a virgin memoir
This is horrendously rough...I'd love feedback on it. It's meant to be raw, but it feels...rough. I'm not sure about it. Blah...
~
I am sitting in a haze of smoke
and bodies, arms covering the
femininity of my chest,
and I will glance, once twice
three times younger
at a boy who will never be mine
He calls, I sit, my hesitations
are leaking through and he can smell
the fear in my eyes
We discuss music, Alaska, and sex;
he says our bodies would make
passionate love
I laugh
I know he wants a fuck from a
naive little girl
I say I’m 16 and he says his
girlfriend
is too. I feel more comfortable.
The pressure resides and I let
my breasts look freely into
his dialated pupils
There is a response, a graze across
the black fishnet of my thigh
He says we can’t do anything
I look at him and challenge
the resolve in his mind -
logic subsides
It’s 3:30 in the morning and
we are in the backseat, the e
coursing through his veins,
pure screaming ecstasy through mine
We are surrounded by people,
by lights - the windows are fogging
and my head is in his lap,
my skirt hiked up around my waist
Cheap
I drive him home, his taste
in my mouth. I write my number
in eyeliner and he says he’ll call me
I doubt it.
I fall asleep at 6, dirty with a little
less self-respect than 24 hours before
He calls me.
Time passes and we have sex.
He leaves me for a few minutes
to get dressed. My legs are
shaking and I feel hollow.
2 weeks and 2 fucks later
he stops calling me,
a show of power over an
already weakened girl
I accept that he doesn’t want me
Half a month passes and
I see him at a rave, glowing in
the black light, shirtless and
confident, just as I met him
I can’t seem to speak, only to stare,
the ecstasy in my body real this time,
not a flood of feeling from a new
set of hands up my skirt
He kneels by me and I stare at him,
through him, into him.
He cradles my cheek.
I entwine myself between his fingers.
I dream of being
naked with him again, shamelessly
open, cheap but wanted
I write my number in blue pen.
He calls me and says he’s met someone
new. Someone his age, someone who
understands.
I say I do too...that he needs someone,
anyone, other than me.
I cry over him for the last time.
And I say goodbye.
~
I am sitting in a haze of smoke
and bodies, arms covering the
femininity of my chest,
and I will glance, once twice
three times younger
at a boy who will never be mine
He calls, I sit, my hesitations
are leaking through and he can smell
the fear in my eyes
We discuss music, Alaska, and sex;
he says our bodies would make
passionate love
I laugh
I know he wants a fuck from a
naive little girl
I say I’m 16 and he says his
girlfriend
is too. I feel more comfortable.
The pressure resides and I let
my breasts look freely into
his dialated pupils
There is a response, a graze across
the black fishnet of my thigh
He says we can’t do anything
I look at him and challenge
the resolve in his mind -
logic subsides
It’s 3:30 in the morning and
we are in the backseat, the e
coursing through his veins,
pure screaming ecstasy through mine
We are surrounded by people,
by lights - the windows are fogging
and my head is in his lap,
my skirt hiked up around my waist
Cheap
I drive him home, his taste
in my mouth. I write my number
in eyeliner and he says he’ll call me
I doubt it.
I fall asleep at 6, dirty with a little
less self-respect than 24 hours before
He calls me.
Time passes and we have sex.
He leaves me for a few minutes
to get dressed. My legs are
shaking and I feel hollow.
2 weeks and 2 fucks later
he stops calling me,
a show of power over an
already weakened girl
I accept that he doesn’t want me
Half a month passes and
I see him at a rave, glowing in
the black light, shirtless and
confident, just as I met him
I can’t seem to speak, only to stare,
the ecstasy in my body real this time,
not a flood of feeling from a new
set of hands up my skirt
He kneels by me and I stare at him,
through him, into him.
He cradles my cheek.
I entwine myself between his fingers.
I dream of being
naked with him again, shamelessly
open, cheap but wanted
I write my number in blue pen.
He calls me and says he’s met someone
new. Someone his age, someone who
understands.
I say I do too...that he needs someone,
anyone, other than me.
I cry over him for the last time.
And I say goodbye.