Every Night I Burn

I guess I was a late bloomer sexually. Someone had to show me and I knew deep down that it wasn't someone my age. 

That summer I went to the movies twice as a third wheel with Heather and her boyfriend. They made out through Jeepers Creepers and Super Troopers. 

It seemed a waste of time and money to me. 

It was my eighteenth birthday, and I had a few friends over. Heather had snuck some beer over and naturally that attracted the unrefined boys our age. They came for the drinks and stayed for Heather. Heather and I were always night and day. To look at is you probably wouldn't think we were close. 

Heather had always been very girly. She wore skirts and heels, of all things. Maybe the way I dressed and carried myself had something to do with never getting laid. I had already fitted myself with the style I would be comfortable in for years. Cowboy boots, jeans, and a hoodie were my wardrobe. I know now that I was hiding the figure I didn't have. I was barely five feet tall and only weighed around a hundred pounds. My tits were small. I never wore makeup, and I found my hair to be quite to my liking when I rolled out of bed in the morning. It was shoulder length and brown, but turned lighter when I was in the sun. I was never really in the sun unless my step father took us out fishing or hunting. Those interests of mine often too made me more tomboy than anything. Red would take me and my brother and sister out for the day and teach us how to kill and skin whatever we came across. At first I didn't like that, but not wanting to piss him off, I became pretty good at it. Killing was easy. Sex seemed much harder. 

My birthday is on the fifth of July, so there was always some leftover fun to be had. 

We were throwing firecrackers at each other in the garage. Not really trying to hurt anyone, but seeing how close we could get. 

I was the unlucky one. A million to one shot that the firecracker I threw would land on the pool table. Damn thing blew as it landed and left a burn mark across the green.

That pool table was Red's pride and joy and the only thing new on our property. Both cars broke down, the house was falling apart, and there was no food in the fridge. However, he still played at the table every night until he got too drunk. 

"He's going to kill you," Heather said, what I was already thinking. 

Golf courses aren't as beautiful as that table was. I was never as pure as it was. Not in his eyes. 

Heather hurried back with a wet towel and started dabbing at it while I stood frozen, only able to hold the beer I disliked. 

The guys were no help and seeing our panic, had already headed for the exit.

"Help us, you jerk," Heather said as she became frantic. "He loves this table more than he loves Melinda"

I still hadn't moved. 

"We gotta go," one spoke for all of them. 

Red had a reputation for being violent. There was one instance where he beat some guy in a bar because he used to date my mother. No other reason. Just that they used to date. 

He was a drunk with a temper, but I'm sure there might have been a little more to the story than that, but that was the truth that circled out in the small town. 

I finally put my beer down and helped Heather. We patted and rubbed and prayed and dabbed, but there was an obvious change in color on the table. Not much, but I knew he would see it. 

There was nothing else I could do but show him what happened and apologize. 

I should have run off with Heather when she left. I often wonder how different my life would have been then. That simple accident led me to where I am now. That line of thinking brought me to the realization of what if that didn't happen and I am still exactly where I am right now? No matter the path, are we all where we are supposed to be at this moment? 

He studied the table when I brought him in and told him what happened. I watched as he leaned over the table and looked down at it before moving to the other end and lowering his head to look at it from table level. 

I don't know how long I stood there but the door as I considered running and never looking back. However long it was, I felt my spirit age inside me. 

I didn't run. 

"You have no respect for anything" was the first thing he screamed. 

Something happened to me there. Something woke up inside of me. 

I knew to keep silent and take it, even if I knew it wasn't the truth. 

"You're a worthless little bitch who's never going to be good for anything," his voice raised.

I clenched my fists, but then I relaxed into it. It felt so right. More than anything had ever been in my life. 

I gave up.

"Worthless whores, the lot of you," he screamed as he slammed a pool stick to the table. 

I think he sensed it, if such a thing is possible. I was never sure what kind of powers a man has in that regard, but he could somehow see that it turned me on. 

 Our eyes had met the second the fantasy ran out of my brain and he caught it that quick. 

Being as young and naïve as I was, I didn't know this could be a game that two people could play. Among my many questions I have as I recount the events is, how much of it was a game to him? 

"Are you a worthless whore, Melinda?" His voice lowered. 

"Yes," my voice came in a hot whisper. 

"Say it," he said 

"I'm a worthless whore," I repeated. 

Now I wonder how much of this that I believed was a game. 

He sent me to my room, and I watched in silence as the day faded and night replaced it. 

It wasn't long after my mother left for work that he walked in and closed the door behind him. Red put his Winston on my dresser and balanced the lit end off of the edge. 

He didn't ask. He just walked over and started taking my pants off.

I was sitting on the edge of my bed when he walked in. A light push to my shoulder made me lie back. It did not embarrass me like I thought it would. Not until he ran his hands over my bare legs. 

"You shave your legs as well as you mow the lawn" he laughed "You missed a lot". 

I remember the jingle of his belt buckle as he undid it. I still hear it sometimes. Especially in times of anxiety and someone adds to it by carelessly tossing their keys on the table. 

 Everything became loud at that moment. His zipper. His breathing. I took in how the pattern of his breath had changed. It was slower now. 

Almost like it would be if someone was about to fall asleep. 

As he placed himself over me, he put his knee between my legs. Another trick: I had no choice but to spread my legs open. 

I felt him move his cock next to my pussy. Not with that awkward one hand between us and trying to find the hole like someone my age would have to do. Red moved up effortlessly over me and was already where he needed to be.  

I felt him inside. His heat was hotter than mine at just the tip and promised to burn through the wax.

I was already wet and responding to the power. 

He stayed that deep for a while and kissed me like he owned me. Slowly gliding back and forth before he went deeper into me. I figured out the pattern quickly. Every fourth move upwards would add a little more cock, and I could brace myself for the unexpected. 

Ninety percent painful and ten percent heavenly. 

"God damn you are tight" he said as I felt a cock fully inside me for the first time. "It's like fucking into a brick wall." 

I could feel the girth stretching me apart. 

"Breathe, Melinda," I kept thinking to myself. 

Only my exhale had become a loud moan when I let go. 

He seemed to like that. 

Somehow, he was sweet and cruel at the same time. His lips softly touched mine, but didn't kiss. They just stayed there and took in the sounds I was making while he slowly thrust into me and slowly slid back.

I hated him when he finished. A sudden feeling of being taken advantage of washed over me and left me feeling humiliated. I counted his grunts and cringed at each one. There were seven of them. Like he was clearing his throat as he emptied himself inside of me. 

His cigarette left a burn mark on my dresser.