Some things you don’t recover from.

It still rings in my nightmares. The feel of his lips pushing on mine, of his hand creeping up under my shirt, of him touching me. The feeling of him on top of me, pressing me harder and harder. And probably the worst part of it all… The feeling that I knew what he was going to try to do before I’d crawled through his window. The feeling that I was probably going to let him do whatever he wanted to me. I knew from the flirty texts what he wanted to do. I knew I wanted to mess up really badly. Maybe if I wasn’t so inexperienced, so naïve, so unknowing, other guys that I actually wanted might want me.

I don’t hate myself for running down to the house where he was staying in the pouring rain. I don’t hate myself for crawling through his window. I don’t hate myself for lying on his king size bed with him. I don’t hate myself for agreeing to make out with him. I hate myself for pushing him. I hate myself for leading him on when I knew I didn’t want to be doing anything with him. I hate myself for making him want me. I needed to prove to myself that a guy could want me. So I pushed him. I kissed him harder, moaned a little when I felt the shivers up my spine from his hot hands touching my cold wet skin.

When he first asked me if I wanted to do it, I couldn’t respond. He stopped kissing my neck and shoulder and lay still in top of me. Or maybe I was on top of him. We’d been rolling around so much, I just don’t remember. He held me tight to him in an embrace he probably thought was sweet. I was trying to keep myself from shaking, trying to keep up the pretense that I was enjoying it. I barely managed to whisper “Maybe...” and he started kissing me again. The whole time, he had one had on my neck or in my hair, weaved through the strands, and one hand on my back, running up and down my spine or down my butt or on my chest, caressing me. Even then, I knew I should stop it. But instead, I forced my tongue into his mouth and closed my eyes. I didn’t need to. It was pitch black in the room. I tried to pretend it was someone else, that it was HIM, but even I couldn’t fool myself for long. It was the wrong body shape, and they didn’t feel anything alike. The guy I was actually with wasn’t gentle or there to make me happy. He was there to get what he wanted.

The second time he asked me if I wanted to do it, I said I wasn’t sure. He said okay, but started pulling my clothes off. I didn’t stop him. Hell, I wasn’t wearing much. Gym shorts, a cami, a bra and undies. He had a bit of trouble removing the bra, but otherwise got it all off in a snap. His clothes came off right after mine, and I’m not proud to say that I helped. I do have an excuse. When he was touching me, when any guy touches me intimately, I get these crazy electrical currents running under my skin. It’s like an addiction. I love the feeling, and I just crave more and more of it. I’m such a slut, I know. So when we were lying in his bed, kissing, with him touching me, I just wanted more of it, even though I knew I needed to stop it before I got really bad. But still. I helped him take my clothes off, and sat patiently while he stripped his off too.
As we moved under the covers and started kissing again, pressed against each other, I got a splash of cold water in the face. I couldn’t do this! First off, I didn’t want to! But he definitely wanted it now. He was rocking against me, and he asked me, once again, if I wanted to do it. I shook my head, and whispered “I can’t… We can’t.” But you know what he said? “Sure we can, babe. You’ll love it.” And moved us so he was on top of me and pushed my legs apart. I was so shocked, I let him. He started thrusting against me, and I finally managed to move. I pushed on his lower abdomen, and whispered, softly, pleadingly, “Wait… do you have a condom?” I figured that would be the one thing to stop him.

I was wrong.

He said, softly, against my ear, his hand in my hair, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.” I’d already told him I’d never done it, that I was a virgin. I’d closed my legs, and he used his dick to push them apart and immediately started thrusting again. He was having a little bit of trouble finding the hole, thank God for that. I lie still beneath him, my fingers spazzing in shock, and whispered in his ear, “Please don’t…” I think the terror in my voice stopped him more than anything else. He did stop, and lie next to me on his side, pushing me on my side to face him. “If you don’t want to…” He said softly. He pulled me against him and wrapped his arms around me and just held me. For once, I had control over my body, so I wasn’t shaking. He had one hand stroking the side of my body, and the electric currents started again. When he moved to kiss me again, I let him, figuring that if I just kept kissing him, I’d be able to forget what had just happened.

His hand moved down to my crotch, but I let it, figuring better his hand than other parts. Then he pushed my legs apart and immediately started shoving his dick in there again. I didn’t think, just said the first words that came to mind. “Please, not now. I promise we’ll do it next time, I’m just not ready now.” And he stopped, and let out a long sigh, and said “Fine. Next time.” And he held me against him again and just started stroking my side again.

Finally, finally, I was able to say “I should probably get home…” He sat up and watched as I quickly tracked down my clothes and dressed and crawled back out the window. He claimed one last kiss before I could run up the street. The next day, he left to go back home. But he was texting me constantly, saying he couldn’t wait until next summer, when he came back.

And now… Four months later. He’s heard I got my license, I don’t know how. He’s texting me again, and I know where this is going. The worst part is that I still haven’t learned to say no…