The Man Who Stole My Cherry

I felt sick, my head ached, my body ached, and my butt hurt so I knew it must have been used for someone's enjoyment, too. My eyes were crusted almost shut, and more dry crust covered my body and the bed spread. I felt sick. I felt disgusted. I felt like a whore.

Brad, Brad, how could you? I loved you!

I cowered on the filthy bed and cried for a long time. Then I called Carrie and told her where I was. That was how she found me. Carrie helped clean me up and get dressed, drove me back to her house where I slept the entire day. When I was able, I told her what had happened. She wanted to call the cops, but I told her it was my fault for being there and letting myself be in that situation. She said she'd kill Brad if I wanted her to.

I saw glimpses of Brad from time to time, but he was avoiding me and that was alright. The problem was I still loved him, even after what he'd done. I still wanted him. I ached at night as I stared at the darkness of his back yard. I cried a lot. Brad left for college the following year. I still had another to go.

During that year, I was in my back yard one day and felt someone was there. I looked up to find Brad staring at me from his own back yard. Caught, he nimbly leaped the neighbor's fence as he'd done a million times in the past, and stopped with the next door neighbor's fence between us.

"Hey," he said with his devastating grin.

"Hey," I breathed softly.

We stood that way for a long time, then he said, "Look, about that night. I made a mistake. I was smoking stuff and drinking and . . ."

"Not your fault. It was mine. Because I cared too much." My eyes burned, but I was determined not to let the tears show. "All water under the bridge now," I said grinning.

After a moment, he went on. "Do you ever think about all the times out here?"

"No!" But I'd answered much too quickly and we both knew I was lying.

"I'm home for a week's break. If you want to come over after bedtime . . ."

"God damn you, Brad! No! Don't do this!" I stormed inside, the tears finally coming, but I hoped he hadn't seen.

I lay awake for a long time that night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Brad over me, hammering his delicious cock into my depths. I got up and stared into the darkened yard below, wondering if he'd showed up anyway. I cursed myself, belittled myself, but in the end, I lost the battle and slipped down the steps, the grass damp against my bare feet. I hopped the two fences, and silently moved to the old spot, praying he wouldn't be there to witness my humility.

"I was afraid you wouldn't come."

"Damn you, Brad," I said slipping my arms around his neck. I couldn't get him out of my system no matter what. He laid me down, nuzzled between my legs like I loved, licked my clit, made me cum like a freight train, then mounted me and fucked me like I remembered. I sucked him later, and we fucked again.

As I lay in his arms afterward, I hated myself for my weakness, but knew I belonged to him, the man who stole my cherry. I went back every night that week until he left for college. Then I refused his calls, returned his letters, and when I left for a West Coast university the following year, I never saw him again.

My husband asked if I ever thought about Brad or fantasized about him when we made love, and I truthfully told him I did sometimes. He asked me if Brad somehow found me, showed up and wanted to have sex again, would I let him. I couldn't truthfully answer that question. I simply don't know.