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I got that feeling again. Things were looking down and I just wanted to feel like I mattered. Like I had something to offer someone. So I talked to him.
This was the first time that I made the first move. I had always refused to start it, even when I wanted it. He was more experienced, and I claimed I was too submissive to ask him if he wanted to go out and fuck around, even though I knew he’d always say “yes.” Oh, and by experienced, I mean older; and by older, I mean that the first time we did anything, he could have gone to jail.
But I’m veering from the point here; the point is I wanted something that he could offer me. And I was just that far down and out that I wouldn’t care if once again I let myself get back into that kind of situation.
So, I found him one day, a couple of blocks from where he worked; it was a simple and short conversation:
“Hey man,” I started, as I leaned back against the wall in the ally. I still can’t believe I was actually talking first.
“What’s up?” He always kept it casual, just standing there beside me. Nothing big. Nothing special. It was for the better.
“Nothing, kinda bored, you?” There, the word was out. Bored. He’d know from that what I was getting at.
“Heh. I’m a bit bored myself.” His grin was the same as it always was, as he moved closer to me. His hand lightly stroked up and down my thigh; I knew that it was gonna happen.
I just smiled back at him, told him now wasn’t a good time. Told him I’d meet him at the end of his workday. He was all for it.
See, he worked at a tattoo parlour. It was in what would pass as the Red Light District of our pathetic town. I knew I’d be safe from anyone else seeing me there. The people he worked with would have been completely wasted or half way there, by the time I showed up. Hell, when he wasn’t working or fucking some chick, he was taking a hit of whatever shit they had lying around that place.
I wasn’t the kind of person to get mixed up with this crowd, and I’m still not. I just knew him and I knew that he was always reliable when it came to taking the pain away. He wouldn’t ask why I wanted it; he would just be glad that he’d be getting off.
When I walked into that place, the girls who passed for receptionists told me he was in a session. I never did get why anyone would trust him with an object like that. But I sat in the ratty chair, crawling with I don’t know how many STDs, and waited. It was great being there. Out of my element.
He came out of the room and smiled at me.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Yeah. I am.” The hesitation in my voice waded through whatever it was he was buzzing on. I could tell he was on something by the red tinge to his eyes. His eyes used to be pretty nice.
“We don’t have to.” He never used to say so much to make sure I wanted it. I figured it had to have been that last hit he took.
“No. Let’s go.”
He shrugged, but I could see that grin filling his face. His eyes were a bit hazy but I trusted him. I knew he’d never hurt me. At least, I always liked to think that. There was a time before when that trust was broken. But for some reason…I came back.
I got up from the disgusting sitting area and walked into the other room. The tattoo chair was torn and already laid back enough for us. I could see a fully fuelled thong from the night before, as I walked over to the coat hooks by the dingy window. He flicked it away and sat down in the chair.
As I walked back, he smiled before pulling me down. I giggled softly, playing along. But I wasn’t so sure about this anymore. It wasn’t how it should have been.
He started off like he always did, closing his mouth down on mine as if trying to swallow my jaw whole. If there was one thing he couldn’t do, it was kiss. Then again he wasn’t all that great at anything else.
He was already hard when I started to relax a bit. He lay back further and pulled himself out. Not even giving me a chance to react, he got me out of my pants and had me riding him with no effort at all.
It wasn’t how it should have been. I hated being on top first. I hated all of this, but I had no control. Well, I did. This time it was my idea. Last time I had no say in the matter. But here I was, fucking him in his own tattoo parlour, while the whores out front were fucking whoever the hell was waiting for the guy I was on top of.
I decided I would open my eyes for a second. He was watching me. It always freaked me out to see that glazed over look of pleasure, while inside my own mind I was dying.
I never got off with him. I don’t know why I bothered. I only liked him for how he could use that dirty mouth of his…he just couldn’t kiss with it.
I would have gotten off better than this if I was in my depressing room watching porn. But here I was, getting this bastard off, while all I could think of was that this was my version of getting by. This was my unadulterated seduction. My release. But he was acting differently and taking over the whole show.
His hands were rough, tugging on my flesh. I liked pain, but not when your skin is going so red that you know it’ll leave a pretty purple bruise.
This was my release, and he was changing it. I couldn’t do this. I didn’t want to do this anymore. I stole a glance at his face and saw he was just about ready to shoot his load. I was relieved and I just couldn’t fuck him any longer. I quickly slid off and took him in my mouth. As if I wasn’t going to regret this day.
His moan was disturbing, and I couldn’t get my pants done up quickly enough to bolt from that room. I was shaking and I just needed to get out of there. So I did.
I left one horrible fuck session and walked right into another. The sounds of the clients’ sweaty orgasms were even worse than his. If I had any less self control, I would have thrown up right then, but my mind kept telling me to run.
I didn’t know if I was running from the nauseating sounds inside that place, or if I was running from the ones inside my own head.
I had told myself, after the last time, never again. I had told myself that I had better ways of getting through the goddamned day than having to turn into a whore. But I never did listen. I never could convince myself of that.
I hated who I’d become. Pulling stunts like this, only to feel just as sorry for myself in the end. I knew it would happen like this. Looking back at all the previous times, I knew that I would fuck myself over, by fucking someone else. Yet I did nothing to stop it.
All the control I had been trying to build in counselling, all of it just vanished the moment I talked to him. The moment I opened my mouth to say, “Let’s fuck.” And then again in the moment when I actually opened my legs. Everything I was apparently working towards, was gone in that one instant when I ignorantly thought that maybe for once, things would be different.
I finally stepped over the threshold of the place I was told was my home, and walked right past everyone. It was priceless; they didn’t even know what I had done, or who for that matter. To them I was just a depressed teenage virgin. Their broken child. Their biggest burden of all. And with the tears burning in the corners of my eyes, I knew they were right.
I went straight into the shower, and started to scrub away his smell. Stale sweat and alcohol. Drugs and cum. It was all there. I didn’t know if I was crawling with infections or if it was all from the self-loathing.
As the hot water began to run out, I couldn’t help but reach for the razor I’d used the night before to shave, so that he’d have a better time going down on me. That was all I wanted, and I didn’t even get that. But I took that razor, and simply went back to what I was trying to escape. It was what I did best. It was how I got by when the sex made me feel like a whore. Though, I knew I was a whore. I sold myself to him, not for money, but for survival; it’s worth a hell of a lot more.
Dripping with water and blood, I dressed in the dim light, and headed straight to my room. I locked myself away in there. I locked myself into a world of pain for pleasure and pleasure for survival. A world where none of it worked and I was just that much worse than before.
It was a cycle I knew, and secretly loved. But it was a cycle that was slowly killing me. Fucking for bleeding. Bleeding for fucking. I had nothing else in this world. And I, sure as hell, was never touching that rapist again. Yeah, that was why it’d been about half a year since the last time I fucked anyone. Because that summer he didn’t give me a fucking choice. And I fuck when I need to. That was the only catch.
But I couldn’t keep that up any longer. I couldn’t even hold onto the eight terrifying months I’d spent not cutting myself. All of it had come crashing down around me. All I had now were the meds. The medications I resented because they always kept everything at bay. And no one would ever know how much more it hurt to rely on them to feel something that everyone else around me, felt naturally.
So, I looked to my dresser, with the three month supply of anti-depressants, anti-anxiety medication, and antibiotics, I refused to take. Parents didn’t check; doctors had no way of knowing if the pills went down or if they went back into my stash. This was my own private pharmacy, where the only prescription you couldn’t get filled was Life. From pain killers to happy bringers. It all came down to my own private death trap…which I was an arm’s length away from falling prey to.