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It's scrawled in the back of a novel. I was hastily scribbling it on a bus to Boston with AJ. So dated now! BTW, I still haven't seen the rest of this season of "Big Love." Faily. Anyway, this was inspired by the scene where he was touching her face in that creepy way in the kitchen when he was kind of stalking her back in season...frak, I don't even know.
His hands on my face send shivers - skin touching skin. Staring into the same eyes that hypnotized me that summer night. We were only children then, I tell myself. We didn't know what we were doing. I wanted to say no as he slipped inside me like a secret, but the word died in my throat. I didn't ask how he'd learned to touch me that way, the way that made me yield and clutch at him. I just knew for the first time I could remember, I felt free. Of some kind of weight I didn't even perceive until its leaving. It was a high I would spend the rest of my life chasing in different forms, but it would never be the same. I would never be fourteen again and I would forever bear the shame of what I'd let happen. And Mama would never forgive me for what she'd seen. I can still feel his hot breath on my neck, hear him whisper "Little sister, little sister..." his eyes closed in concentration.
He looked into my eyes and he just knew. He always knows when it comes to me, the way I know he thinks about men as if they were women, how his frustration burns inside him, how any day now he will give in and play the part of virgin girl seduced, just like I did.
He looks at me with a smirk and I know he still sees that pathetic little girl and how she ached for him to sate that horrible thirst that stole over her in the night, plaguing her dreams with images of sin. Day and night, I prayed to be released from them.
May he drop to his knees trembling too, hands yanking at his hair. May he feel the pain of skin tearing, blood being loosed and may he cry out in a high-pitched girlish squeal and feel forever changed, forever shamed. But I can't wish for what would happen if they all knew - our blood, our secret, forever binding us.
For a moment, standing in the kitchen, I hate myself for wanting to feel his lips pressed to mine once again, just for a moment, just one more time. My face grows flushed from the proximity. I scream at him to go and this time he does, but he still has me in too many ways.
His hands on my face send shivers - skin touching skin. Staring into the same eyes that hypnotized me that summer night. We were only children then, I tell myself. We didn't know what we were doing. I wanted to say no as he slipped inside me like a secret, but the word died in my throat. I didn't ask how he'd learned to touch me that way, the way that made me yield and clutch at him. I just knew for the first time I could remember, I felt free. Of some kind of weight I didn't even perceive until its leaving. It was a high I would spend the rest of my life chasing in different forms, but it would never be the same. I would never be fourteen again and I would forever bear the shame of what I'd let happen. And Mama would never forgive me for what she'd seen. I can still feel his hot breath on my neck, hear him whisper "Little sister, little sister..." his eyes closed in concentration.
He looked into my eyes and he just knew. He always knows when it comes to me, the way I know he thinks about men as if they were women, how his frustration burns inside him, how any day now he will give in and play the part of virgin girl seduced, just like I did.
He looks at me with a smirk and I know he still sees that pathetic little girl and how she ached for him to sate that horrible thirst that stole over her in the night, plaguing her dreams with images of sin. Day and night, I prayed to be released from them.
May he drop to his knees trembling too, hands yanking at his hair. May he feel the pain of skin tearing, blood being loosed and may he cry out in a high-pitched girlish squeal and feel forever changed, forever shamed. But I can't wish for what would happen if they all knew - our blood, our secret, forever binding us.
For a moment, standing in the kitchen, I hate myself for wanting to feel his lips pressed to mine once again, just for a moment, just one more time. My face grows flushed from the proximity. I scream at him to go and this time he does, but he still has me in too many ways.