If I say don’t stop. Don’t stop! That’s the line I use on everyone. It’s purely sexual and has many underlining meanings. Truths that only I know.
I had been raped in boarding school by an acquaintance. I had been drinking, we were on a ‘supposed’ date and well the rest is history. A little roughness here and too much dryness everywhere else and I felt like I had been probed by an Elephant on Viagra. It could have been a sanctioned meeting of the minds but honestly, I’m not sure.
My mother took me to the doctor. I received the every hole probe. Got a semi-clean bill of health and left with the doctor patting me on the back.
Mother Theresa didn’t wish to cause a stir amongst the neighborhood of Auburn St. She preferred to keep North Hampton School out of the papers. Most likely, she didn’t want our name brought up in dark corners of faculty meetings.
My second rape was in college. Same situation. Drunk. Knew him. Wasn’t really sure what I wanted and the rest went down the shit-ter. I got smacked around and fucked so hard that my feelings are loss, both physically and spiritually.
Strolling from my attic room down to the other floors of off white paint and rooms with books purposely left open to a ‘I’m smart and I know it page’ in case we have visitors. A piano wedges itself in the sitting room and for the first time in my life, I see my family for who they really are.
Up until five minutes ago, I had the heated comforter out, pillows propped and porn streaming live. I had been thinking of the first conversation I had with Kate.
“I know I’m in dangerous territory telling you this but I just need to stop watching porn!”
Kate chokes and states, “Porn?”
“I think that might be my problem. No seriously I need to stop watching it. And try to masturbate without it. I have you now I can at least try to cut down.”
Porn is still a big part of my life. The anger and the mistreatment of women turns me on. I drool and watch and drool and masturbate and wonder could I get off with someone’s tongue on my clit?
I have no real feeling in my breasts, between my legs, on my clit and in my heart. Fuck you Theresa, I was raped! Drunk or not and someone should have stood up for me. That is what I think when I look at the walls of the house on the hill, bare and vacant of family photos.
Anyway I abhor my issues with sex and how it’s all comes back around to Theresa and her, ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ attitude. That and my, it’s just going to me and my fingers tonight desires.
Honestly, Theresa, how much longer do you think I can get away with giving myself an orgasm, playing heterosexual and asking my partner’s if they have the afternoon to spare because that is how long it takes to get me off!