Author's Commentary
Written for a writing class, had to be less than 400 words.
Pushing, sweating, in and out and everything is wet and warm and somehow still frightening, even though you offered yourself up for it this time, even though you are willing now. Those gasping breaths and unintelligible whispers that awaken something hidden in your mind and cause you to shiver and moan, but not in the way he thinks, he thinks you enjoy it.
You’re grabbing at him, clutching his broad back, his arse. Grabbing on and willing yourself to want this, willing yourself not to shake or cry because, this time, it has to be different. This time you want him, are moving against him and pulling him deeper inside of you. You believe that you should be grown up enough by now and that this should no longer be scary. Grown up enough to enjoy playing woman to his man and to enjoy having him inside of you. But you are still a child really and even though you hide it you are terribly afraid.
You find yourself wondering if this is how it will always be for you, or if you will ever be able to have a man without smelling whiskey and blood and tears. If you will ever be in a place where you will be able to do this without trembling, without thinking of all the times you did not have a choice.
Sometimes you take him in your mouth, deep into your throat, and he moans as he slides past your lips. Tells you that most girls can’t, won’t do this and you briefly think of how you learned. You are always shaking, but you do it anyway, again and again in the hopes that he will love you enough to stay with you and that you will finally move from being the statistically abused to being a somebody loved, a somebody with a partner and a family and a life outside of violence and rape and terror.
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