“Ugh, no,” I tell Jay as I push his head away.

“I’m having my period.”  His eyes brighten, he gets up, then returns with a towel. I lift my ass up to let him slide the towel underneath me. “Go easy,” I say,  I’m a bit crampy.” Jay smiles, says that he has no intention of fucking me.

Jay twists his long mop of curls into a ponytail, sets his glasses on the nightstand. The spiral brands adorning his arms shimmer faintly in the sunlight. He pats the bed, motioning for me to scoot down. As he slides my panties down over my thighs, I hesitate.

“Are you really? It’s…I mean… it’s so…” I stutter. Jay nods, spreading my thighs wide open. “Kiss me first,” I say. “I’m not sure I can kiss you after.” Jay nibbles my bottom lip. “Shhhh,” he whispers, “stop worrying so much.” Continue reading

I open the bathroom cupboard looking for bobby pins.

I knock over a little cardboard box, a pamphlet flutters to the floor. I unfold the diagram, then quickly lock the bathroom door. I’m eleven years old and I feel like I’ve discovered a treasure map. The instructions are for tampons, the kind with no applicator. A cartoonish illustration shows a cutaway of a  finger guiding a little cotton bullet up a tunnel.  I sit on the toilet and poke between my legs and slip my finger upwards. There’s a hole there!

I grab a handful of the pellets, fold the instructions into a tight little square, then bike over to my friend Misty’s house. Showing her my contraband, I tell her we have holes between our legs. Misty calls me a dope, her mom already told her about vaginas. Running into the bathroom, she comes back with some of her mom’s tampons. These are a lot longer, the cotton is on a cardboard thing, and we try to  figure out how that works.

We lay on her bed, pulling  the covers over our heads in case someone comes in. “You go first!” “No, you go first!” we shriek. We decide to go at the same time. The little tubes push in between our legs, the white cardboard slides out tinged pink with blood. “I think I just got my period,” I whisper. Misty tugs on the dangling string, then I do the same. Peeking out the door, we run to the bathroom and throw them in the toilet. We watch them bloom into big white puffs then flush them away.

The rest of the summer we have sleepovers. We hide under blankets, sliding tampons into each other. Sometimes we blow on each others flat chests, or lick our fingers and touch each others tiny nipples. Once we even try kissing, but decide that’s what you’re supposed to do with boys, so we don’t do it again.

Another lifetime later, I run into Misty at the grocery store. We go out for beers and talk about the old neighborhood. She asks if that summer really happened, wonders if she imagined the whole thing. Then Misty tells me she’s bisexual and she blames me for it.

I hear the back door open.

I’m home alone from school on a sick day, watching The Price is Right. My boyfriend, Sam, walks in with a gas station rose wrapped in cellophane. This is the first long term relationship for either of us. I’m sixteen, he’s a year older. I tell him not to kiss me, I’m all germy, but he does it anyway. He says he’s skipping class to come check on me. I flip the station over to cartoons, ask him to hand me the ginger ale. Grinning, Sam starts to pull all these little plastic bubbles out of his pockets- almost like the kind with a toy inside from a twenty-five cent prize machine, but a little bigger.

Popping one open, I see that they each contain nylon knee high stockings; forest green, maroon, mustard yellow. I kick off my fuzzy slippers and try on a navy blue pair. I laugh, and tell him these are something old ladies wear to office jobs. Sam strokes my foot, then brings it up to his mouth and kisses my toes.

“Eww!” I make a face and yank my foot away. I don’t know what the hell this is about. Grabbing my foot again, he presses my toes up against his crotch. He unzips his jeans, rubbing his cock across my foot. I suddenly get it. I peel off my pajamas, naked except the blue knee highs. The dark blue against my pale legs looks foreign. I feel awkward. Sam pulls a chair in front of me and sits down.

Guiding both my feet around his dick, he asks me to jerk him off with my feet. I try to keep my feet together, and slide them up and down. The nylon is cheap and slippery, it’s already starting to snag and run. Leaning back in the chair, Sam slowly drives his hips up and down. My legs are getting tired and I’m trying not to sneeze on him.

He gyrates and shuts his eyes. I look past him and watch the television, clicking through the channels until he finally grunts loudly and finishes. I peel the sticky stocking off, wrapping them in a paper towel. I tell him to bury it deep in the trash on his way out.

Six stories about anal sex

1. Shaun is model-pretty, he mostly just fucks older married women, but he says I’m fun.
It’s Homecoming night, my Budweiser soaked blue gown is flipped up over my waist. Heavily scented with pot and Drakkar Noir, he leans in and whispers “I want to be the first to fuck your ass.” Shaun promises to go slow. If I like it, he says, then I’ll want to do it again.

He scoops a translucent fingerful of Vaseline from a little tub, then rubs the outside of my asshole in little circles.  Slowly, he slides one finger, then two, gliding them in and out for a long time. I almost fall asleep from the rhythm. I lie on my stomach, he nestles in close, guides his dick in. It doesn’t hurt a bit.
_____

2. Lee is hiding something, I find out exactly what in his toolbox one day. When he comes home from work, I throw the box of condoms at him. We’re young and violent. I’m seven months pregnant and freshly twenty-one years old. He says he bought them so he could fuck me in the ass. I call him a liar, stab the little blue packets through with a kitchen knife.

Weeks later, I find another box in the crawl space. Bitterly, I ask him if he was still planning on ass fucking me. Shoving me face first onto the water bed, Lee rolls a condom on. He holds me down and forces his dick in my ass. The condom isn’t lubricated. Biting my lip, I refuse to make a noise. He frees one of my hands, and I hold the heaviness in my stomach. I cry the next time I shit.

____ Continue reading

Marcus is a virgin

He has two different colored eyes, one brown and one blue. It’s the summer before he leaves for college. Picking me up in his dad’s car, we drive to the gravel pits. It’s an old car, the navy blue plush seats are soft and wide. We kiss until the windows fog. I lie back and unzip my jeans.

Because he’s nervous, he tries to slide his dick in me without using his hands, like a porn movie. Instead, it slides up across my belly and he instantly comes. The car is stuck in the mud, so we wait for another car of young lovers to pull us out.

When Marcus starts college in the fall,  I send him my dirty panties so his roommates believe I exist.

There are three of us crammed into Michael’s twin bed.

Anya is on my right. We are naked, holding each other. Michael pounds into her, hard. He looks deep into my eyes while he fucks her. Her tits are creamy pale, bigger and rounder than mine. As I feel them, I think “Tits! Holy shit!”  Working in health care, I see breasts every day, but that’s clinical and this certainly is not. She kisses me so softly it’s like being kissed by sweet air.

I want to go down on her, but Michael won’t let me. He wants to save something for next time. Michael spanks my pussy, I squirt so much I soak the bed through. He tells her to try it, but she’s afraid to hit me hard enough for it to work.

Gently, he scoops Anya into his arms, cradling her, works her fast and hard with his fingers. They’ve been friends and lovers for a long time. I’ve only known Michael a couple of months, Anya a couple hours.  I love the familiar way their bodies nestle together, everything fits so easily, like lovers in a painting.  I watch them fuck for a long time. They whisper things veiled in kisses to each other so that I cannot hear.

After Anya leaves, Michael ties me to the bed. He beats me black and blue then fucks me hard. We shower together then drive to the diner for pancakes. I drink tall glasses of cold orange juice because I am dizzy and dehydrated. I keep my sunglasses on and the bruises make me feel safe and beautiful.

Daisy’s note: This post was featured on Fleshbot.com!