“No, no, no,” Edward rages, “that’s still not it.”

He yanks back the covers and storms off. Edward expects me to do one hundred kegels a day. He says my cunt is a cavern, he can’t feel anything. “Fuck it, I’m going to a meeting,” he yells from across the house. I hear the front door slam, then the car door. The dog next door barks in protest of the outburst.

Our sex life is lubricated by tears and venom. I can’t do anything right. He’s made it his personal mission to become Henry to my Eliza. Every step is a battle. Edward is ten years older than me, so I just assume he’s right about everything.  I’m not supposed to read novels, smoke, watch tv, drink, or eat processed foods. He considers my past sex life to be nothing short of shameful and horrific.

“I like the exact moment when the dick enters the pussy,” he tells me, showing me dozens of porn clips of smiling blonde people in the the missionary position.  I tell him I like to have my ass licked. “Jesus Christ!” he exclaims, jumping out of the bed, “you just don’t say that to someone. Fuck!”  When I call him to tell him I just masturbated at work, he’s appalled. None of my usual tricks works with him, I don’t know how to please him. I wanted my previous lover to hold a loaded gun to my head while we fucked,but I don’t know what to do with Edward. One day I sashay out of the bedroom wearing nothing but knee high black leather boots. He glances up from his book and snorts “God, you are so predictable,” then goes back to reading.  Continue reading

It’s too cold in the unheated trailer to play real strip poker, so we play imaginary strip poker instead.

“Love the bra,” Craig winks as I lose another hand, bundling my jacket closer. “Shit,” says Jenny, pointing to the Southern Comfort, “this bottle’s empty.” I stand up to get the second bottle from the kitchen counter, but I crumple into a heap on the floor. “Oopsie,” cackles Craig, “you’ve had plenty already.” Hobie hauls me from the floor and plops me back into the chair.

Craig’s dad owns the little trailer in the middle of the woods, he lets Craig use it whenever he wants. It’s early autumn, not cold enough for snow, but cold enough for a thin coating of frost to obscure the windows in the morning. We come out here nearly every Friday night instead of going to football games or pep rallies. Jenny and I shoplift bottles of booze and packets of sandwich meat after school. She’s a miraculous shoplifter, she never gets caught. I’ve even seen her shoplift raw hamburger. Craig’s dad leaves us a supply of beer as long as we promise to not leave the trailer once we’ve started drinking.  Continue reading