my first time wasn’t really the first , but i didn’t tell him that .
his bottom bunk bed held a familiarity to my girlhood that i couldn’t quite place , yet all the while it was making me even more uncomfortable than i already was . yes . i had finally reached the day that most of my friends , unbeknownst to me , had already reached . yes . i was afraid at the prospect of pain equaling what my one ace described as “shoving both fists in one’s mouth fast & repeatedly” . eek . i gotta get this over with , i thought , so that day i did on the bottom bunk of his room . i brought it up to his dismay ; we were simply friends who got together some afternoons to do nothing & here i am asking him to “help me get it over with” . like any normal seventeen year old boy of course he much obliged .
shoving my fists in my mouth is a mild, yet fair comparison especially when u consider i sat down on it on the count of 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . ouch . & while i was afraid to really move after such an abrupt pelvic catastrophe i did manage to let my mind wonder other more important things : what do i say when it’s done ? . . . i coulda had a v8 . . . why does he have a bunk bed in his room at this age ? . . . important matters indeed . then the boredom set in . 5 whole minutes of “what just happened ?” , & less than 10 minutes later i was on my way home . i couldn’t stop thinking about the bunk bed , asking myself why it seemed so familiar to me . i never really fancied the bottom bunk , but who does ? was it really abt the bunk bed or the old school g . i . joe sleeping bag comforter ? like really , how old are u anyway ? what did i just do ? i’m such a monster .
i let the bunk bed anomaly rest after 3 weeks when i met someone with a regular bed & more finesse . yes . he turned those pelvic catastrophes into volcanic eruptions . he taught me all abt the dance that occurs between two bodies . he lied to me . he cheated on me . he gave me heartaches , body pains , unwanted growing tummies , & a promise to walk the talk . ha . thank god i’m smart enough to know better . after him came real love , or so i thought . then came the one after anothers . the i don’t know what you’ve done to me but i love yous . the gimme gimmes . the ur not doing enoughs . the long depressing email writers . the who knews ? the what ifs ? the i thought u were but u arents . so forth , so on . falling out just as fast as i fall in . the heart breaker . the trouser snake . the what are u really looking for ?
who ? if anybody at all .
i’m not averse to falling . when i do i fall hard & i never seem to land on my feet . is that not the point ? to experience & go thru the motions until u make a (seemingly) perfect match ? honesty being key , is it unfair to hurt another for the sake of ur own emotional sanity ? is anything unfair ? if it’s based on how one truly feels can it ever be wrong ?
i’m wild enough on my own . i’m always searching for the one thing that can completely reel me in . i want to be protected . perhaps i want to be tamed . or maybe . . .
g . i . joe sleeping bag . friday night sleepovers at auntie’s house with videos & all the junk food we were never allowed to have at my house . the video would start , the lights would go out , & then it was just us two . he bigger than i & scary to me at that age , he did as he pleased . i felt sorry for him , knowing that there was something deeply disturbed abt him that would only grow deeper as he got older . i , for once in my monstrous life , became a martyr . never saying a word . never holding it against him . never internalizing his sickness or using it as a tool to aid in my own insecurities .
so yes .
my first time really wasn’t my first time .
guess i just told him .