By Kendra Holliday | July 26, 2017
Ed Note: This is a short story my 16 year old daughter wrote about a young virgin woman being coerced into sex. Nothing like this has happened to my daughter, but I was struck at how much it captured my first experience having sex with a man. I was 16; he was 24. Please be warned that this is an intense piece of writing. A good writer makes the reader FEEL.
“So, you like guys?” asks Tim, grinning, one eyebrow arched high above sky blue eyes.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Tiffany replies, suspicious of the upperclassman’s intentions.
“Well, I’ve never seen you kiss a guy,” he laughs, crow like, a short wheezing sound like a caw. “How would I know?”
“I like guys,” Tiffany insists, pulling up her bra strap. “Do I need to prove it to you?”
“Mm,” Tim purrs thoughtfully, an over articulated sound of dirty thought “Maybe.”
Maybe not, thinks Tiffany hotly, but she has been waiting so long for this. They both have. Tim, she knows, especially. It will be her first time. Tim has been more excited about it than she has, she’s certain, but she’s sure it will be wonderful. It has to be, right? That’s what he told her. His first time was, he said, and he has become very experienced. He’ll show her, he promised, and she knew he would. He’s great at sex, he wouldn’t lie about that. He’ll show her.
“Come on, baby,” Tim pulls her down across the bed by her bare shoulder, laying her across his lap as he reclines, stripped down to his underwear, ill fitting briefs too small.
She doesn’t know this was intentional, but he does. He knows how to present his package perfectly, and she’ll never be any the wiser. It’s not like she’s seen another guy’s penis before. She’ll love it. Tiffany’s name escapes his mind again, but it does not matter. He’ll never escape hers, and he loves it. It was meant to be.
Tiffany sits uncomfortably, finding herself frozen and small in Tim’s warm presence, his personality becoming overbearing and hot the longer she sits in the palm of his hand, undeniably becoming aware that maybe she doesn’t want to be here.
Tim strokes her hair, and she shudders, then tries to relax.
“Are you ready?” Tim asks, and Tiffany finds herself nodding, though her throat clogs, and she is unable to say otherwise.
Desire, she says to herself, it is desire. What else would she want in this situation. Sure, Tim isn’t a stud, but he knows what he’s doing. Of course he does. He’s slept with all kinds of girls. Tiffany told Clara that exactly, and it made Clara pointedly wonder what that made Tiffany. She told Tiffany this without hesitation, and Tiffany told her not to call her a slut. “Whatever, slut,” said Clara, and Tiffany couldn’t tell if she was joking. Of course she was, Tiffany knows it. What else could her friend mean?
Tim shifts his leg, and indicates that Tiffany should turn over, and so she does, raising herself on her elbows in a plank, and Tim sits up only enough to ease out of his underwear. Tiffany stifles a gasp, out of shock, but Tim reads it in the opposite direction. He is her first. He gets to be here first. He will be the first inside her, and no one else can take that away from him. Tiffany, Tiffany Archer, will lose her virginity to him, and he earned it. God damn, he earned it. It took weeks of coercing, petty talk and promises. He had to be her boyfriend for three weeks, and now it finally pays off. He gets to be her first. Her name has returned to his mind, but now it doesn’t matter.
Tim takes Tiffany by the shoulders again, and pulls down her bra, not bothering to unstrap it. She heaves as she finds herself nude, exposed to the senior, finding herself but a child again, suddenly, and the prospect scares her. She spent so long pretending to be grown up. She was grown up, wasn’t she?
A freshman finally, no longer a middle schooler little girl. This is her big day, this is the day she becomes a woman. Of course, her mother told her that when she had her first period, and her father that when she had her bat mitzvah. Today she is a woman, and that is what Tim told her. He studies her with harsh eyes, unnervingly blue and hungry beyond any comparison to man or beast. He does not hesitate, and brings his hot, wet mouth to her nipple, and begins to suckle and teeth upon it like a piglet to a sow.
Tiffany fights back tears, though she can’t explain why.
Tim’s tongue shoots up to her throat, traveling the soft distance from her breast to her collarbone, then to her neck where he begins to bite, not gently anymore, and Tiffany squeaks. This is how it’s supposed to go, isn’t it? This is how it’s supposed to go.
Tim’s mouth is so rough and needy, lapping at her skin and prickling it with thoughtless kisses, and Tiffany is somehow, so terribly brought back to what she learned about feral cats in a nature documentary years ago. They leave scratches and scents to mark their territory.
Now, Tiffany is Tim’s territory, and she knows it in the pit of her stomach, in the pit of her womanly parts, and it makes her feel sick beyond all belief. This is his, she gave it to him. She gave it to him. She is his.
Tim bites her again, and she whimpers, and he takes this as a sign to go along. His teeth scrape along her stomach down to her hips, where he spends a brief time nipping again, as if searching for the bone nearly exposed by her thin figure. Tiffany is thin, and it has always been seen as a virtue. A virtue. A virtue. This is what a virtue has bought her. Tim’s teeth, and tongue, and hungry eyes, and grabbing hands. God his hands, which have fondled her breasts and now her ass, bringing heat and pain and discomfort in her own skin, her skin which she can no longer bear to be in even though it is no longer hers, it is Tim’s.
He rises again, thrusting his chest against her, and picks her up by her armpits, lifting her on top of him with no gentleness or afterthought, slipping her onto him as though she were a toy. Tiffany chokes on her own spit, and begins to sob.
“Come on, baby, you like this,” Tim sucks in deep breaths as he tries to say this, not reassuringly, just a word to keep himself going “Come on baby, do this for me. Come on, baby.”
Tiffany is crying now, Tim pressed inside of her, moving like a snake beneath her skin, an invader in her own home, a disease under her flesh that is pulsating inside her like a bomb set to detonate, a bomb set to detonate, a bomb set to detonate. Tiffany wails, tipping back her head, and Tim throws back his too, moaning with pleasure that only he feels. She is his, she is his now and this is his. He took her virginity, Tim took her virginity, he knows it. This is his now, this is his now and only his. No one else can have this. He gyrates against her, moving his hips like she won’t move hers, holding her onto him as she struggles to get up, forcing her down upon him, trapped like a needle underneath skin, the tooth of a wolf caught in the meat of a deer. Tiffany is trapped, alone with another person. She can feel something like a tear between her legs, though she knows she has been feeling it for a while.
Tears strangle her, rasping sobs rattle her body and make her feel numb and hot and disgusting all at once. How will people look at her now? The little girl who had sex with Tim Forkes, the bad boy, the rat faced juvenile who sleeps around. Her virginity was lost with Tim. He was not good at sex, and he did not show her. He showed himself in, and that was all. She lost her virginity to Tim. Tim who is inside of her, and will eat his way out.
He does not stop pumping until he is ready, and he unleashes his heat, that warmth, inside of her. Tiffany takes another last gasp of air, immediately thrusting off of him as he releases her, feeling bile rising in her throat and settling in her mouth. Her face is wet, and red, unsightly from crying outrageously. Tim wipes his nose on his wrist, and smiles doggishly at her.
“There we go,” he says “All done.”
All done, Tiffany thinks. Not at all, never done. It will never be done again. She gets up, and throws her clothes on. Her parents aren’t home, but she and Tim are. She can’t wake up, and she can’t throw him out on her own.
“Want to watch a movie?” Tim asks, standing up and gingerly putting his pants back on, sticky with a white, syrupy substance that Tiffany knows with an ache is inside her.
God, she doesn’t want to think of what’s inside her. What was inside her. What she let inside of her. Tiffany nods, and hurries downstairs, choking over another burst of tears. She bolts, and Tim plods after her at a leisurely pace.
“Do you have Spaceballs? I love that movie,” Tim plops down on her couch, in her house, and gestures for her to sit beside him, his arm up, ready to put it around her and claim her again.
She gets the movie, her dad bought years ago and they watched it together, and puts it in the stereo.
Spaceballs. That was her movie. Now it is Tim’s movie. She sits down, and Tim pulls her into him. Tim pulls her into him. Tim pulls her into him. She can hardly breathe in his direction, but she puts her head on his shoulder, and cries quietly to herself.
The movie starts, and Tiffany feels her life end.