Post by ryan on Oct 24, 2008 19:40:48 GMT 1
My worst memory
By
Ryan Carter Robins
He was older than me, nearing eighteen perhaps, and I looked up to him. He lived in my neighbourhood, and was always there when the kids were playing football. I liked him. He was always nice to me, nicer than to the other kids. When he invited me over for a movie at his place, I didn’t think twice. Mum and dad were out for the night, so I went with him.
At first things were normal. He gave me a coke, which tasted a little funny, but he said that it was okay. We watched a movie about magic, which was weird, because he was a Muggle. I felt tempted to tell him, but I knew that I couldn’t. Mum and dad would kill me.
I got a little tired and he pulled me closer, which felt good. His arm was nice and warm around me and I could feel his breath ghosting over my skin. When he pressed a kiss to my cheek, it felt natural. I think I fell asleep in his arms that night.
I woke up a while later. The movies had changed and when I realized what he was watching, it made me blush. He noticed that I was awake and laughed at my red face, telling me that it was okay to feel that way. That it was normal. He asked me if I wanted to continue watching it. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to, so I nodded. He smiled, patting my leg and fixing his eyes back on the screen.
There were two men, kissing and touching and undressing each other. It made me feel funny inside, which made him laugh again. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his lap and kissing my cheek once more. It felt nice. I thought that he liked having me around. My parents don’t kiss or hug me a lot, but he did, and he told me that it was because he loved me.
Everything he did that night was because he loved me. He told me that when he took my hand and pressed it against that bulge in his jeans. When he kissed me on the lips and pushed his tongue into my mouth. He asked me if I loved him too. I told him that I did.
He asked if he could touch me, if I would touch him in return, to prove to him that I loved him. To prove to me that he loved me. I let him. It felt weird, having his hands on me. They were big. And strong. He left marks on my hips when he got inside of me.
When I woke up the next morning, he was already dressed and yelled at me to get up. He said that he was late for work, that I needed to get home. I barely got my clothes together when he said that I could never tell anyone, that he would kill me if I did.
I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never felt safe with anyone after that. I promised myself that I wouldn’t. That no matter what, I would never love again.
By
Ryan Carter Robins
He was older than me, nearing eighteen perhaps, and I looked up to him. He lived in my neighbourhood, and was always there when the kids were playing football. I liked him. He was always nice to me, nicer than to the other kids. When he invited me over for a movie at his place, I didn’t think twice. Mum and dad were out for the night, so I went with him.
At first things were normal. He gave me a coke, which tasted a little funny, but he said that it was okay. We watched a movie about magic, which was weird, because he was a Muggle. I felt tempted to tell him, but I knew that I couldn’t. Mum and dad would kill me.
I got a little tired and he pulled me closer, which felt good. His arm was nice and warm around me and I could feel his breath ghosting over my skin. When he pressed a kiss to my cheek, it felt natural. I think I fell asleep in his arms that night.
I woke up a while later. The movies had changed and when I realized what he was watching, it made me blush. He noticed that I was awake and laughed at my red face, telling me that it was okay to feel that way. That it was normal. He asked me if I wanted to continue watching it. I could see in his eyes that he wanted to, so I nodded. He smiled, patting my leg and fixing his eyes back on the screen.
There were two men, kissing and touching and undressing each other. It made me feel funny inside, which made him laugh again. He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his lap and kissing my cheek once more. It felt nice. I thought that he liked having me around. My parents don’t kiss or hug me a lot, but he did, and he told me that it was because he loved me.
Everything he did that night was because he loved me. He told me that when he took my hand and pressed it against that bulge in his jeans. When he kissed me on the lips and pushed his tongue into my mouth. He asked me if I loved him too. I told him that I did.
He asked if he could touch me, if I would touch him in return, to prove to him that I loved him. To prove to me that he loved me. I let him. It felt weird, having his hands on me. They were big. And strong. He left marks on my hips when he got inside of me.
When I woke up the next morning, he was already dressed and yelled at me to get up. He said that he was late for work, that I needed to get home. I barely got my clothes together when he said that I could never tell anyone, that he would kill me if I did.
I’ve never told anyone. I’ve never felt safe with anyone after that. I promised myself that I wouldn’t. That no matter what, I would never love again.
though it is kind of wrong