Where it happened: My Friend's House
Langauge: English
Sex: Male
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
Ever since I could remember, I had always had a crush on one girl in my school. She was a very popular cheerleader, and from what I had heard, very slutty. We had a couple of classes together, and the whole time I would stare at her, and sometimes see her look back.
She was the party time, and was always getting drunk and sleeping with someone. Clearly I remember the first party I was at with her. I showed up a little later, and she was already half drunk. I avoided her most of the night, but eventually I made my way over to her, and suprisingly she started talking to me. She seemed alright, kind of ditzy, but that wasn’t what mattered to me. We somehow got to kissing, making out, and then she led to the basement where there was an empty bedroom. When we got in, it was completely dark. It was also really awkward, but after we were making out everything settled into place.
She was about 5’4”, had very large breasts, brunette hair, and a very shapely, tan body. I remember her pressing up to me while making out, and my mediocre penis rubbing against her thighs through our pants. I reached up to touch her breasts, and she undid her bra for me! She was obviously much more experienced than I was. Before long I was touching her breasts when she reached down and undid the button on the jeans, and then unzipped the zipper. She stroked my erection while we made out, and the pushed me onto the bed and told me to lie back. I was extremely exited. She leaned in on the bed and started to give me head. It felt magnificent, and I would have ejaculated within two minutes had I not stoped myself. After about five minutes of this, she came up to me and we started making out, but his time I reached for her panties. She moaned, and I took it as a good sign, so I took off her panties and rubbed her clitoris, and slid my fingers into her crotch. She was estatic, and her back arched to a rythemic pattern. I stopped, slid up to her and asked her if she wanted to have sex. She mumbled out a yes, so I leaned on top of her and slid myself into her. She didn’t cry or moan, and I probably wasn’t the best she had, but for me it was wonderful, and I was thrusting for maybe a few minutes when a strange urge came over me.
I was feeling very powerful, and she seemed happy while we were having sex, so I tried something new. I hit her lightly across the cheek. She mumbled out a cry, but nothing more, being drunk. It was fun, so I did it again, harder this time. This time, though, she yelled, “What the fk are you doing?!” It was really loud, and I got scared, so I hit her really hard across the back of her head. It was too hard, and she fell off the bed forcefully, and her head hit against the sharp edge of the nightstand. I leaned over naked and looked down, and there was blood staining everywhere, coming out of her head. I was so scared, so crazily I dragged her body, which seemed especially light, into the bathtub, and tried to cleanse her. I was too scared, and ran out of there as soon as the water turned on. I ran all the way home until I thought I was safe. Little did I know, I wasn’t.
When I got home, I was a little wet, and had blood on my shoes, so I took them off outside. I walked through the door, to see my dad drunk on the sofa, watching porn. I tried to be quiet as not to wake him up as I went into my room, but he did, and yelled, “Get in here faggot.” I walked cautiously into the room, and he looked into my eyes with his dialated pupils. “You been fkin’ any men?” he asked with a slur. “No,” I answered sheepishly. “You fkin’ liar,” he shouted at me, and raised his large arms and smacked me across the face. I fell to the floor. “I told your mother not to raise you a faggot,” he yelled as his arms pounded my face and chest. I felt pain everywhere, and thought I could hear the muffled cries of my mother coming from upstairs. “You want to be a faggot,” he said,” then I’ll teach you how to be a faggot.” He hit me especially hard, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe. I lay there in agonizing pain, blood seeping from my face and body. He stripped off my pants, and threw me on the ground stomach down. He left for a second, and I breathed a cry of relief.
He came back a minute later, this time with a jug of toilet cleaner, and a toilet plunger. “I’ll show you how to be a faggot,” he muttered through clenched teeth, “I didn’t raise no faggot of a son.” He undid the lid on the toilet cleaner, and squeezed open my jaw. I frantically closed my eyes. “Open your fkin’ eyes!” he yelled at me. I obeyed. The second I did, he pour the toilet cleaner all over my face, into my throat and in my eyes. I gagged and tried to spit it out, but he closed my mouth and told me to swallow. I almost drowned before the cleaner went down my throat, and my eyes burned from the acid of the cleaner. I screamed, a scream that scared even me to hear. A scream of death.
He only hit me harder for screaming and said, “Shut the fk up.” Barely conscious then, I remember him flipping me over, and sticking the end of the toilet plunger far into my anal opening. If I had been fully conscious, this would have been one of the most painful experiences I had ever felt. He shoved it up there with all his force, and I cried, and bled. He stopped muttered something about faggots, and left me there bleeding, dying of poisoning, with a plunger halfway up my ass. I still can hear my mother whimpering in her bed behind a pillow, too much of a coward to help me.
I can’t talk now. The poison was pumped from my stomach just in time before I died. The neighbors had called the police. My dad is in jail, sentenced for 20 to life, with parole. My mother is in a stupor, in a daze of vikadin and painkillers. I can’t bear to see her like that. I had twenty stitches in my ass, and will never be able to go to the bathroom without feeling pain.
I am also in juvinille prison, though for how long, I don’t know. They found the body of the dead girl in the overflowing bathtub, and all my friends as witnesses, knew I was in there with her. I guess they weren’t friends after all. Anyway, there was more than enough evidence to find me guilty of murder. I’m in a wheelchair for now, but maybe someday I’ll make it out of here. I only hope I can find forgiveness and redemption in some form. If only I could find redemption. Memories still haunt me, and I fear they will forever.
That is the story of my first time having sex.
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