A Snippet of a Guilty Girl

She sat in the living room, her eighteen year frame crumpled in the recliner, watching whatever tv show he had chosen. They had fallen into what she perceived to be an awkward silence after she had run away from his advances. She sat in the recliner, her chin in her hand.

She realized that he was standing in front of her, looking down at her crumpled frame. She moved her eyes only, moved until she was looking up at him. She was unable to meet his gaze and averted her eyes to the floor. She saw his hand in front of her face, watching it as thought it were performing some sort of amazing feat. He held it out to her until she placed her own hand delicately in his.

She let herself be pulled up until they were standing face to face. She still could not meet his eyes, A shiver ran through her body as he slid his hands down over her hips and around her back, pulling her to him, but she did not move away. When she realized what the situation could lead to, she tried to pull away, but he tensed his hold on her, pulling her tightly into him.

"Don't you dare pull away from me," he whispered in her ear in a soothing way but with enough firmness to let her know that this time saying no was not an option.

She let herself be guided by him, not making any movements of her own, she simply reacted to what he was doing. And he wasn't doing much—just holding her to him, making slight movements in the room as if they were slow dancing to the murmuring of the television screen.

"Pa—" She started to say, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his arms. She knew she wouldn't ever be good enough.

"Sshhh" he whispered, his hot breath on the nape of her neck.

"I can't," she murmured, her nose pressing into his chest just under the clavicle.

"You can, and you will. I'll show you the way." He said to her, kissing her neck just under her ear. He felt a silent thrill as he pressed his lips to her skin for the first time, but his thrill was poisoned because he knew she only felt shame.

He had to make a decision, a long time ago about whether to appease her feelings of disgrace or to lead her into the bliss he knew he could show her, even if the process was difficult.

"I can't," She whispered again. He heard her voice changed and knew that silent tears were now flooding down her face. Nothing hurt him more than knowing she was crying, especially since it was his fault. He held onto her, moving one of his hands to the back of her neck, as he continued to guide her in their dance-like movements.

"Sshhh babe, nobody's going to hurt you—" And she felt herself surrender. She let herself be taken. Right there in the azure glow of the television. Right there on the floor.

She felt her knees give way and couldn't do anything to stop it. It had been years since she had first fallen for him, since she tried to confess the giant burden. The indignity that she felt confined her for over half of a decade was slowly ebbing away as he cleaved into her. She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She couldn't face the man she loved because she respected him too much.

She felt him on her; nothing in any of his movements hinted at sex but screamed love. The man that wouldn't tell her he loved her when she needed to hear it most, when she was at her lowest of lows right after she revealed herself to him because he refused to lie or prematurely put forth a notion that he could not fully commit to, that man was trying to show her his feelings that he was unable to articulate.

She cried silent tears as he rocked her back and forth gently on the carpet. She was so focused on all of her faults, and there were a great many, that she was unable to feel him pulsing into her.