One-Hundred Fifteen

“Have you ever done this?”

I shake my head no.

I wanted to add, “And I’m slightly fucking terrified.”

But I didn’t.

Do I want to do this?

I know it’s a bad idea.

I can feel it in every follicle.

But I can’t tell him “no.”

I can’t even speak right now.

Without warning, he slowly enters me.

 “Are you okay?”

I nod, and he keeps going.

It hurts.

But the more he does it, the quicker he goes, the less it hurts.

I almost enjoy it.

When it’s over, he stays inside me.

We fall asleep.

He wakes and slips out.
It startles me.

And I feel the emptiest feeling.

How is it possible in the span of a few short hours to go from never having experienced such fullness, never knowing I was empty, to having the keenest awareness of the gaping space I now possess?

Nothing can adequately describe this feeling.

And it’s not just about the sex.

The sex is just a symptom.

It’s about pulverizing a frontier I never thought I’d approach.

And now that I’ve done it, I can’t cross back.

He walks back into the room, snapping me from my trance.

“Ready to go home?”

I look up and nod.

Though, home is the last place I want to be.

It’s no longer where my heart lives.