Rough and scaly. His hands, so much bigger and more violating now than they had seemed downstairs. Then, casually wrapped around a Budweiser can. Now, pinning my arm and neck to the filthy bedsheets we rocked back and forth upon. He had seemed so different back then; demure and conceding, yet with an impish smile that should have clued me in. Now, as he crouched above me, all sinews and crazed, mocking sneer I could think nothing except…my insides will never forgive me. My shredded and defiled insides, so tender and gullible only minutes before. So unprepared. Even the cheap box-strings upon which we bounced shrieked in disgusted protest. I – teeth gritted, steeling myself against the onslaught – would give him no such satisfaction. This could not beat me. He couldn't; not even in all his grunting, thrusting glory. But gosh, it hurt...so much more than physically. The guttural whispers in my ear were unintelligible; as devoid of meaning as his eyes had become. Back then, charming and curious, now they were just blank, cavernous orbs hanging in a twisted nightmare masquerading as his face. He was a dread. The word seemed so fitting now, as the thick tendrils from his head whiplashed mercilessly around my face, obscuring his own with leaping shadows. Grunt, pant, thrust. The monotony in another, more innocent context, would have been mildly amusing but now only served as fodder for my fear. I would be frozen in this moment forever; legs, forcibly splayed while pummeled and throttled and bouncing. And then, without warning, he slowed, stiffened and I felt the nauseating slickness. The sum of a union never meant to be, slipping down stinging thighs as he disentangled. The bed no longer undulating, the room now still. His whispered thankyou, a belt buckle’s clank and then light, as the door creaked open and I was left to whisper sweet nothings to myself. Stammered reassurances and recollections of ten minutes ago. Then, whole. Now, shattered and left to collect my underwear and strewn shards of self-esteem. My insides would never forgive me.

===========================

"Pimping ain't art...but grabbing guns is?!"
(c) Menphyel

"I've come to realise that I never loved Hip-Hop as a whole,
just a particular era that happened at the same time as
I was actively checking actively for new music."