Female, 17, New England
Both of my parents are teachers. My father is more "spiritual" to my mother's "Catholic". If you asked them, I think both would say that they are very close to each of their three children and have done all they could to prepare us for the ups and downs of life. I'd like to say this is wholly true. But it isn't. Not wholly. In spite of all that, my parents know about the human body and disease and people and sex, but I knew so little by the time I started having sex. The only sex talk I got from my mother was in second grade and involved those anatomical penis and a vagina pictures that look like everything is cut in half and a "I think you can guess what happens next" smile and nod.
In spite of being raised a god-fearing, Ten Commandment-following, guilt-ridden Catholic by my mother, the first time I had sex was when I was 17 with a married friend of our family. It was confusing, selfish, mind-blowing, horrible, and exciting.
I'd moved to New England for the summer into my mother's best friend's sister Kerry's basement to help her with her three kids. There's a picture of me at age eight standing next to Kerry in her beautiful wedding dress at her reception on a shelf at my parents' house. Growing up, I thought she was beautiful and amazing. When she introduced my family to her fiancé Edison, I knew I wanted to be as lucky as her when I grew up.
That summer was boring initially. Kerry and Edison both worked as professors at the local college and to make things slightly easier for me and more productive for the kids they had them enrolled in summer programs and camps. I slept in most days, watched TV, took a class once a week at the local college, picked the kids up at the end of the day, and made dinner or dessert if I felt like it.
One day, just as I was about to serve dinner, Edison came down to eat wearing an old college tank top. I didn't realize that I was staring at his biceps until we made eye contact and he excused himself and went back up the stairs to change. I also didn't think too much of it until later that night when he brushed his fingers along the inner side of my thigh to take the remote and change TV shows. It went like that almost all summer.
Riding in his car on the way home from mass he'd reach between my legs to "dust crumbs off my seat", brush his pelvis against my back as I washed the dishes, walk into the bathroom while I was showering, cop a feel during a tickle fight with his kids. I say it like that and it sounds like a 17 year-old being harassed by a man in his 40s. And it was. But at the same time I wanted him too. And yet I still hated him for it. I glared at him at dinner, refused to acknowledge his presence as his kids pled for him not to leave for work in the mornings, and gave him looks of complete disdain when a colleague of his asked if I was his daughter.
Kerry went on a trip to New York with her friends to "de-stress" the first and only time it happened. That night I lied wide awake in my bed listening to the wooden floors of the living room above creak as he paced back and forth. I willed him to come, for the creaking to move towards the stairs, leading to my bedroom, but it didn't. Instead it went in the opposite direction right up the stairs towards the bed he shared with Kerry. And then they came back, and right towards my room.
Within seconds, my bedroom door was being knocked on and I sat up in bed with the sheets covering my chest. Suddenly I'd become shy and nervous. I hesitated before opening the door. I could turn right back around and pretend I was asleep and nothing would happen. I opened the door and squinted up at him waiting for him to speak. I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed tightly. "I…" he muttered before grabbing hold of my jaw and kissing me. We moved towards my bed and he slipped my top over my head as he hungrily groped and gorged and flicked his tongue over my nipples.
I smiled, intrigued by the unfamiliar moan that escaped me. Maybe he took that as a sign I was ready because it wasn't before long that he was sliding down my underwear and inserting himself inside me . I gripped his shoulders and pulled my chin towards his neck at the pain of being entered. I wrapped my legs around his waist partly instinctively, partly because of what I'd seen in a movie. He groaned at the tight fit and thrust, and thrust, and thrust. I was only expecting that. The thrusting and the sweating.
I had no clue that I'd feel like my entire body was melting before I felt my insides sound off like the Energizer Bunny as his fingers heavily circled over the hood of my clitoris. I gasped. I thought it was over and then I pretended to not to be in complete shock when he buried his face into my neck as he came and collapsed on top of me. He slipped out of my room an hour later.
Later that week, after Kerry came home, she excitedly asked me to look at a pregnancy test to see if I could make out a horizontal line over the vertical one. I did. I booked a flight back home that night.
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