I Was Raped

After reading some of the first posts February from Britni at Oh My God, That Britni's Shameless, on how she broke down and told her mom about her rape experience that she had been hiding from her to save her the pain of it, I got the courage to finally write about and post my recollection of being raped when I was thirteen. I'm sparing no detail, so please be aware it may to hard to deal with for those who have also been victimized or are very sensitive to sexual violence.

WARNING: MEMOIR AND PHOTOS MAY BE TRIGGERING FOR THOSE WITH RAPE IN THEIR PAST

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Joshua was seventeen and rich and drove an Escalade his parents bought him when he landed a scholarship to M.I.T.. He always seemed to be everywhere and always with different people and he had this feeling of mystery to him that would make you cock your head after he waved to you. He had curly blond hair and always wore tank tops under open button-up shirts and I thought he was amazing.

We met at a New Year's Eve party at a local park that my best friend dragged me to. My best friend's boyfriend introduced me to him ("...most rapes are committed by someone the victim knows.") and when he actually seemed to want to talk to me, I was exhilarated. At this point in my life I never really cared about boys because I was very concentrated on school, my family, and my burgeoning depression; every doctor I saw about it wanted to chuck as many pills at me as possible. Suffice it to say that I was not at all in the mind set to set myself up with even more drama if it was at all possible to keep it low.

I saw guys and listened to my friends go on and on about them and even listened when my two best friends told me (when we were all eleven years old) all about how they lost their virginity to so-and-so and who they were planning to screw next now that their virginities were "out of their way".

I prayed for my friends and even would go lend an ear when they lay prostrate with grief on their beds listening to N'Sync and crying to me about how all men were assholes. We were twelve and we already had this sex-centered view of relationships and I tried so hard to stay away from it all.

As Joshua and I sat on the bleachers watching people drink and jump around and make out all around us, we just talked about music and school and colleges and when midnight struck we wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead saying,

"Happy New Year, beautiful."

It was the first time a guy had said that to me and I was sent flying.

I had my first kiss only two months previous in November when I was dared to kiss a senior at a friend's birthday party and afterward I thought I was in love. After he sent back a letter I had written him (my first and only love letter as a teen) with a note scrawled on the outside of the envelope that said "You're thirteen, you're in love with everybody. Leave me alone."

I was totally crushed and fervently resumed my campaign to remain aloof of guys and focus on my life. So when Joshua only kissed my forehead so sweetly that night, I was so touched I softened to him, not knowing how he actually was inside.

In the following weeks, Joshua and I constantly IMed, emailed can called each other. When I sent him a photo of my friend and I in our bathing suits during summer vacation he typed back,

You're so pretty, def more pretty than that girl.

I was flattered beyond reality when he told me that because I had always felt physically inferior to that particular friend who was super-sexed and wore tank tops with spaghetti straps and short-shorts whereas I wore polos and skirts or jeans almost everyday. Suffice to say, Joshua was very smooth and soon had me missing him and thinking about him in ways I hadn't with any other person.

Two weeks later, a neighbor had asked me to stay at her house overnight while she away on business so I could look after her aging dog. My parents let me go since it was only about eight houses down from our own and it wasn't a school night. I felt very mature and cool walking down the street with her house keys in my hand and my backpack slung over my shoulder.

Initially, I was jazzed to be able to hang out all alone and do whatever I wanted but by eleven I was bored and slightly spooked by the giant, empty house all around me.

I decided to call Joshua to see if he could cheer me up and when his voice came down the line I was instantly cured of my fright. We talked for about half an hour before I told him about the real reason I was calling so late and after I told him, he laughed,

"You're so cute, its only a dark house. Nothing to worry about. If you're really freaked out I could always drive over and keep you company."

Instantly, my stomach dropped as I knew this would not be a good idea. I realized I was spacing out when I heard him calling my name over the phone and snapped out of it,

"I don't know, that's not really respectful of my neighbor because she's gone and everything." He replied,

"Well ok, if you don't want to see me..." Immediately, I recanted,

"No of course I want to see you, I just didn't want to get in trouble. You could always come over and we can just hang out on the front porch."

As I hung up the phone, my sense of foreboding left me and was replaced my excitement; A boy is coming here! To see me!

When the doorbell rang half an hour later, I answered it with a smile and when I come outside Joshua gave me a huge hug before we settled on the top step of the landing. We talked for a while about everything we always did, music, our parents, school until something changed; he put his hand on mine. I blushed and thanked God it was mostly dark so he wouldn't see. When I turned my face away from him he questioned me,

"Are you ok?"

I nodded and looked back at him. He bumped my shoulder with his and when our eyes met again and he lent in to kiss me, I knew what I was supposed to do, so I closed my eyes let him kiss me. Soon enough the kissing became more fervent and when he tried to touch my breasts I pushed his hand away. Five minutes later he tried again and once I again I pushed it away. He sighed in frustration and pulled away from me,

"God, Petite, don't you like me?" I nodded "Well why won't you let me cop a feel then? Its just your boobs."

I sat back with my arms stretched out behind me,

"Well I don't let people touch them, even if they are just boobs." I spat back at him edgily.

 "Fine, Ok. Let's just kiss, I won't try it again."

This time his kisses were harder and actually started to hurt my lips and after trying several times to pull away from him, he had already backed me up against the farthest edge of the step. Then, even though he had promised not to (Gee, boys do that?), he tried snaking his hand up the front of my shirt to fondle me but this time when I tried to pull away, he didn't just relent, he pushed me down against the steps, his hand still venturing on,

"Ok Joshua, stop, this is stupid. You need to go home."

All I got was a "No" half shouted right in my face. I knew then that it wasn't funny anymore.

I struggled to get up as he ripped at my bra finally tearing one strap and pushing my shirt up over my breasts, leaving my right one exposed. Tears came to my eyes when I realized that this was not fun.

"Please Joshua, stop! Quit it!"

He bit my lip as he kissed me so hard that I could taste blood and my tears renewed themselves ten fold. All the time I shouted at him and smacked him, saying his name. It worked to no avail and as he glared at me through the partial darkness of the night, I shrank back in fear.

When he grabbed the hem of my ankle-length skirt and started to pull it up, I started shaking, helpless to do anything but crying and try not move to avoid him hitting me. I heard ripping and when he pulled down so hard on my panties that I cried out, he only seemed to become more turned on.

"Please Joshua, don't do this. I'm a virgin! You know this is wrong, please."

He ignored me and even when I kicked him in the stomach in my struggle to get away from him he never relented, one hand holding me down the whole time. When I heard the zing of zipper as he undid his fly, all I could do was sob and pray. I kicked and screamed for help and even though it was only 11:30 on a Saturday night and we were in idyllic suburbia, no one heard my cries, no one called out to help me.

No one knew a young girl was being brutalized not even 100 feet away.

When he slammed himself down in front of me between my legs I slapped at him when I got one hand free and started tearing at his face. I watched his dick swing in front of me as he grabbed the hand back and mashed it back under his own against the cement, the tears streamed down my face and I thought,  

So this is it. This is what is going to happen to me right now.

With all the kicking and struggling, he must have been really excited because by the time he had barely forced an inch of himself inside of me, he came, his body spasmed on top of me as sobs shook me. I finally stopped struggling and instead just laid there, still crying, still scared.

Eventually he got up, and zipping his pants as he walked the ten steps to his car and when he he spoke his voice was still somewhat breathless,

"Go take a shower or something and stop crying. Don't call or text me, ever."

I covered my face with my hands and curled up in a ball, my ripped clothes barely covering me in the half-light of the porch. The worst moment was when I laid down over the top step and when I felt the hot wetness of his semen slosh out of me I started hyperventilating and had to cover my own mouth with both hands to calm my breathing in between the sobs.

I laid for hours on those steps until my body was numb and my throat was so sore I couldn't cry anymore.

Photo courtesy of lovebitesandbruises at Flickr

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Finally I dragged myself inside, slamming and locking the door behind me. I trudged up the stairs, and to the bathroom where I locked the door, turned the hot water on and slowly started to undress. As I pulled off the remains of my skirt, I noticed the thin trickle of blood that was running down the inside of both of my legs, leading from big smudges of red all over the top of both thighs and all over my vaginal lips, leaving little spots of red on the perfectly white bathroom rug. I put my back against the wall and let myself slide down, grasping my skirt in my hands as I started to cry yet again. I had no tears left so my body only shook.

I stayed in the shower, my long hair over my face as I sat on the floor of the stall until the water began to run cold. After I got out and dressed in pajamas, I crept downstairs with my ripped clothes wrapped in a bundle with the rug around it. I ran to the neighbor's house through the bushes and gingerly opened their garbage can, moving aside a bag to hide the ripped, bloody evidence underneath.

Later as I laid in the big white bed, I felt nothing and thought nothing aside from "What do I say to my mom if I get pregnant even though I didn't do anything wrong, even though I didn't choose this?"

I only fell asleep after the morning light began to creep through the windows, my body finally succumbing to its exhaustion and pain.

As the weeks went by, I couldn't be in the room with my mom without having to look away from her. She and I are about as close as mother and daughter can be and my love for her is bigger than anything in my life so naturally, this was the most difficult time for me and it broke my heart. What would break my heart more than the silence and secret would have been  if I told her about what happened then she too would feel my pain, she would mourn for me and suffer for me and I didn't want to add to her already overloaded life.

I felt that just because I was hurting, didn't mean my mom had to hurt too and if she had anger, I couldn't deal with that most of all.

After the third week after the incident, I was looking in my planner trying to organize my project deadlines for school when I realized that my period was almost two weeks late.

Two weeks late.

I threw my planner across the room as if it would make a difference, as if it could alter time or space or matter. I couldn't even cry I was so out of it. My hand immediately went to my lower abdomen and I almost wretched at the thought of it.

Photo courtesy of lovebitesandbruises at Flickr 

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When my mother was seventeen, she was date-raped by a guy her friend set her up after he threw her in the back of his 70's panel van onto a bare mattress and slammed the doors behind them. A month later she found out she was pregnant and scheduled an a-b-o-r-t-i-o-n.

 On the day that the procedure was scheduled she woke up and realized she was miscarrying. On the day the procedure was scheduled, a huge portion of Los Angeles burned down and she held her own mother's hand as they watched the smoke plume over the city.

My grandmother went to her gave never knowing her daughter had been brutalized and lost a child so young and sometimes I wonder how my mother feels about that. Was she glad to shield my grandmother from having to live her pain? Was she regretful that she had to live it alone?

That night as I lay in bed for hours with my guts churning, tears burning into my cheeks as I thought of how life would be after having an abortion, or after having a baby who was the product of my rape and the theft of my virginity. Around 2 am, something strange happened; my door opened, light pouring in around the silhouette of my mother,

"Are you still awake honey? Are you ok?"

"Mom? Why are you awake? Why did you come in here?" I was totally shocked.

"Oh you know, sometimes I get a feeling and I have to get up and look in on you guys. I do this sometimes but you're always asleep. Its the mommy-magic thing, you know?"

I nodded and pulled the blankets up to my chin knowing that this was the time,

"Hey mom? I have to tell you something."

She stood in the doorway as I told her the short version of what happened. I was crying and half-hiding under my blankets, the light pouring in over me.

"...and now I don't know if I might be pregnant or not. I'm really scared."

Then my mom did something very uncharacteristic, she said,

"Well, we'll deal with it if it becomes an issue but you're ok right? You're not hurt?"

I nodded and then she said goodnight, closed the door and went back to her bedroom that she shared with my father.

This was a huge deal because my mother is the sort of touchy-feely mom who hugs and kisses you and gives you so much praise and affection you feel like you'll pop. It scared me like nothing else had that she didn't cry, she didn't come over to me but remained calm and aloof and just went back to bed. I knew she had to be angry with me.

The next morning I found out I had been wrong when I came down for breakfast before school. Her face was red and puffy and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen, she hadn't slept at all last night and had probably spent the better part of it crying her eyes out over me. I felt better and worse at the same time. On one hand, my mother wasn't angry and detached but on the other, my unexpected news broadcast had kept her up all night crying and worrying for me. I was even more conflicted.

As I walked to the bus stop I hiccuped back the tears in the brisk morning air, worried as I had never been in my life. My mind traveled to a world where I was thirteen and had a baby and my whole life came to an end, all because of the sick brutality of one boy and a momentary lapse of judgment of one girl.

I turned the corner at the end of my street and got my period; I had never been so happy to ruin a pair of white pants in my life.

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After nine years has passed, the pain has settled from my initial trauma and I can even say the word "rape" out loud without feeling the twinges of terror sparking down my back.

I had a friend who I told about this ask me a few weeks ago, "Well if you were raped when you were a young girl, why are you so sexual now? Why aren't you like asexual and repressed?"

My answer is that after what had happened to me (something that was out of my control and was not on my own terms) I decided that my sexual life would be in my own hands and be under my control. I took my over my desires and tried to rise above the pain and reclaim my body and my sexuality as my own.

I had been raised with a very conscious view of sex and its place in my life and knew it could be something wonderful, something passionate that I could enjoy and love and I wasn't going to let the sickness of one boy kill a whole part of my life and force me to become a victim in my every moment.

I felt then and feel now that when something in your life happens that's scarring that you need to give yourself time enough to grieve but then pull yourself up out of the miasma of mourning for your own destiny. If you get stuck in the past, your whole future will become stunted and sheltered and then the person who hurt you will  have won, will have taken the piece from you that they wanted. You can't let them win you can't be the victim they wanted you to become.

Pain is momentary and passion is fleeting but you only get one life to live and pain can't be the thing to rule it; Take it from a a girl who knows.

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If you or someone you know has been raped, molested or is a victim of domestic abuse, please follow this link to the resource directory at AfterSilence.org for support, help and information. You're not alone.

Oh Brad.

There's one thing to say and that's, 'Brad, I'm mad for you too. Oh Brad.'

Alright, so I bet you're asking 'What's up with the not-so-subtle references to The Rocky Horror Picture Show?"

It all has to do with one of the first guys in my life that made me change my thoughts on love, relationships and sex. His name was...well...Brad.

 An anime image I've had since High School that I thought looked very much like the man in question, even down to the bone choker.

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I met him during my Freshman year in High School in art class, when his heavy book bag crushed my be-sandled toes on the first day of school. He bent down to collect his spilled belongings, spouting countless apologies and when he looked up from behind his long-ish hair and his glittering blue eyes met mine, his jaw dropped.

I milked my "injury" all through the class just to get him to pout his lips with compassion from where he sat across the table from me. I kept looking at his shiny brown hair, in a long layered sort of style that came down to his shoulders and also his hands. They were the hands of an artist, somewhat spidery and with grace and fluidity. I also liked his lips and wondered what they would feel like on mine.

At the time, I was a virgin but I was having the most perverted thoughts in that class, my pencil tapping on my sketch book, my face dreamy with thoughts of a dark room, his body strong and pounding over my own, his teeth lightly nibbling my neck.

I jumped with fright when I felt a hand on my shoulder that brought me back to reality. Brad looked down at me,

"Class is out. What were you so lost in thought about?"

His smile sent me through the roof. I laughed it off and mumbled something about being out of it. As I stood he handed me my discarded pencil,

"Hey, do you have this lunch hour? We should hang out under the big tree, score it before anyone else does."

I nodded and smiled my acquiescence, my eyes sparkling with joy.

After that day under the tree, Brad and I spent as much time with each other as we could, the vibe never really stirring from that of friendship but I was happy, he was so funny and smart. I remember one day we skipped our next classes after lunch and just sat under the tree, him scribbling with a Sharpie on my Chucks while we talked about what bands were coming into town. It was a flawless friendship.

That is, until he kissed me one day before Christmas vacation.

I was coming down the stairs from the art building and he caught my wrist and pulled me into a tight hug, as I giggled with surprise. His unusually tall frame crushed against my own petite one. He pulled back just enough to look down at me, his brows pinched together in thought and confliction. I questioned his grim expression,

"Brad, what's up? Is everything okay?"

He nodded slightly and then tried to smile,

"I just...have to...uh..."

With that, he slid his agile artist's hand behind my head, his fingers in my hair and bent down to kiss me, his lips warm and soft and dream-inducing. I sighed as he kissed me more and more deeply, my hand grasping the sleeve of his coat for dear life.

He then nuzzled his face into my neck and whispered ever so softly in my ear,

"I had to kiss you, I'm sorry but I love you and it felt so right."

A tear slid down my cheek, my heart racing and his eyes were looking right into mine. I couldnt breathe and I knew I loved him too. My voice came out barely audible as we stood there, holding each other,

"Don't apologize. It was the perfect kiss and...I...I love you too."

His smile was brighter than the sun and he laughed out loud in his joy, hugging me even tighter kissing me all over my face. I giggled from the joy of it, the moment where I knew my feelings had been reciprocated this whole time.

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Perfection doesn't last and soon I found how horrible Brad's life was at home. His mother was very young when she had him and had no idea how to take care of him or his little sister. They fended for themselves and it made them feel lost and alone.

Brad had problems with anxiety, depression with feelings of suicide and had issues dealing with keeping himself happy. He said I was his cure, that I completed him and made him feel like there wasn't any reason to be sad. He said I was better than the pills that they tried to force on him. He must have been right because I never really saw that darker side of him.

That is until his father sued his mother for custody and would have to move up north to go live with him. Brad cried to me at school the day after he found out, his arms wrapped around me, barely able to speak. He was happy to be getting away from his mother but he wondered how he could ever survive without me. He was scared he would revert back to his depression back to his thoughts of death and ending it all.

I cried too and my heart truly broke that day for the first time.

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After Brad had been gone for a few weeks, he started to tell me over the phone about how he couldn't bear to be without me anymore, he thought he would die. It was one week before summer vacation and he begged me to come out and see him, to stay with him and his father, his sister and just be with him. I spent two weeks during early summer that year and it was bliss.

After that trip I left for London, England to be with my best friend for the rest of the summer. We partied, we went to clubs, we went to museums and Harrod's. I grew up. Even though I talked to Brad every day while I was there, I knew things couldn't be the same if he wasn't with me like he used to be.

I decided when I got home that I couldn't deal with a long distance relationship, even though I loved him and missed him and it broke my heart to hear him over the phone. He understood though when I told him, my words covered in tears. He cried with me and told me something I'll never forget the rest of my life, his exact words were,

"You'll always remember this love and this comfort. I'll always love you and I'll always have this piece of your heart that's mine forever."

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Over the next several years I still talked to Brad and saw him a few more times between lovers and trysts but we never had sex. To him, I was still the virginal high school girl who wanted to change the world.

A few months before I met Gadget when I was eighteen years old, Brad begged me to come up and stay with him again. I was feeling down and had just gotten out of a horribly abusive relationship that actually led to me pressing charges. I was a broken girl and I missed Brad like he was my second skin.

When I saw him at the train station, my heart lifted and I cried out his name, running to him. We collided in the most amazing embrace of my life, his lips on mine, his hands tangled in my hair and tears from both of us. I still loved him, and he loved me.

Late in that afternoon after I had settled back into the familiar guest room, I walked down the twilight hazy hallway to Brad's room and rapping lightly on the door, I came in. I looked at him from under my eyelashes as he pulled a tee shirt on over his tall, muscular form. I closed the door behind me and sat on the bed as he stood looking at me from across the room. I spoke softly through the silence,

"Your dad just took your sister to her meeting and he's going to stay with her."

He looked at me searchingly, his eyes deep in thought. I beckoned him and knelt up on the bed. He came over and as he pressed his body to mine, he touched his hand to my face and smoothed his soft fingertips over my eyes and down my jaw to my lips. He kissed me and I felt just what I had when I was in High School.

I pulled on his tee shirt when our kissing became more fevered and he tugged my tank top off. We stood apart for just a moment, trying to take this moment in. I smiled and tucked a stray hair behind my ear. His voice was strong,

"You know, there has never been anyone else for me. I haven't ever been with another girl, not even kissed one. I've been waiting because I knew that one day I would be there to save you when some asshole hurt you. I knew that it would be time then. I still love you, you know that."

"I love you too Brad." A tear slid down my cheek and he wiped it away gently with one bent finger.

He kissed my teary eyes, wrapping his arms around me, his arms so strong and sheltering. He was right, he was there for me when I needed him most, always. I sighed and let myself go, I was safe.

We undressed in front of one another, our eyes timid yet full of lust, full of need. I laid down on my side and begged him to come to me with my eyes. He laid down next to me, his arm draping over my waist, holding me.

It was heat and passion when he took me, his virginal spirit feeding the empty place that the demon of a man before him had broken. He held me tight and looked into my eyes, really making love to me. I smiled and kissed him softly, my arms around him. I felt waves of warmth radiating through my body, happiness finally claiming me after so long. I was surprised to hear his voice,

"Touch yourself and come with me, I need that."

So I reached down and touched my swollen clit as he made love to me, our bodies to tightly pressed together I couldn't remember where I was, so lost in sensation was I. When I came I held on to him, as he rocked his orgasm against me in time with my own. It was singing angels and fireworks and all of that, I was lost in it all. I cried a little as my back arched and my breath caught and he kissed my neck and my lips and made me realize everything was going to be alright.

We laid together for hours, sleeping on and off and I felt like if anyone saw us, they would see the glow of our ecstasy on our skin.

We slept deeply that night and made love everyday while I was there, each time more lovely than the last. I rode him as he sat up against the wall and I held his face, his eyes looking straight into my eyes as I came as he touched me. I cried then too.

We kissed goodbye at the train station at the end of the week and it felt like the last scene in Casablanca. I got on the train and rode home in silence, healed but still needing his warmth. I missed him already.

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I talked to Brad yesterday on the phone, he's doing well and he no longer has those dark thoughts he used to. He's happy at University and working, helping his father raise his little sister. He told me that he still misses me and that there still hasn't been with another girl.

I got emotional when he told me that but I understand him and his motivation. Ours is a complicated love that's simple to the two of us and we both understand it perfectly.

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We all have something that digs at us
At least we dig each other
So when weakness turns my ego up
I know you'll count on the me from yesterday

If I turn into another
Dig me up from under what is covering
The better part of me
Sing this song
Remind me that we'll always have each other
When everything else is gone

-Dig, by Incubus

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... 

Through the Looking Glass

Masturbation has always been such a dirty word to me - luckily, the word wasn't bad enough to deter me from making the action behind it one of my favorite things to do.

I love photography and sex and watching myself as I come. This also applies to mirrors.

Sometimes I tilt this full length mirror against the wall and sit on the bed, legs spread and fuck myself with torrid fingertips. The blush rising up in my cheeks, my breasts becoming colored and my nipples becoming sensitive and full. My neck to fall back just a little bit, my beck to arch and my kitten to drip and become slick.

I love to watch the process of it all. The glory of my own sex.

Now perhaps vanity is coming into play here, but its also sexual fascination. I am still amazed by my own orgasms, that I can reach them and that they rock me so hard. Sometimes Ive even been disorientated by it all, the rush in my mind just a little too much to bare -but I love it.

Maybe all things are better on the other side of the looking glass?

Orgasms are like techno to me, they pound and rush and have their own beat, their own totally engulfing beat. They rock your mind, your soul your body. My throat gets tight and my body thrashes - not disimilar to when I dance in a club. The music pounds away and my body moves, glides and bumps. Orgasmic dancing. I think that praps all human behaviors are linked to sex, and its movements, its pontifications. Our hands smooth over things, take in the sensations and our mind relays its feelings, its observations from texture, heat and form.

Bray had just turned forty during the summer, his black hair strung with sexy threads of silver, glossy and shining. I liked to run my hands through his hair and see the different ways the light could play in it. Gray hair, like age in men, drives me wild. Don't ask me why, I can't even begin to think.

He always remarked on my body, my skin and how he loved that I took pictures of myself and made them into art - cropping, clipping and colorizing them. Id even won awards for my warped self photography. His fingers slid over my prints, my fingers slid over his shoulders, my fingers pressing and needy.

Sometimes I swear that a man can feel the heat of your mind when it wanders over lustful thoughts. I love it.

His hand slid up to cover mine and pressed down over my small fingers. His head swiveled back and his lips met mine, so infinitely warm and slippery. I repositioned so that I was sitting in his lap, a leg on either sie of him, my toes gently tipping to touch the floor. His hands slid heated down my back, under my skirt to my bottom, cupping my soft cheeks, testing my flesh. I love the way it feels when a hand slides under your panties and the heat of the hand is pure sensation upon your body, your bottom, your kitten. His hands felt like hot iron against my soft skin, his hands torrid and needy - like mine.

I whimper, he feels it too. My nipples are painful little blots under my shirt, the buttons of it surging with the weight of my breasts against them. His hand slides up and under my shirt, under my bra to touch my silky nipples, the supple flesh of my breasts. My head falls slowly back, my long hair touching his knees, touching my bottom.

The buttons pop slowly as he undoes them, my bra pops when he commands its clip, my breasts whimper at the light, the heat and the air. When I feel his lips upon my breast, I moan, my throat soft and amiable. His teeth softly grip my nipple and pull slightly.

Yes, hurt me - just a little.

My shirt is gone, my bra has lost its way and my panties are on vacation, far from the slick kitten. His eyes are fire, his hands are electric and with one gaze into the deep pools of his pupils, I know his mind is conjuring a dastardly sexy plan,

I have an idea, are you wet? his voice is like coffee in the morning.

I nod and begin to touch myself softly, testing my proclamation.

Stand up and turn around, yes like that and sit back down on me.

When I do so, I see theres a full length mirror in front of me. I gaze adoringly at my breasts, flushed crimson with their pink nipples in full bloom. His hands slide from behind me and cup them, his fingers teasingly pinching me. My pleated skirt looks like a half moon draped over my lap, its black silken layers next to my pale legs.

Put one foot on the desk and Ill hold the other one...Oh good girl.

When Ive sorted myself with one ankle in his strong hand, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair, I can see why he wanted this. Before me was myself, my legs spread wide, light shining on my deep pink kitten, spread and looking like a wet flower.

Touch yourself, come for me.

My face flushes and my kitten drips even more. With his hand on my breast and my hands on my tummy, I timidly slide one hand down and spread the lips of my kitten, my fingertips of my other hand sliding softly over the hot and slick flesh of myself. I look into his eyes as I touch my clit, slide a finger inside myself. It looks like fire dances behind the soft lids of his eyes, he's licking his lips, staring at me while I bring myself to solemn collapse.

It doesnt take long before Im bucking and arching my back, my clit so hot and swollen. His words dont stop as they flow into my ears,

You are such a good girl, flick that little clit, put your finger inside yourself. Mmmm, I can smell you, youre almost there.

Im his doll, his self propelled puppet. Yes, you want me. Yes, I touch myself for you. Do you love it? When I come, my head rolls back over his shoulder, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. I cry out and moan, my breath just panting and humming. His hand is cruel on my breast, squeezing it in time with my writhing body. The harsh sensation brings me further into it, my mind lost in light and pain....the divine pain of climax.

When at last my body is hush, he is holding me tenderly, like a child. My head upon his shoulder, his arms enfolding my whole body. His hand strokes my hair and he speaks, his words are lost to me, Im still gone. My mind is lights and soft muted soft, blurred color and sensation. My heart is rapturously slow after such a tumult of acceleration and heat.

I just want to be someone's baby, their love and their light. I want pleasure and pain and love and desire, lust. I want so much that I have wandered to find. I want that divine moment where it all just falls, more than an orgasm, but a fall of spirit. Where sex is at its height and you're lost.

Lost down the rabbit hold, lost through the looking glass, lost in the eternal garden of singing flowers and sensation is all you can know.

.......
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