It’s been a while since I’ve posted, but this little nugget popped into my free write this morning, so I thought I’d share.
He’s the guy who works for your dad, at the auto repair shop, who wouldn’t turn you down if you hit on him when you were sixteen.
Fifteen, he might raise an eyebrow. Depends on how many beers he’s had. He’d offer you one. Maybe a cigarette, too.
He’d make fun of you a little, quirk his lip around the bottle, and stare openly at your breasts. If you kissed him, he’d kiss you back, but not first. Never first.
Sometimes, these things just happen.
He might finger you, but he wouldn’t go down. Not this time.
At least he’d let you look into his eyes while he fucked you. And he wouldn’t ask “Was that your first time?” until after he’d already come.