants to go home, take a shower, remove his scent, and sleep all day on her bed.
But she can’t. Not while He is here.
He looks at his watch and decides its time to drop her off. Finally.
They are on his car, hearing some popular pop song on the radio, the windows are up, the air conditioning on, they have their seatbelts and His driving speed is reasonable.
In less than 10 minutes she would arrive at her place, she is glad, dying of happiness.
But then He decides to take a different road, towards the beach.
She fears that he is going to propose, but a look in his direction tells her otherwise, and she gulps out loudly, while trying to ignore his hand that rests on her knee.
She curses in her head; she should have worn some jeans instead of the black mini skirt.
He parks somewhere off the town, but near enough to return home in less than 5 min. There are no lights visible, nor does He turn on those inside the car. She lets out a sigh, and tries to block his hand that moving upward, towards her sacred place.
Trying to gain some time, just to get some courage that will help her stop the tears that thread to fall, she kiss His cold lips, and move toward Him, in an attempt to make his hands go up, instead of down. It works.
She moans when she has to, and sighs too. She does it so mechanically, she looks like a robot, but of course, He doesn’t notice this. And while He is so work up in kissing her neck, and all of her self, she lets her mind remember the good old times, the old days.
She thinks about the summer she fell in love with Him. Being the cool, sexy guy that worked in the Bar down at the beach, he was always surrounded by hot women. She was just another teenager that loved surfing and reading by the sea, and was almost all the time without boys behind her.
She never actually talked to him, and He didn’t try to. He just kept giving her free piña coladas, and free tickets to the movies, and she gladly took the drink and enjoyed the show. She was pretty, had the looks but didn’t know how to use them. He had it all, and was well aware of it. So one day, on the movies he took her hand. And when the movie ended they kissed. And just like that they became a couple.
It was cool on the beginning. She loved the attention, and loved him above everything. She spent nights just thinking about that kiss ... and wondered when would next be.
She was happy. She was in love. She was naïve. And She was seventeen.
They went to some pool party across town. He offered to drive her from and back home. She gladly accepted and wore her favorite pink bikini beneath her cute little white dress. They arrived at the place, everyone just look at them in awed. She was the center of attention; she was the center of their world.
The night got wild, beer everywhere, loud music sounding, people dancing madly on the living room, couples making out on the rooms and pool. She was just there having some drinks with a few friends near the kitchen. She was having a blast.
And then He arrives.
Drunk as expected, and takes her off to some room in the house, she can’t remember which one exactly, maybe the host, maybe the guest’s one, but she knows something bad is about to happens. She feels sick and wants to throw up, but dares not to, she wants to know what will happen next, if he is going to kiss her like that night.
The door is closed, the lock is on, and the lights are out, she is thrown to the bed and feels Him getting closer to her body, touching her like if she is some kind of whore.
Time stops in her world, but outside its still ticking.
Its 3 am in the morning and He is driving her back home.
Her whole body aches, and her white dress is stained in blood, her virgin blood. She feels dirty, feels stupid, low, and as an easy girl instead of herself. She wants to scream that her boyfriend had just raped her, but when she is about to, He shuts her with a Kiss, like the one she had Wish for days.
He never apologizes for taking her virginity; it’s just something he took for granted. And later he would jock about it with his friends, and continues to do her as often as he could.
She just closes her eyes and imagines herself somewhere in the world, surfing and having a huge mansion full of cute little animals and stuffed animals. She tries to block the sensation of being unclean, but is unable to do so.
They arrive at her place, and the house is dark, signals that her parents were probably asleep and wouldn’t hear her come in. He opens the passenger door, helps her out, and walks her to the door… like a true gentleman... what a fake.
She fears him, and unlocks her door as fast as she can. She is about to come in, but He grab her arm, and hugged her, she answers… and He whispers in her ear not to tell anyone, or she would regret it. He then releases her, blow her a kiss that smells a bit of alcohol, and wait for her to go inside her house. She does it in an instant, lock everything, and runs to her room, turn on the bathroom light, let the hot water run, take the shampoo out and with her clothes on she gets in the bathtub, and she scrubs herself so hard that her white skin turns red and some blood comes off it.
An hour later she is out, with her nightgown, clean underwear, and secure in her bed. She feels safe, but knows that sensation won’t last forever.
Next day, she tries to smile… to pretend she wasn’t raped by her boyfriend, and lives life as she did before that party.
They kept being a couple, and lasted longer than she expected.
And almost every Friday he would take her to some spot off the city but near enough to arrive in time for curfew, and rape her again and again. For years she tolerates it. For years she had been a porcelain doll, a good little girl.
Back to reality, when she feels He is about to finish doing her, she lets a single tear roll down her face. And smiles once again, pants when required, scream when it’s about time.
Then he takes some time to get back to his old sexy self, and turns on the car and drives her home. They talk about college, about the weather, but never about the sex. She is just glad it’s over.
He drops her off, he leaves. She takes a day to recover, to get back to her old self. And then she go to school, meet her friends, hang out, read and sometimes try to surf. But its no longer a hobby for her, the beach is no longer her friend…she hates it, cause that were she meet him.
His touch from last night still lingered in her skin.
She feared Him, after years she still did. She was sure never to get used to it.
How anyone does it anyway? Is it possible to get used to being the sex toy of someone?
She was sure no one did.
She felt weird… like an alien on earth, like a duck swimming with swans, like a pink spot on a black background.
She was sure they would never get married, He would have proposed to her by now. She was sure he was cheating her with some other college girl.
But she did not care.
Not even marriage would clean her, could make her pure again. She is stained, covered in some guy sweat, silenced by fear.
Would He really love her? Would she smile every time she sees His face? Or feel butterflies in her tummy when He takes her hand? Or kiss her forehead?
No.
She will just feel weird. His touch was something she wasn’t used to, not yet anyway…and probably never will.
But deep down, as she smiles at a new day, and makes her way in life, and meet boy friends that will cheer her up, take her out dancing, she knows that it will be over soon. She would stop having that fear inside her, she will be free to love, really love, like in the old romantic ones.
But for now, she has to wait, to be patient.
She knows that what He does is wrong, and knows that the cops will soon arrest him.
The rape demand was filled out by a friend of hers, who had followed them, and had witness all… as well as her tears. He knew the story, he had been her friend in high school, but ended it as soon as she got into that unhealthy relationship.
College had been her way out, her ticket to heaven, her free-out –of-jail pass on the Monopoly.
She smiles. She laughs. She lives. She loves. She is free to go.
At last.
